‘You certainly have to choose them carefully.’

‘Yes, but none of us could have been as fortunate as you.’

‘That is so true.’

‘How did that wonderful wife of yours enjoy this one? Renewed it twice. Very rare for her.’

‘We enjoyed it quite a lot. Until we read the ending.’

‘Why? What happens in the end?’

‘Nothing. The author died before she could write the ending.’

‘Ah, I see. So no happy ending. And that wonderful wife of yours likes her happy endings.’

‘That she does. Consequently we preferred North and South to this one.’

‘We? What is this we business?’ the head librarian said with a chuckle. ‘Still trying to convince me you’re an avid reader, Chief Inspector?’

‘I simply am what I am.’

‘That you are, Chief Inspector. That you are. And what you are is a brilliant detective. I have been waiting for you to stop by so that I could ask you what really happened to Emil Coetzee. If anyone would know, it’s the Chief Inspector, I said to myself.’

‘Emil Coetzee walked into the bush and did not walk out of it,’ Spokes said.

The head librarian looked at him for a moment, and then burst out laughing. ‘I think I prefer the one with the Amazonian feminists,’ he said. ‘Now what would that wonderful wife of yours like to read next?’

‘You wouldn’t happen to have a copy of Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God, would you?’

The head librarian, with impressive alacrity, opened a series of roll-out drawers and checked and cross-checked files and index cards. ‘It’s in Special Collections,’ he declared triumphantly. He always took it rather personally if the library did not hold a particular title.

‘Ah. So it can’t be checked out,’ Spokes said.

‘You’re the Chief Inspector and you’re married to that wonderful wife of yours and so—’

‘Rules are rules. I don’t expect—’

‘Those rules were made by the same people who used to make us wear white gloves before we could even touch a book. Remember those days? To think they actually thought our blackness would rub off on everything. And you’d be amazed at how many books written by black people are held in Special Collections. These people! They definitely knew what they were doing.’ The head librarian said all this as he, with impressive alacrity, prepared a new sign-out card and adhesive sleeve. He left to fetch the book in question, and Spokes did not stop him.

In no time at all, the head librarian was back. ‘Some things have to change and they are changing … finally,’ he said as he, with impressive alacrity, affixed the new adhesive sleeve in the book and placed the new sign-out card, the date already stamped, in the sleeve. He proudly handed the book to Spokes and added, ‘We cannot take this thing called independence lightly.’

‘No, we cannot,’ Spokes agreed.