“Yes,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I think you’re right. But I don’t think that they will ever do it. You know how governments are—always wanting to save money…”

She stopped. Her eye had caught the envelope on the top of the small pile of letters brought in by Mma Makutsi. It was addressed: To the lady detective, Tlokweng Road, Gaborone. That was all, but somewhere in the post office an obliging clerk had scrawled her box number in red ink. It was an extraordinary coincidence, and Mma Makutsi burst out laughing when she saw the envelope.

“Well, there you are, Mma,” she said. “They can find people if they want to.”

They looked at the envelope. The address was written in capital letters, as if by a child, or one who found writing difficult. Anybody can contact us, Mma Ramotswe thought, even those who have little education, or are frightened; people at the bottom of the heap. We will turn nobody away, nobody.

She reached for the letter opener and slid its blade under the flap of the envelope. Inside was a flimsy piece of paper torn, it seemed, from a cheap notebook. She unfolded it and held it up to the light.

Fat lady: you watch out! And you too, the one with the big glasses. You watch out too!

She let the paper drop to the floor. Sensing that something was wrong, Mma Makutsi stepped forward and picked up the letter and read it out loud.

“There’s no signature,” she said simply. “Where can I file it if there is no signature?”

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

A WOMAN OF NO FAMILY

YOU SIMPLY HAVE to put some things out of your mind, Mma Ramotswe told herself as Mma Makutsi ushered the client into the office. Mma Makutsi’s reaction to the anonymous letter had been exemplary. She had read out the contents in a voice that remained resolutely level and then, without any comment, had raised the issue of where the letter might be filed. That was more than mere coolness of head—that was bravery, especially since the letter-writer had included Mma Makutsi in his crude threat.