Besides, she could never shoot anybody. She was a Christian, and she did not believe in killing people. She thought of herself as a good person, who was simply forced, by circumstances, to do things that good people did not do—or which they claimed they did not do. She knew better, of course. Everybody cut some corners, and if she was proposing to deal with Mma Ramotswe in this unconventional way, it was only because it was necessary to use such measures against somebody who was so patently a threat to Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. How could he defend himself against a woman as determined as that? It was clear that strong steps had to be taken, and a few years in prison would teach that woman to be more respectful of the rights of others. That interfering detective woman was the author of her own misfortune; she only had herself to blame.

NOW, THOUGHT Florence, I have obtained a gun. This gun must now be put into the place that I have planned for it, which is a certain house in Zebra Drive.

To do this, another favour had to be called in. A man known to her simply as Paul, a man who came to her for conversation and affection, had borrowed money from her two years previously. It was not a large sum, but he had never paid it back. He might have forgotten about it, but she had not, and now he would be reminded. And if he proved difficult, he, too, had a wife who did not know about the social visits that her husband paid to Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s house. A threat to reveal these might encourage compliance.

It was money, though, that had secured agreement. She mentioned the loan, and he stuttered out his inability to pay.

“Every pula I have has to be accounted for,” he said. “We have to pay the hospital for one of the children. He keeps getting ill. I cannot spare any money. I will pay you back one day.”

She nodded her understanding. “It will be easy to forget,” she said. “I shall forget this money if you do something for me.”

He had stared at her suspiciously. “You go to an empty house—nobody will be there. You break a window in the kitchen and you get in.”

“I am not a thief,” he interrupted. “I do not steal.”

“But I am not asking you to steal,” she said. “What kind of thief goes into a house and puts something into it? That is not a thief!”

She explained that she wanted a parcel left in a cupboard somewhere, tucked away where it could not be found.

“I want to keep something safe,” she said. “This thing will be safe there.”