Spokes felt something within him sink like a stone. ‘Don’t tell me. One was white and the other black. Real specimens.’

‘Yes, sir. But how did you know?’

‘Let’s just say that I have recently had the pleasure of making their acquaintance.’

‘I see. Well, they arrive and say there is no case. Nothing was reported. Make sure I understand that. Make sure the young man in the cell understands that … and just in case he does not, they use their fists to make sure he does, and then release him into the night. I didn’t tell them about the call I had already made to your station. They took the report. From what I understand, they took the body from the morgue. What could they possibly want with a dead man’s body, sir?’

‘I don’t know, but I am sure we will soon find out.’

‘I am just trying to do the right thing here, sir.’

‘You and me both.’

The Section Officer smiled at Spokes, and then prepared to exit the bakkie.

‘Did you say that the young man said he saw a woman shoot Mr Fortenoy?’

‘He didn’t see her. But he heard her.’

‘Heard her?’

‘Heard her shoes running along the pavement and … ’

‘And?’

‘He smelled a scent.’

‘A scent? What kind of scent?’

‘A woman’s cheap perfume or a cheap woman’s perfume. He could not be sure which it was.’

‘A woman’s cheap perfume or a cheap woman’s perfume,’ Spokes said as he thought of the women who were connected to Emil Coetzee and tried to decide which one of them fit that description.

‘Yes.’

‘Have you ever considered joining the CID?’ Spokes asked the officer.

‘Not until this very moment,’ the Section Officer said with a smile.

‘I think there will soon be a position available for someone who wants to do the right thing,’ Spokes said, with a smile of his own.

It was the kind of crime scene that had not been created by a natural crime, but by someone who wanted it to appear as though there had been a crime. It was all just too … orchestrated. Why would anyone, having succeeded in breaking through the door, then go through the trouble of smashing the windows as well? What was the purpose of overturning the furniture in the sitting room when the man you were supposed to be struggling with was in his den all the while? How had Emil Coetzee sat through the noise of the door breaking, the windows shattering and the furniture falling over? Surely he would have gone to investigate and would have taken some kind of weapon with him. This poor chap in khakis – Tom Fortenoy, no doubt – lying on the den floor with his arms obediently at his sides and no weapon in his hand had not been disturbed by anything, at least not in Emil Coetzee’s house.