‘I think that it might have been done by somebody else,’ she said. ‘Can you think of who else might have used your machine?’

Mma Manchwe looked up at the ceiling. ‘I have an assistant who covers for me a few times a week. She might have done it for somebody. But then it would be entered in the book. We enter all our copying jobs in the book. I don’t think I’ve seen the names of any new clients – just the usual ones.’

‘Unless your assistant did it for somebody without entering it – for a friend, perhaps.’

‘She is not allowed to do that,’ said Mma Manchwe. ‘I would fire her if she used the machine for private purposes.’

‘But everybody does that,’ said Mma Makutsi. ‘Everybody uses their office photocopier for private copies.’

Mma Ramotswe asked who the assistant was.

‘Most of the time she works in one of the shops at Riverwalk,’ said Mma Manchwe. ‘But she has two afternoons off a week, and that is when she works for me – and for a few other people too.’

Mma Ramotswe glanced at Mma Makutsi, and she returned the glance. Riverwalk was the vital clue, she felt.

‘Which shop at Riverwalk, Mma?’ Mma Ramotswe asked.

‘There is a dress shop. I forget what it is called.’

‘Botswana Elegance?’ prompted Mma Makutsi.

‘That’s the one,’ said Mma Manchwe. ‘It belongs to that Sephotho woman.’

There was complete silence, which lasted a good two minutes. Then Mma Ramotswe spoke. ‘Violet Sephotho?’

‘That’s the one,’ said Mma Manchwe. ‘I don’t know her, but they say she’s quite something.’

‘There are many words for Violet Sephotho,’ said Mma Makutsi. ‘Something may be one of them, but there are many others.’ She glared at Mma Manchwe. ‘I shall not tell you what the other words are, Mma – I shall leave it up to your imagination.’

As they left, Mma Ramotswe heard Mma Makutsi muttering under her breath. ‘Something, something. Fifty per cent – if that. Fifty per cent and there she is with her own dress shop. Fifty per cent.’

Mma Ramotswe suppressed a smile. ‘You don’t like that Violet Sephotho, do you?’ she said.

It was enough to trigger the response. ‘I do not like her,’ Mma Makutsi said between clenched teeth. ‘And here, once again, we find her behind a piece of despicable character assassination. It’s typical of her, Mma. Absolutely typical.’ She paused. ‘But why would she do it – other than out of pure malice?’

Mma Ramotswe had been mulling over possibilities in her mind. ‘I wonder if her lease is coming up for renewal,’ she said. ‘That would give her a reason to want that shop – the one that Mma Soleti managed to get hold of.’

‘But how can we find out about it?’