MR. J.L.B. MATEKONI’S CAR was parked on the other side of the garage. It would take only a minute or so to start the engine and drive round the building to the other side, but Mma Ramotswe realised they would need to talk. And she was right; the moment they were out of the door and out of earshot of the office, Mma Makutsi seized Mma Ramotswe’s elbow and whispered urgently into her ear.

“She is a very big liar, that woman. A very big liar. One of the biggest in the country, probably.”

Mma Ramotswe turned to face her. “I saw that you were very upset when she asked your name. Why was that, Mma?”

Mma Makutsi’s eyes widened. “Don’t you see, Mma?” she exclaimed. “Don’t you see?”

Mma Ramotswe frowned. “Why should she not ask your name?”

“Because of what she said, Mma. That’s why.”

Mma Ramotswe’s puzzlement deepened. “I’m sorry, Mma Makutsi,” she said. “I just don’t see what you’re trying to tell me.”

Mma Makutsi did not look impatient; rather, she looked understanding. “Now listen, Mma Ramotswe,” she said quietly. “She said that she had read about all this in the newspaper. Remember that?”

Mma Ramotswe nodded. “I think so.”

Now came the disclosure, the revealing of the clue. “Well, who was in that article? I was, Mma—it was me. And whose photograph was on that page? Mine, Mma—mine!”

It became clear. “So she should have recognised you if she had read the paper? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“Of course. If she had seen the article, she would have seen me. But she didn’t know who I was—that’s why she had to ask my name. Strange, isn’t it, Mma? A lie, you see. Somebody has put her up to this; she knows nothing—somebody is behind her, Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe was far from convinced, pointing out to Mma Makutsi that one might easily ignore the photograph accompanying an article—or forget the details. “Look at these articles about politicians saying this, that, and the next thing. We may read all about it in the newspapers, and there will be a photograph of the politician—they love that, those people—but do we remember what they look like? I don’t think I do.”

Mma Makutsi raised an admonishing finger. “But, Mma,” she said, “there is another thing—another thing altogether.”

Mma Ramotswe waited. There was a gleam of revelation in Mma Makutsi’s eye. “She mentioned Mahalapye.”

“Ah,” said Mma Ramotswe. “And you found her out with that reference to…where was the place, Mma?”

Mma Makutsi seemed disappointed that her trap had been detected, but continued, “Leretlwa.”

Mma Ramotswe waited. “And?”