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Chapter nine

The Careless Doctor

Mma Ramotswe had the information now to find a murderer. But there was another mystery to solve. One of Mma Ramotswe’s friends, Dr Maketsi, was a doctor at the Princess Marina Hospital. One evening he called into her office on his way home from work.

‘I am worried about one of our young doctors, Dr Komoti,’ he said. ‘He came here about six months ago. At first everything was fine. But then he started making mistakes. Some days his work is very good, but the next day he makes a bad mistake.’

‘Are you sure that he is really a doctor,’ asked Mma Ramotswe.

‘Oh yes,’ said Dr Maketsi. ‘Before he came to Botswana, he worked in a hospital in Nairobi. I telephoned that hospital. His work was very good, they said. They even sent me a photograph of him. I’m sure that it is the same man.’

‘Can’t you just test him,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘You could ask him some difficult questions.’

‘I’ve done that,’ said Dr Maketsi. ‘The first time, he gave very good answers. But the second time, he didn’t know how to answer my questions. I’m afraid that he is taking drugs.’

‘I’m not sure that I can help,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘Drugs are a business for the police. What do you want me to do?’

‘Find out about him,’ said Dr Maketsi. ‘Follow him. If he is taking drugs, it will be a big problem for the hospital.’

Dr Maketsi gave Mma Ramotswe Dr Komoti’s address, his photograph and the number of his car number plate. She started following him two days later. She sat outside the hospital in her tiny white van and waited for him in the evenings. But Dr Komoti always went straight home and stayed there.

Then on Friday afternoon, things changed. Dr Komoti came out of the hospital and got into his car. But this time he did not go home. He turned towards the Lobatse Road. ‘This is interesting,’ thought Mma Ramotswe. Lobatse was close to the border with South Africa. Was Dr Komoti passing drugs into South Africa, or picking them up from there?

But Dr Komoti did not stop in Lobatse. Mma Ramotswe was worried. Was he going to Mafikeng, in South Africa?

Mma Ramotswe watched Dr Komoti drive across the border. She could not follow him because she did not have her passport. So she went back to Gaborone, feeling angry with herself. Dr Komoti was in South Africa and she had to stay in Botswana.

The next day, Mma Ramotswe went into town and had a cup of coffee with a friend at the President Hotel. As she was walking down the front steps, she saw Dr Komoti.

Mma Ramotswe was very surprised. ‘He went to South Africa only yesterday evening,’ she thought. ‘Why did he come back to Botswana so soon?’

The next Friday, Dr Komoti drove to South Africa again. This time Mma Ramotswe followed him across the border.

In Mafikeng, Dr Komoti stopped outside a house with a large garden and went into one of the houses. Mma Ramotswe drove past and parked the van under a tree. Then she walked back to the house. She pushed the garden gate open carefully and went into the garden. It was very large and untidy.

Suddenly a window at the back of the house opened, and a man looked out. It was Dr Komoti.

‘You! Yes, you, fat lady! What are you doing in our garden?’

‘It is hot,’ Mma Ramotswe called out. ‘Can you give me a drink of water?’

The window closed, and a few minutes later the kitchen door opened. Dr Komoti stood on the step, holding a cup of water. He gave it to Mma Ramotswe. She drank the water gratefully.

‘What do you want,’ he said. ‘Are you looking for work?’

Suddenly another man came behind Dr Komoti, and looked over his shoulder. It was another Dr Komoti.

‘What does this woman want,’ said the second Dr Komoti.

‘I was looking at this house,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘I lived here when I was a child. My mother worked in this house as a cook and my father kept the garden tidy. It was better then.’

‘We have no time to look after the garden,’ said one of the Dr Komoti’s. ‘We are busy men. We are both doctors, you see.’

‘Ah,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘Here at the hospital?’

‘No,’ said the first Dr Komoti. ‘I work down near the railway station. My brother–’

‘I work up that way,’ said the other Dr Komoti, pointing to the north. ‘You can look at the garden as much as you like.’

‘You are very kind,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘Thank you.’

Mma Ramotswe spent a few minutes in the garden, then walked away. So there were two Dr Komoti’s. Twin brothers. But it was not unusual for two brothers to study medicine.

She drove to the railway station and stopped the van outside. She saw a woman selling food and sweet drinks.

‘I am looking for a doctor called Dr Komoti,’ she said. ‘Do you know where his place is?’

The woman pointed to a building across a dusty square. ‘Over there,’ she said. ‘Many people go to that doctor.’

Mma Ramotswe thanked the woman and walked across the square. The door of the building was not locked. She pushed it open and found a woman inside.

‘I am sorry but the doctor isn’t here, Mma,’ said the woman. ‘I am the nurse. You can see the doctor on Monday afternoon.’

‘I just wanted to say hello to Dr Komoti,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘I worked for him when he was in Nairobi. I was a nurse in the hospital there. Do you know the other Dr Komoti? The brother?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said the nurse. She was more friendly now. ‘He often comes in here to help. Two or three times a week.’

Mma Ramotswe put down her cup, very slowly.

‘Oh, they did that up in Nairobi too,’ she said carelessly. ‘One doctor helped the other. And usually the patients didn’t know that they were seeing a different doctor.’

The nurse laughed. ‘They do it here too,’ she said. ‘Nobody has realised that there are two doctors. Everyone seems happy. But only one of them is a good doctor. I am surprised that the other one passed his examinations.’

Mma Ramotswe thought, but did not say, ‘He didn’t.’

She went back to Gaborone the next day and telephoned Dr Maketsi. He came to her office immediately.

‘Dr Komoti is not taking drugs,’ she said. ‘But he has a twin brother. One of the brothers passed his examinations and became a doctor. The other didn’t. The doctor took two jobs, here and in South Africa. When he wasn’t working in the hospital, the other man, his brother, did his work for him.’

Dr Maketsi sat silent with his head in his hands.

‘So we’ve had both doctors in our hospital,’ he said. ‘Only one is a real doctor, but he gets paid for two jobs. I’ll have to go to the police, but this will be very bad for our hospital. People will be afraid to go there now’

‘I agree with you,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘We must protect people. Why don’t we tell the police in South Africa, not the police in Gaborone. I shall telephone my friend, Billy Pilani. He is a police chief down there. It will be in the newspapers in South Africa. But people in Gaborone won’t find out about it.’

‘That’s a very good idea,’ said Dr Maketsi, smiling warmly at his old friend.