As Spokes left the library with Their Eyes Were Watching God held firmly in his hands, most of the people – young and old – waited for him to put his fedora on his head and then asked him to ‘see’ Mrs Moloi. He in turn asked them to ‘see’ their loved ones. He allowed the exchange to be the lengthy process that it always was before walking out of the library.

Once outside, Spokes opened the book out of curiosity, wanting to know who had donated it. He found written on the title page, in a left-leaning cursive, the words ‘This book donated to the Mpopoma Public Library by Marion Hartley.’ Of course, Spokes thought with a smile as he closed the book and placed it in his messenger bag.

It did not take long for Spokes, who was once again walking his Raleigh, to notice that two men were following him, and had been since he left the library. They took every turn he took, even when he went around the same block of houses twice.

There was an Idlazonke General Goods and Bottle Store up ahead. (Where wasn’t there an Idlazonke store nowadays?) Spokes decided to park his Raleigh and enter the store and see if the men followed him in or continued on their way. He did not much relish the idea of entering an Idlazonke store and purchasing something. Ever since Daisy’s murder, he had made sure never to patronise an Idlazonke store. Besides, Silas Mthimkhulu had over the years seemed to become more interested in monopolising the market than in providing quality goods to the people; his entire business model spoke of a greed that Spokes found disturbing.

The inside of the store was rather dark and dank, and smelled overwhelmingly of green soap and paraffin. A Lovemore Majaivana song blared from the tinny speakers. There were all manner of goods on display, from sweets to cheap perfumes and colognes. From the shopkeeper’s shifty eyes, which chose not to look at anything but him as soon as he entered the store, Spokes suspected that there was more on sale in this establishment than met the eye. The fact that half the loitering youths that seemed to be the store’s regular customers left the premises as soon as the shopkeeper, in an oily voice, greeted Spokes with ‘Chief Inspector Moloi, to what do we owe the pleasure?’ cemented this fact.

Spokes removed his fedora and walked up to the counter. ‘Please may I have a bottle of Stoney Ginger Beer,’ he said.

‘Of course you may, Chief Inspector. Anything for you,’ the shopkeeper’s slick voice said as he retrieved an ice-cold drink from the fridge behind him. He opened the drink with a bottle-opener that he kept attached to his belt along with a Swiss Army knife. ‘On the house!’ he declared.

‘Thank you. But I can’t accept it, I’m afraid.’

‘A gift is a gift, Chief Inspector.’