‘Yes, the artichokes. Remember, they were all the rage at our Christmas party. Tell him how well Philemon nurtured them, cultivated them and cared for them. A man who could be so patient and gentle could not possibly kill anyone or anything. Tell him, Tickey. Tell him.’

‘Well, I think you just did, Agnes dear.’

‘Is that all you have to say, Tickey?’

Rutherford stole a glance at Spokes before saying, ‘I think it is best to let the Chief Inspector get on with what he came here for. I will accompany them to the station and see what can be done, if that will make you feel better.’

It took a concerted effort to prise Mrs Rutherford’s fingers off Philemon in her spirited attempt to impede their progress, but Spokes and Rutherford at last succeeded in getting a very willing Philemon onto the back of the police bakkie. ‘She is wearing a very pretty dress,’ Philemon said as Spokes closed the bakkie door. ‘She is working at the factory, so why is she wearing a very pretty dress?’

Spokes

SPOKES

Spokes rang the doorbell. A house in the townships with a doorbell – interesting. A man cracked the door open just enough so that Spokes and the two detectives with him could see his face; he looked directly at Spokes, placed as much of his body as he could behind the door and did not remove his hand from the door handle. Behind him was a hive of activity.

‘Spokes Moloi,’ Spokes said by way of introduction, intentionally omitting his rank. ‘We are with the BSAP,’ he added, inclining his head towards the two detectives.

The man smiled, opening the door wider. He rolled down his shirtsleeves and extended his hand. ‘Silas Mthimkhulu,’ he said, shaking hands with Spokes.

‘May we come in?’ Spokes asked.

‘Oh … I … this is about what happened yesterday, I gather. Sad business, that. Yes, please do come in, do come in,’ Silas Mthimkhulu said. ‘Sad business, that.’

Spokes and the two detectives walked into the house, which seemed filled to the brim with stuff and people. Not only was there already a surfeit of furniture, but there were also pamphlets, placards and posters, and crates of Coke, Fanta, Sprite, Stoney Ginger Beer and Canada Dry. The people, mostly women, were gathered in groups working on things that all seemed to have Silas Mthimkhulu’s face on them – pens, envelopes, stationery, and the aforementioned pamphlets, placards and posters. There was much chatter and laughter and loud music – Lovemore Majaivana coming from a state-of-the-art stereo sound system. Silas Mthimkhulu was not a man for half measures.

Silas Mthimkhulu surveyed the room and then grinned sheepishly: ‘Running for election. Member of parliament.’

Spokes could barely hear him over the barrage of sound. ‘Could we go somewhere quieter?’ he asked, almost shouting above the music.