The red car ahead of Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni went up Kudumatse Drive and continued on the road that led out to Kanye. The buildings became smaller—offices and small warehouses became houses; dirt roads went off on both sides to newly built dwellings, two-bedroomed embodiments of somebody’s ambitions, dreams, hard work, carved out of what had not all that long ago been thorn bush, grazing for cattle. He saw a car he thought he recognised, parked outside one of these; a car that he had worked on only a few weeks ago. It belonged to a teacher at Gaborone Secondary School, a man who everybody said would one day be a headmaster. His wife went to the Anglican Cathedral on Sunday mornings, Mma Ramotswe reported, and sang all the hymns lustily, although quite out of tune. “But she is doing her best,” added Mma Ramotswe.

Suddenly the red car slowed down. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni had been keeping his truck three vehicles behind it, as he did not want to be spotted by Mr. Botumile, and now he was faced with a decision as to whether he should pull in—which surely would look suspicious—or overtake. Two cars ahead of him started to overtake, but Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni did not follow them. Steering over to the side of the road, he watched what was happening ahead. The red car started to move more quickly, and then, with very little warning, swung round onto the other side of the road and headed back in the direction from which it had come. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni continued on his course. He had a glimpse of the driver of the red car—just a face, staring fixedly ahead, not enough to remember, or to judge—and then all he saw was the rear of the car heading back towards town. He looked in his driving mirror—the road was clear, and he turned, going some way off the edge of the tar, as his truck had a wide turning circle.

Fortunately the traffic returning to town was lighter, and Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni soon found himself closing on Mr. Botumile’s car. He slowed down, but not too much, as this was an unpredictable quarry, like a wild animal in the bush that will suddenly turn and dart off in an unexpected direction to elude capture. Ahead of him the rays of the sinking sun had caught the windows of the Government buildings off Khama Crescent and were flashing signals. Red. Stop, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. Stop. Go back to what you understand.