Joseth had long understood that Moloi – who gave all his answers with a straight face that did not hold the slightest hint of humour – had decided to impress his superior at their expense. But again, not all superiors were made the same, and Joseth wanted to teach Moloi this particular lesson.

‘You are retiring, aren’t you, Moloi?’ Joseth said, revealing that he too knew things that he might, hitherto, have not been suspected of knowing. ‘After thirty odd years of service, the good Chief Superintendent here throws you a bone and lets you run the station, for what? A few days? Power is a very powerful thing. Intoxicating, even. And so you let it go straight to your head.’

‘Now, steady on there—’ Chief Superintendent Griffiths interjected.

‘Perhaps these young men coming up these days do not take you seriously,’ Joseth continued undeterred. ‘Make a joke out of you. Think you are old-fashioned. Call you “madala” behind your back. You would like to show them, wouldn’t you?’

‘Everyone, and I mean everyone in this station, has the utmost respect for Moloi, I can assure you,’ the Chief Superintendent said.

‘And so you receive a call,’ Joseth continued, ignoring the Chief Superintendent. ‘Not really anonymous as you say, because the village next to the National Park is the village that your wife is from, is it not? And so you most likely know the caller. He tells you that Emil Coetzee, The Head of The Organisation of Domestic Affairs and one of the most powerful men in the city – in the country even – has walked into the bush. And you think to yourself, this is my chance. Thirty-something years is a long time to work at something and have very little to show for it. Perhaps all you want is to see your name associated with a white person. Little men tend to have little ambition.’

Joseth noticed that Rutherford was nodding encouragingly, and continued: ‘And so you receive a call and decide not only to eschew procedure, but to overstep your bounds as well. The Matopos area is not under the jurisdiction of the Western Commonage. Neither are the Eastern suburbs. You are only supposed to look into cases that take place in the Western townships. You’ve only been at it for a few days, but your incompetence has all but erased the great work we had already done. You do realise, don’t you, that you could lose your badge over this? You are obviously prepared to retire from the force; how would you feel if you were fired without benefits instead?’

‘Now, gentlemen!’ Chief Superintendent Griffiths barked. ‘You were caught with your trousers down and your hands where they should not have been, and Moloi rightly pointed this out. I should not have laughed – I admit that, and I apologise. But we are gentlemen all.’

Moloi was removing his badge.