‘A very good friend. It was not easy for me – born between the wars to German parents who chose to live in a British colony – to make friends; then along came Silas. It was not easy for us – given the particular character of this country of ours – to remain close to one another. But we did. There is nothing that I would not do for him.’

‘So you’ve examined Sitshengisiwe Dlodlo?’

‘Yes. Sad business, that. She had such a beautiful singing voice.’

‘You’ve heard her sing?’ Spokes asked as though this were news to him.

‘Yes, a Jim Reeves song it was. ‘This World Is Not My Home,’ I believe. Very sad business, that. Such a waste,’ Dr Mabuse said, looking at the smoky horizon. ‘I take it you would like to see her.’

‘Yes,’ Spokes said, following the Chief Pathologist into the building.

There were several bodies – mostly white – in the lab, some with sheets covering them entirely and others with sheets folded discreetly at the waist. Two other doctors, both white, wearing lab coats were busy examining a body. An assistant, black, also wearing a lab coat, was in the corner labelling vials.

Dr Mabuse stopped and removed a sheet from over Sitshengisiwe’s body. Next to it was folded a dress that was very pretty indeed. And for a long time, that was Spokes’s only coherent thought because there it was – on her chest: a Y-dissection. Without warning, there were many dots wanting to be connected all at once. The pathologist was speaking, saying things Spokes could not hear above the beating of his own heart. After a time, he managed to excuse himself and made his way out of the laboratory.

Dr Mabuse found him sitting on the bench next to the cat and the pigeons.

‘I’m sorry. Should have better prepared you,’ Dr Mabuse said, handing him a glass of cold water. ‘I just assumed that you had long become inured to such things.’ He sat down next to Spokes.

It was a very long while before Spokes could find words again. ‘Thank you,’ he said, taking a sip of the water.

‘It definitely shouldn’t be a sight that anyone gets used to,’ Dr Mabuse said in commiseration.

Spokes tried to regain his usual composure, but could not. ‘Did she … did she come to you like that?’ he asked.

‘Like what?’

‘With that dissection?’

Dr Mabuse did not respond immediately. He removed his glasses and wiped them on his overalls. ‘No. I made that dissection,’ he said.

‘And the other cuts?’

‘Those she came with,’ Dr Mabuse said.

‘Defensive wounds?’

‘Arms, palms, fingers … put up quite the fight. She definitely did not go gently into that good night,’ Dr Mabuse said, looking at the smoky skyline of the city.

‘Anything under her fingernails?’