The directory entry for Clear Image Copies put the matter of ownership beyond doubt. Founded and under the management of Daisy Manchwe, it read, before going on to reveal that the prices at which copies could be made could not be bettered elsewhere in Gaborone. From one to one thousand copies, came the claim, we are the cheapest and the clearest in town.

The directory entry provided even more interesting information than these advertising puffs. At the bottom of the entry was a picture of Daisy Manchwe herself, standing proudly in front of a large photocopying machine. Mma Ramotswe studied the picture with interest. It was not very clearly printed – a sorry thing for a company that boasted of clear images – but then they had not printed the directory and would presumably have done a much better job themselves. What struck Mma Ramotswe about the picture was the cheerful look of Daisy Manchwe. People smiled when having their photographs taken, of course, but if you were heartbroken inside, your camera smile would always be unconvincing. Daisy Manchwe did not look like the abandoned spouse; far from it – she appeared happy with the world.

It was a passing reflection and did not amount to much, but it was something that she mentioned to Mma Makutsi when she picked her up from her house. She felt extremely cheerful herself when they set off in the van together. This was just like it used to be – the two of them heading off on some investigation, going over the details of the case together in the cab of the tiny white van as they watched Botswana pass by.

‘There was no trouble leaving Itumelang?’ she asked, as Mma Makutsi settled herself in the van on their departure.

Mma Makutsi shook her head. ‘He is sleeping, and the girl I have helping me is very good. There is his bottle in the fridge and he will be given that. It is personal milk.’

Mma Ramotswe had not heard the expression personal milk before, but she rather liked it. ‘Personal milk is very good,’ she said.

‘Yes, it is. And I am having no trouble with that side of things, Mma, so I will soon be able to come back to work more or less full-time.’

‘I will be very happy when that happens,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘Of course, you have Phuti’s aunt to help with running the house. I suppose that will make it easier.’

Mma Makutsi shook her head. ‘I do not, Mma. The aunt has gone.’

Mma Ramotswe looked at her companion, a lapse in attention that caused the van to swerve towards the side of the road. She corrected quickly.