From behind the wheel of the truck, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni dispensed a few final bits of advice. “When you speak,” he said, “look at the magistrate as you give the answers. Don’t look at him cheekily—don’t stare—but look at him as you would look at a priest or a headmaster: with respect.”

Fanwell nodded miserably. “I will, Boss.”

“And here’s another thing. The person who’s going to be asking you questions is called the prosecutor. He may try to make it look as if you’re lying.”

“But I’m not lying,” protested Fanwell.

“I know that,” said Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. “But you have to remember that the people in the court don’t know that. So what I was going to say to you is this: you mustn’t lose your temper with that person, whatever he asks you. You just reply very calmly and say, ‘I am telling the truth, Rra.’ That is what you must say. Understand?”

Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni glanced at his young employee. His heart went out to him—it really did; sitting there in that ill-fitting suit with a white collar and tie, and all the time inside he must be shaking and trembling. Poor, poor boy—and he really was just a boy, this young man; he may have been in his early twenties, but at that moment he looked not much more than fifteen. And he had worked so hard and been so good to his demanding family.

“I want you to know something, Fanwell,” he said. “Whatever happens today—whether they listen to you or not—Mma Ramotswe and I both believe you. And we will never lose our faith in you. We will not. You remember that.”

Fanwell said nothing.

“Did you hear that, Fanwell?”

The young man nodded. “I’m scared, Boss.” His voice was small and timid.

“Of course you’re scared. Who wouldn’t be? But you be brave now, Fanwell. You do that for me. You be brave. And remember what I said.”

They drew up in front of the court, where Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni parked the truck. Mma Ramotswe’s van drew up next to the truck, and the four of them walked into the court.

“Charlie’s already there,” whispered Mma Makutsi as they approached the public seats. “He said he would be here early.”

They slid into one of the bench seats, with Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni sitting next to Charlie. Fanwell had reported to the office and was now in the custody of the police, along with a handful of others awaiting trial. They glimpsed him as he was led away, and Mma Ramotswe’s heart lurched. He’s too young for this, she thought. He’s far too young.