‘You found him! That’s fantastic, girl.’ Anton was regaining his equilibrium. ‘Who is it?’

‘It turns out you were … he’s …’

Anton heard another voice in the background.

‘I’m sorry. I’d better not say. The point is this. He’s being accused of murdering Lesedi Motlantshe and they’re wrong.’

‘Hang on, you’re with someone from the Land Collective and he is telling you they have nothing to do with Lesedi’s killing?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you believe him?’

‘Yes, I do. Anton, I don’t really have time for this.’

‘Just hang on a minute, my friend.’

That ‘my friend’ told Lindi that Anton was about to be anything but friendly.

‘You’ve known this guy for one day, two days max, and all of a sudden you take everything he says at face value? How do you know he is not lying? I would if I were in his position – which, I don’t need to remind you, is a tricky one indeed. What’s happened to you? Not like you to be jumping in at the deep end.’

‘I’m not sure how to take that. Nothing has happened to me. The fact is you’re there and I’m here and I’m making the call. There’s more to this than I can tell you on the phone. You’ll just have to trust me.’

‘Well, you’re not making it any easier, keeping me in the dark.’

‘I’ll explain everything back in London …’ Anton strained to hear Lindi’s muffled voice as she said something away from the receiver. ‘I really can’t stay on this line for much longer. Here’s the deal: Lesedi was about to spill the beans on the land sales and that’s probably what got him killed.’

‘Hold on, hold on. I sent you down there to see if we could get people to talk to each other, not to get involved in conspiracy theories. You’re telling me Lesedi Motlantshe, son and heir to one of South Africa’s richest men, was about to go all radical on us? Come on, Lindi!’

‘Anton, I’ve got to hang up soon. There’s proof of what Lesedi was up to and I need your help to get it. It’ll settle this whole mess. Now you’ve got to do as I say.’

Silence.

‘Anton? Are you there?’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I need to meet Mrs Motlantshe, Lesedi’s mother. Don’t ask why, I just do. The trouble is I can’t just walk up to her front door. I’ve got to arrange to meet her somewhere.’

‘What am I supposed to do? Just call her and say, “Hey, Mrs Motlantshe, you don’t know me from Adam but I’m calling from London and, by the way, I want you to meet a colleague of mine”? For Chrissakes, Lindi, this isn’t a game.’