On his way out of the station, Spokes asked the Desk Sergeant if he knew anything about the note that had appeared on his desk, but the sergeant, having just taken over from the Night-Duty Officer, found the note a mystery as well. Spokes signed out a set of keys for one of the police bakkies, and only noticed how anxious he was when his initials – S.M.M. – were written in a handwriting so shaky as to be almost illegible.

‘Your middle name wouldn’t by any chance be Miscellaneous?’ the Desk Sergeant asked.

‘A brand-new year, and that is the best you can come up with,’ Spokes said with a smile as he walked out of the station.

Before he opened the door to the police bakkie, he removed the note from his pocket and read it again. REPORTED. MAN SHOT DEAD. EMIL COETZEE? CENTRAL POLICE STATION. Why the question mark after Emil Coetzee’s name? A punctuation error? Or was there something more? Shot dead. Where? Reported by whom?

At the Central Police Station, everyone was busy. Officers were carrying files and boxes out of offices and up and down stairs.

‘For the incinerators,’ the Central Police Station Desk Sergeant nonchalantly explained to Spokes’s quizzical face after he had seen the Chief Inspector’s badge.

Spokes was at a loss as to what could be so disposable at a police station. ‘Isn’t that evidence?’ he asked.

‘Exactly,’ the Central Police Station Desk Sergeant said. ‘We don’t want these guys the new regime is going to bring in to know exactly what we’ve been up to, now do we? The comrades may not be as understanding and forgiving as we would like them to be.’ The Central Police Station Desk Sergeant looked at Spokes until he felt that he was understood. ‘I am sure you guys over at the Western Commonage are up to the same thing.’

‘Not to my knowledge,’ Spokes said.

‘Of course,’ the Central Police Station Desk Sergeant said with a knowing wink.

As Spokes reached into his pocket to retrieve the note, another officer, junior in rank, came to whisper something in the Central Police Station Desk Sergeant’s ear.

‘Wanted upstairs, I’m afraid,’ the Central Police Station Desk Sergeant explained, before leaving his station.

The junior officer, a Section Officer, took over the Central Police Station Desk Sergeant’s post so that Spokes had no choice but to show him the note.

‘I received this today,’ Spokes said, holding out the note. ‘Could have been left on my desk last night or early this morning. Or any day over the past three days.’

‘Sorry, can’t help you, sir,’ the Section Officer said after barely glancing at the note.

‘Can’t help me or won’t help me?’ Spokes asked.

The Section Officer had the effrontery to look offended. ‘Can’t help you, sir, because no such report was made. At least not from this station.’