Joseth looked at the madala who had just entered the Chief Superintendent’s office, and could not believe that this was the man who had put a kibosh on the most brilliant plan he had ever come up with. As he watched the madala respectfully remove his hat, Joseth felt grateful that his own life had presented him with opportunities beyond being an officer of the BSAP. CID be damned. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing as useless as the BSAP – any Tom, Dick or Harry who could run, jump and say ‘Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir’ could join the force. You did not need to have a brain to belong to the BSAP; in fact, having a brain seemed to be something that was strongly discouraged.

The madala standing in front of him had only very recently crawled – at a snail’s pace – into his current rank of Chief Inspector, but Joseth could tell by the man’s genial smile and content expression that he was very happy with his lot in life and had never had a higher ambition. That was most of the problem with the older generation: they lacked drive and initiative, and were all too happy with the few crumbs that fell off the table. How a madala like this – with his old-fashioned hat (a fedora, for Christ’s sake), waxed full moustache (as though a moustache trimmed to almost non-existence was too much to ask for), and still-pegged trousers (advertising to everyone that he rode a bicycle, as if that were a point of pride) – did not see or understand that he was a caricature, was beyond Joseth. The madala had obviously modelled his sense of style on a character (the hero most probably) he had read about in a detective novel set in the 1940s. The man was out of time, stuck in one of the many cul-de-sacs of history. He was like a tributary that had veered away from the river and was fated one day to be cut off and eventually dry up. Just thinking of the man was a waste of time.

As Joseth watched the madala deferentially place his fedora in the middle of his chest, he had to use every ounce of self-control not to snort at the gesture.

‘Back from your fishing trip, sir?’ the madala asked Chief Superintendent Griffiths after nodding briefly at Joseth and Rutherford.

‘That I am, Moloi, that I am,’ Chief Superintendent Griffiths said with a beam. ‘Caught the biggest bream you have ever seen. Almost toppled the boat over. It was so big, bigger, even, than my ’75 catch.’

‘Bigger than the ’75? It couldn’t be, sir.’