Her protest went unheard. The reply was folded and put into an envelope.

Mma Ramotswe looked out of the window. The sky was heavier now and that meant there was a prospect of rain—not that day, perhaps, but some day soon; rain—the country’s relief, the blessing for which the land called out so desperately.

Charlie addressed her: “You said something about interesting news, Mma.”

“Oh yes. Interesting news.” She sat back in her chair. “This business of Mma Susan’s house…”

Charlie’s face lit up. “You’ve found it, Mma?”

“Yes, Charlie, I’ve found it.”

Charlie clapped his hands together enthusiastically. “Well done, Mma. I thought we would never find it. All those houses…”

Mma Ramotswe noticed that Mma Makutsi looked doubtful.

“Are you sure, Mma Ramotswe? Many of these houses look the same, you know.”

“I am very sure, Mma. I have been to the Botswana Housing Commission and checked their records. It’s all there. The name of the doctor on the lease is there, Mma. Her father’s name.”

“Well that settles that,” said Charlie. “Where is it?”

“It’s exactly where Mma Rosie said it was. Right next door to me, as it happens. It’s an extraordinary coincidence, I know, but I have checked everything. It is my neighbour’s house.”

Mma Makutsi fiddled with a piece of paper on her desk. “That doesn’t prove anything about that woman,” she said quietly.

“What woman?” asked Charlie.

“That woman who claimed to be Rosie. That woman we had in the car. The one whose story was inconsistent.”

Mma Ramotswe drew a deep breath. Whenever an argument arose, a tactic that she had long practised was to imagine herself in the skin of the person disagreeing with her. It was a simple device—one she had learned from her father—and it seemed to work. Obed Ramotswe had employed it when negotiating the purchase of cattle. If you thought yourself into the skin of the other side, he said, then you might see the shortcomings of the cattle you were trying to sell. And if you did that, you could address those issues. Yes, that cow was a bit thin, but she had been in an overgrazed area and time was needed to get her back up to her proper weight; and yes, that bull was limping, but there was a positive side to it: a bull who limped would not wander, would not waste the energy he needed for his real task on pointless meandering through the bush—such a bull would be on permanent duty, and surely that was a good thing, was it not?