He stood up from his chair, folded the newspaper and placed it under his arm, removed his fedora from the hat hook, opened the door, and happily set forth to be himself – a man seeking truth and justice.

Spokes looked at the sight and could not believe his eyes. The man was contained in glass. He saw Clement Rutherford sitting in his office and wondered what the effect of the set-up was supposed to accomplish. Who was watching whom? Was the arrangement meant to give one a sense of power, or was it supposed to instil insecurity? The atmosphere was tense, to say the least. Was that the point? To keep everyone on edge and constantly striving? But striving for what? All these questions accompanied Spokes on his journey towards Clement Rutherford’s office. Before he got to it, someone had joined him. Joseth Maraire. Of course. Once in the office, both men looked at him with a deep displeasure that felt better to Spokes than any welcome could have.

‘I won’t take up too much of your time,’ Spokes said, placing the newspaper on Clement Rutherford’s desk. ‘I just want to know what you intend to do for the widow.’

‘The widow? You mean Kuki – Mrs Coetzee?’ Clement Rutherford said, his eyes skimming over the condolences. ‘We had a nice chat with her. Explained the needs of the country at this time. She understood perfectly, as I knew she would. Made of stern stuff, that one. Pioneer stock. Blue-blooded.’

‘I meant Mrs T Fortenoy,’ Spokes said, pointing to the notice at the bottom right-hand corner of the page.

Clement Rutherford and Joseth Maraire exchanged one of their many looks.

‘And she concerns us how?’ Joseth Maraire asked.

‘Her husband, Tom Fortenoy, apparently built himself something of a career impersonating Emil Coetzee. I am not surprised at your not knowing this; I only heard of him recently myself,’ Spokes said.

‘Of course I know who Tom Fortenoy is,’ Joseth Maraire said.

‘Then you understand how Mrs Tom Fortenoy looking for her husband concerns you,’ Spokes said.

The two men exchanged yet another look before Clement Rutherford resignedly reached for an unsharpened HB pencil and bit into it.

‘I thought we had an agreement, Chief Inspector,’ he said.

‘Malleable truths?’

‘Yes, exactly.’

‘I think Mrs Fortenoy needs to know the actual truth about what happened to her husband. She needs to stop looking for and waiting for a man who is not coming back.’

‘Tom Fortenoy was a known drunk and all but a derelict. Anything could have happened to him. She knows that. In time she will come to accept it,’ Clement Rutherford said.

‘Or we can make her accept the actual truth,’ Spokes said.

‘We?’ Joseth Maraire said.

‘I am sure you wouldn’t want me to visit her alone, now would you?’ Spokes said.

The HB pencil in Clement Rutherford’s hands broke into two.