Mma Soleti introduced her companion. ‘This is my cousin,’ she said. ‘She found one of those leaflets on the windscreen of her car. She had parked it in the car park and when she came back she found the leaflet there.’

‘This person is a criminal,’ said the cousin. ‘There is only one word for it: criminal.’ She paused. ‘You must find her.’

Mma Ramotswe assured her that she would do her best. ‘But it is difficult, Mma. Anonymous letters and anonymous leaflets are often very hard to deal with. They are written by cowards who hide away under rocks. It is not easy to find them.’

‘I am finished now,’ said Mma Soleti. ‘Nobody is coming to my salon. How will I pay the rent? This place is expensive.’

The cousin looked expectantly at Mma Ramotswe. ‘You must find these wicked people, Mma. Please.’

Mma Ramotswe inclined her head slightly – a tiny gesture, but one that signified that she accepted responsibility. If there was any point to being a private detective, then surely it was to sort out cases of this sort, to protect people from bullying and malice, to put a stop to the coursing of poison through the veins of the community. She would do it.

Chapter Fifteen

Like a Tiny Spark Plug

Itumelang Clovis Radiphuti behaved impeccably on his first morning in the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency.

‘He is not a colicky baby,’ said Mma Makutsi as she settled him in his portable crib. ‘He is happy lying there and thinking. He will not disturb us, Mma.’

Mma Ramotswe smiled. ‘I am not sure if they think very much at that age, Mma. Later, maybe, but not when they are very young.’

Mma Makutsi disagreed. ‘No, Mma. Itumelang is always thinking. I can see it in his eyes. He does this with his eyes. This sort of thing. See? Thinking, thinking.’

Mma Makutsi demonstrated, opening her eyes wide as if in astonishment.

Mma Ramotswe raised an eyebrow. ‘I think that he is probably trying to focus,’ she ventured. ‘Tiny babies don’t see far —’

Her suggestion was cut short by Mma Makutsi. ‘He is definitely thinking, Mma,’ she said severely. ‘There is no doubt in my mind about that.’

Mma Ramotswe knew better than to argue with Mma Makutsi when her assistant was sure of something, as she manifestly was now. ‘Well, there you are,’ she said. ‘It is much better for a baby to be thinking than crying.’ She did not want any arguments on this most auspicious of days: the day of Mma Makutsi’s return to work.

‘What has been happening just lately?’ asked Mma Makutsi, settling herself down at her desk.