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Chapter three

The Missing Husband

After her father’s death, Mma Ramotswe went to see a lawyer.

‘There is a lot of money for you from the sale of your father’s cattle,’ he said. ‘You can buy a house, and a business.’

‘I am going to buy both of these,’ said Mma Ramotswe.

‘What sort of business,’ asked the lawyer. ‘A shop?’

‘A detective agency.’

The lawyer looked surprised. ‘There are none for sale.’

‘I know that,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘I will have to start from the beginning.’

‘It’s easy to lose money in business,’ said the lawyer. ‘Can women be detectives? Do you think they can?’

‘Why not,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘Women understand what’s happening. They are the ones with eyes. Have you heard of Agatha Christie?’

‘Agatha Christie,’ said the lawyer. ‘Of course I know her. Yes, that is true. A woman sees more than a man.’

‘So,’ said Mma Ramotswe, ‘when people see a sign “No 1 ladies’ Detective Agency,” what will they think? They’ll think, “Those ladies will understand what’s happening.” ‘

Mma Ramotswe found a house in a road called Zebra Drive, It was a fine house, but it was expensive. Then she looked for a place for the business. That was more difficult, but at last she found a small building near Kgale Hill. It was a good place, because people walked down that road on their way into town.

There was a lot to do. Mma Ramotswe painted the building red on the outside and white on the inside, and then she bought two desks and two chairs. Her friend Mr JLB Matekoni, owner of Hokweng Road Speedy Cars, brought her an old typewriter that he did not need.

Next she had to find a secretary. She telephoned the Botswana College of Secretarial and Office Skills. They had the perfect woman, they said. Her name was Mma Makutsi and she had the best examination result of 97%. Mma Makutsi was a thin woman with a long face, large glasses and a warm smile. Mma Ramotswe liked her immediately.

They opened the office on a Monday. Mma Ramotswe sat at her desk and Mma Makutsi sat at hers, behind the typewriter. She looked at Mma Ramotswe and smiled.

‘I am ready for work,’ she said. ‘I am ready to start.’

‘Mmm,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘We have only just opened. We will have to wait for a client to come.’

Mma Ramotswe was worried. Was the detective agency a terrible mistake? Nobody wanted a private detective and nobody wanted her. She was just Precious Ramotswe from Mochudi.

A chicken came into the room and started to look for food.

‘Get out,’ shouted Mma Makutsi. ‘No chickens in here!’

At ten o’clock Mma Makutsi got up from her desk. She went into the back room to make the tea. At eleven o’clock they had another cup. At twelve o’clock Mma Ramotswe decided to walk down the road to the shops.

She was standing in a shop when Mma Makutsi hurried through the door.

‘Mma Ramotswe,’ she said. ‘There is a client in the office. She has a big problem. A missing man. Come quickly.’

The client was called Mma Malatsi. Mma Makutsi made a cup of strong tea. Mma Malatsi talked to Mma Ramotswe.

‘My husband is missing,’ she said. ‘His name is Peter Malatsi. He’s forty and he has - had - has a business selling furniture. It’s a good business and he has done well. So he hasn’t run away because he has problems with money.’

‘You know what men are like,’ said Mma Ramotswe carefully. ‘Another woman, perhaps? Do you think–’

Mma Malatsi shook her head. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘My husband joined a Christian group a year ago. I don’t know who they are. He was usually with them on a Sunday. In fact, he disappeared on a Sunday. I thought he was at church.’

This was not a difficult problem, thought Mma Ramotswe. Peter Malatsi was with a young Christian woman. She was sure about that. She made a list of five Christian groups and went to see the head of each group. The first three knew nothing about Peter Malatsi. But then she went to see the head of the fourth group, the Reverend Shadreck Mapeli.

‘Are you from the police,’ asked the Reverend in a worried voice. ‘Are you a policeman?’

‘Policewoman,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘No. I’m a private detective.’

‘Who sent you?’

‘Mma Malatsi.’

‘Oh,’ said the Reverend. ‘He had no wife, he said.’

‘Well, he did,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘And she wants to know where he is.’

‘He’s dead,’ said the Reverend sadly.

‘You must tell me how it happened,’ said Mma Ramotswe.

The Reverend took Mma Ramotswe to the river. It was the rainy season and the water in the river was very high.

‘We have our baptisms here,’ said the Reverend. ‘On that Sunday I was baptising Peter and five other people. They were standing in the water. I was following them, but then I turned round. When I turned back again, Peter wasn’t there.’

Mma Ramotswe looked at the water. It was not a big river, but in the rainy season it could be dangerous. But where was Peter Malatsi’s body? Suddenly she had a terrible idea.

‘You didn’t tell the police,’ she said to the Reverend. ‘Why not?’

The Reverend looked down at the ground. ‘If people find out about poor Peters accident, I will have to go to court,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I will have to pay a lot of money. Then our Church will not have any money and we will not be able to continue our good work. Do you understand?’

Mma Ramotswe touched the Reverend on the arm. ‘I don’t think that you acted badly,’ she said.

The Reverend smiled. ‘Those are kind words, my sister,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

Mma Ramotswe drove back home. She had a neighbour with five dogs.

‘I need a dog to help me with my work,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘Can I borrow one of yours?’

‘I’ll give you this dog here,’ said the neighbour. ‘He’s the oldest, and he has a very good nose. He will make a good detective dog.’

Mma Ramotswe took the dog. It was large and yellow and had a bad smell. That night, she put it into her van and drove to the river. She also took her father’s gun. She pushed a thick stick into the soft ground near the river and tied the dog to the stick. Then she waited.

Two hours passed. Then suddenly the dog made a noise. It was standing and looking towards the river. Something was coming out of the water. It was a large crocodile.

The crocodile moved slowly towards the frightened dog. Then Mma Ramotswe picked up the gun. pointed it carefully and shot the crocodile. The crocodile gave a big jump into the air, fell and landed on its back in the water. Then it stopped moving.

Mma Ramotswe’s hand was shaking as she put the gun down. She did not like to shoot animals. Poor crocodile. No crocodiles usually came to this river. What was it doing there?

She took a knife and cut the crocodiles soft stomach open. Inside there were some pieces of smelly fish. There was also a man’s watch.

The next day, Mma Ramotswe visited Mma Malatsi. She explained about the crocodile.

‘Did this belong to your husband,’ she asked, handing her the watch.

?????° Malatsi took the watch and looked at it. ‘Yes,’ she said calmly. ‘Well, now I know that he is dead - not in the arms of another woman. That’s better, isn’t it?’

‘I think it is,’ Mma Ramotswe agreed. ‘I had a husband but he made me very unhappy. I am glad that I don’t have a husband now. But I’m sorry that you’ve lost your husband.’

‘Yes, it’s sad,’ said Mma Malatsi. ‘But I have lots to do.’