ماشين دزدی

Chapter six

The Stolen Car

Mma Ramotswe sent a bill for two thousand pula to Mr Patel and he paid it immediately. Mma Ramotswe was very pleased because this was a lot of money.

Three days later, another client came to see Mma Ramotswe. She was called Mma Pekwane, and she seemed very nervous.

‘I’m worried that my husband has done a terrible thing,’ she said.

‘Many men do terrible things,’ said Mma Ramotswe kindly. ‘All wives are worried about their husbands. You are not alone.’

‘But this thing is very terrible,’ said Mma Pekwane. ‘He has a stolen car.’

‘Are you sure that it is stolen,’ asked Mma Ramotswe. ‘Did he tell you that?’

‘A man gave it to him, he said,’ replied Mma Pekwane. ‘This man had two Mercedes Benzes and only needed one.’

Mma Ramotswe laughed. ‘I low can men believe that we are so stupid?’ She looked at Mma Pekwane. ‘Do you want me to tell you what to do,’ she asked. ‘Is that what you want?’

‘No,’ said Mma Pekwane. ‘I don’t want that. I have decided what I want to do. I want to give the car back to its owner.’

‘You want to go to the police,’ asked Mma Ramotswe. ‘You want to tell them that your husband is a thief?’

‘No. I don’t want that. I want to give the car back to its owner without telling the police. Then they won’t find out that my husband stole this car.’

‘But why have you come to me about this,’ asked Mma Ramotswe. ‘How can I help?’

‘I want you to find out who owns that car,’ said Mma Pekwane. ‘Then I want you to steal it from my husband and give it back to its owner. That’s all.’

That evening, Mma Ramotswe telephoned Mr JLB Matekoni.

‘Where do stolen Mercedes Benzes come from,’ she asked.

‘From over the border in South Africa,’ said Mr JLB Matekoni. ‘They are stolen in South Africa and brought to Botswana. They are painted with a different colour and their number plates are changed. Then they are sold cheaply or sent up to Zambia.’

‘How can you find out if a car is stolen,’ asked Mma Ramotswe.

‘There’s usually another number somewhere on the car,’ said Mr JLB Matekoni. ‘You have to know where to look for this number. You have to know what you’re doing.’

‘You know what you’re doing,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘Can you help me?’

Mr JLB Matekoni did not like stolen cars. But Mma Ramotswe needed his help and so there was only one answer.

‘Tell me where and when,’ he said.

The next evening, Mma Ramotswe and Mr JLB Matekoni went into Mma Pekwane’s garden. The Mercedes Benz was parked outside the house. Mr JLB Matekoni got down under the car, shone a light up into it and found the number.

‘Are you sure that’s enough,’ asked Mma Ramotswe. ‘Will they know from that number if this car is stolen?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr JLB Matekoni. ‘They will know.’

Mma Ramotswe had an old school friend called Billy Pilani. Now Billy was a police chief in South Africa. That weekend, Mma Ramotswe drove her tiny white van over the border to Mafikeng to see him. They met at the Railway Cafe, and she bought him a cup of coffee. Then she gave him a piece of paper with the number from the car on it.

‘I want you to find out who owns this car,’ she said. ‘Then I want you to tell the owner, or the owner’s insurance company, to come up to Gaborone. They will find the car in an agreed place. They must bring the car’s South African number plates. Then they can drive it home.’

Billy Pilani looked surprised. ‘Isn’t there any money to pay,’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘We just have to get the car back to its owner. That’s all.’

Billy Pilani telephoned Mma Ramotswe the next day.

‘I have found that car on our list of stolen cars,’ he said. ‘The owner’s insurance company are very happy to get it back. They will send one of their men to pick it up.’

‘Good,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘The car will be outside the African Shopping Centre in Gaborone next Tuesday morning at seven o’clock. The man must come there with the number plates.’

Everything was agreed. At five o’clock on Tuesday morning, Mma Ramotswe went to the Pekwane house. She found the keys of the car on the ground outside the bedroom window.

‘Good,’ she thought. ‘Mma Pekwane has done as I asked.’

Mma Ramotswe started the car and drove it away. Mma Pekwane’s husband did not hear her. He did not notice that his Mercedes Benz was missing until almost eight o’clock.

‘Call the police,’ shouted Mma Pekwane. ‘Quick!’

‘Maybe later,’ said her husband slowly. ‘First, I think I shall look for it.’

‘So I was right,’ thought Mma Pekwane. ‘He knows he can’t go to the police about this car. The police will ask him a lot of questions. They will find out that the car is stolen.’

She saw Mma Ramotswe later that day and thanked her.

‘I feel much better,’ she said. ‘I will be able to sleep at night without worrying about my husband.’

‘I’m very pleased,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘And maybe your husband has learned a lesson too.’

Mma Ramotswe was very happy with her detective agency and her lovely house in Zebra Drive. She enjoyed her life and had many friends. Her best friend was Mr JLB Matekoni. One day, at his garage, they started talking about the past.

‘I have made hundreds of mistakes in my life–,’ said Mr JLB Matekoni, pouring tea into Mma Ramotswe’s cup. ‘I didn’t know then what I know now.’

Mma Ramotswe looked at him in surprise. ‘You have your business, money in the bank, your own house,’ she said. ‘I can’t see what mistakes you have made. Not like me.’

‘But you are too clever to make mistakes,’ said Mr JLB Matekoni.

‘I married Note.’

Mr JLB Matekoni thought. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That was a bad mistake.’ They were silent, then Mr JLB Matekoni stood up. ‘I would like you to marry me,’ he said. ‘That will not be a mistake.’

Mma Ramotswe hid her surprise. She smiled at her friend.

‘You are a good, kind man,’ she said. ‘You are like my Daddy– a bit. But I cannot get married again. Ever. I am happy as I am. I have got the agency, and the house. My life is full.’

Mr JLB Matekoni sat down. He looked very sad. Mma Ramotswe reached out to touch him. But he moved away, as a burned man moves away from a fire.

‘I am very sorry,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want to marry anybody.’

Mr JLB Matekoni took her cup and poured her more tea. He was silent now. He was not angry, but he had no more words.