The next to arrive was the lawyer, who was wearing a black gown over his suit and was carrying a pile of dishevelled papers. Mma Makutsi looked at these papers critically, and Mma Ramotswe, noticing this, realised what lay behind this critical look: it was a filing issue. She closed her eyes. Cornflakes, she thought.

The lawyer greeted them absentmindedly. “They have found his fellow-accused,” he said, reading a name from the paper at the top of his pile. “One Mr. Chombie.”

“Chobie,” hissed Mma Makutsi. “You should get the name of your clients right, Rra.”

The lawyer looked up in surprise. “But he’s not my client, Mma. They have very different interests, you see.”

Mma Ramotswe leaned forward to ask the lawyer a question. “Is this Chobie going to tell them that Fanwell did not know that the vehicle was stolen?”

The lawyer looked at his papers. “Not according to his statement,” he said. “He is going to say that Fanwell knew that it was stolen and that he, Chombie, did not.”

Mma Makutsi exploded. “But that’s a lie, Rra! That’s a big, big lie.”

The lawyer shrugged. “These fellows are always telling lies,” he said. “You know, Mma, if this building were a cinema and they had a big board outside saying what was showing, they would have to put LIES in big letters. Then they might add, EVERY DAY ADMISSION FREE.” He laughed at his joke, which was greeted with silence from the others.

“This is very serious …,” Mma Ramotswe began, but could not finish, as Fanwell and Chobie were now being led into the dock and the court had gone quiet.

“The trial is about to begin,” whispered the lawyer helpfully. “You must stop talking now.”

The lawyer representing Chobie had now arrived—a small man with a bustling sense of energy. He seemed to be much more in command of the situation than Fanwell’s lawyer, whom he acknowledged with only a curt nod of the head.

“That is a real lawyer,” whispered Mma Makutsi. “See how different he looks.”

It was now the turn of the magistrate to enter, which he did through a door at the back of the court. A policeman indicated that everybody should stand up, and there was shuffling and murmuring as people got to their feet. Unfortunately, Fanwell had been looking down at the floor when this happened, and did not see either the policeman’s gesture or the figure of the magistrate entering the court. He remained seated.

“Fanwell!” hissed Mma Ramotswe. “Fanwell, stand up, stand up!”

It was too late. Fanwell heard his name, but being unaware of where the voice came from he looked in the wrong direction. And by that time the magistrate had taken his seat and everybody in the court had sat down too.