Putting down her empty teacup, Mma Ramotswe negotiated her way past the milling members of the congregation until she was standing beside the lawyer. He was in the process of bidding farewell to the woman to whom he was talking; having done so, he turned to Mma Ramotswe.

“So, Mma, how are you?”

She might have replied that her world, in various respects, was falling down about her head, but she did not. “Everything is fine, Rra, and you?”

Everything was fine in his world too, he said; indeed, it could not be better—he had recently won a major case and his client had given him a large Brahmin bull as a present. “Your late father would have approved of this bull, Mma Ramotswe. He is a very fine beast, and we will breed many good cattle from him.”

Mma Ramotswe expressed her satisfaction at this. “A good bull is better than—”

“A bad bull,” the lawyer chipped in, and laughed. “There is no doubt, Mma Ramotswe, that it’s worth paying for the best.”

She smiled at this, but ruefully. This man was a good lawyer—everybody said that—and his clients obviously paid well for his services. Fanwell’s lawyer, by contrast, was reputedly hopeless, and yet Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni had already paid handsomely for him.

“My husband has a young mechanic,” she said. “He works in the garage—a very good young man. But unfortunately he has got into a bit of trouble.”

The lawyer shook his head. “Young men and trouble—those two things go together, Mma.”

“Yes, Rra.”

The lawyer gave her a searching look. “Are you wanting me to help him, Mma?”

She looked at him hopefully. “He has a lawyer,” she began. “But I am not sure about him.”

“Well, in that case there won’t be anything I can do, Mma. Lawyers are not allowed to steal clients from other lawyers. I’d get into big trouble if I did that.” He took a sip of his tea. “I imagine it’s the same with private detectives. You cannot take another detective’s clients, can you?”

She wanted to explain to him that there were no other private detectives in Botswana, but he had more to say.

“That can be a good thing, I suppose, but it can also be a bad thing. Particularly if you get a bad lawyer. But I’m sure this person you have is fine. Tell me, who is he? Or she?”

Mma Ramotswe gave him the name just as he was taking another sip of his tea. She was not prepared for his reaction, which was to splutter, almost to choke, sending a spurt of tea down his chin and onto his shirt-front.

“Oh, Rra, I’m sorry. Please let me.” She fished for her handkerchief to wipe at the tea stain.