She tried to work, making a list of the names she had been given by the woman in Otse—the names of Mma Sebina senior’s friends in Gaborone. The act of writing these down brought home to her that the investigation was posing a fundamental dilemma: whether or not to believe the client. This was one of the most difficult situations that somebody in her position could face. If the client was lying—for whatever reason—then the whole premise upon which inquiries were based could be false. And in this case it looked as if any time spent on meeting and talking to the friends of Mma Sebina’s mother would be wasted. There would be more point, she thought, in trying to persuade Mma Sebina to come to terms with the fact that her mother really was her mother. That is what Mma Ramotswe felt she should do, although she wondered why she should do it. Of course the answer to that was that Mma Ramotswe was there to help people, and anybody who was actively denying that her mother was her mother surely needed some help.

She set aside the list and looked up at the ceiling. The place where rainwater had previously penetrated the roof was now damp again. It was not something to worry about unduly; rain was so infrequent in Botswana that a leaky roof simply was not a problem. And if the water stained the ceiling board, then it would merely add to the many other marks up there—the places where insects had died, the sites of struggles between flies and geckos, the tiny battlegrounds. A dripping of water was a flood of biblical proportions for the creatures of the ceiling, but nothing of any importance to the people below.

Mma Ramotswe’s musings were interrupted by the sound of Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni’s truck returning. She could always tell when he came back, as the truck’s engine had a particular note to it—a whining sound that he insisted was quite normal but seemed to her to be an indication of mechanical trouble of some sort. And Charlie thought so too, as he had raised it with Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni at tea one morning and had been told that there was nothing wrong.

“I think you are in denial, Boss,” Charlie had said.

Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni looked puzzled. “Denial? What am I denying? You’re the one who’s in denial, Charlie. What about those exams you have to take if you are to finish your apprenticeship? What about those?”

“I will do those exams some day, Boss. They will still be there.”

Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni said, “Then you will never finish your apprenticeship. You will be the oldest apprentice in the country. In fact, you will be a retired apprentice eventually.”