“What, now?” The woman had a soft, almost hoarse voice. “Now? I am working now, Mma.”

“Mr Monyena,” said Mma Ramotswe, pointing in the direction of Tati Monyena’s office. “I am doing something for him. I am allowed to speak to anybody in working hours. You need not worry.”

The woman nodded. The mention of Tati Monyena’s name had reassured her, and she pushed her polisher to one side and followed Mma Ramotswe out of the ward. They went outside, to sit on a bench beneath a tree. A goat had strayed into the hospital grounds and was nibbling at a patch of grass. It watched them for a few moments and then returned to its task of grazing. It was becoming hot again. The cleaner said, “This is the end of winter.”

They sat down. “Yes, winter is over now, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. Then she said, “I noticed that you have a long cable on your polisher, Mma. It goes right out of the ward and into the corridor. Wouldn’t it be easier to connect it to one of the plugs inside each ward?”

The cleaner picked up a twig from the ground at her feet and began to twist it. She was not nervous, though; that would have shown, and it did not.

“Oh yes,” she said. “That’s what I used to do. But then they told me not to. I was given very strict instructions. I should not use any of the plugs in the ward.”

Mma Ramotswe felt herself swaying. It was as if she was about to faint. She drew a deep breath, and the swaying feeling went away. Yes. Yes. Yes.

“Who told you, Mma?” she asked. It was a simple question, but she had to struggle to get it out.

“Mr Monyena himself,” said the cleaner. “He told me. He called me into his office and went on and on about it. He said…” She paused.

“Yes? He said?”

“He said that I was not to talk about it. I’m sorry I forgot. I did tell him that I would not talk about it. I shouldn’t be talking to you, Mma. But…”

“But I have his full authority,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“He is a kind man, Tati Monyena,” said the cleaner. And then, after thinking for a moment, she added, “He is my cousin, you know.”

Which makes you mine, thought Mma Ramotswe.

SHE WALKED BACK to Tati Monyena’s office, divested of her white coat, which she carried slung over her right arm. He was in, his door ajar, and he welcomed her warmly.

“It’s lunch time,” he said breezily, rubbing his hands together. “Well timed, Mma Ramotswe! We can have some lunch in the canteen. They do very good food, you know. Cheap, too.”

“I need to talk to you, Rra,” she said, putting the coat down on the chair before his desk.

He patted his stomach. “We can talk over lunch, Mma.”