The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency

CHAPTER NINETEEN

MR CHARLIE Gotso looked at Mma Ramotswe. He respected fat women, and indeed had married one five years previously. She had proved to be a niggling, troublesome woman and eventually he had sent her down to live on a farm near Lobatse, with no telephone and a road that became impassable in wet weather. She had complained about his other women, insistently, shrilly, but what did she expect? Did she seriously think that he, Mr Charlie Gotso, would restrict himself to one woman, like a clerk from a Government department? When he had all that money and influence? And a BA as well? That was the trouble with marrying an uneducated woman who knew nothing of the circles in which he moved. He had been to Nairobi and Lusaka. He knew what people were thinking in places like that. An intelligent woman, a woman with a BA, would have known better; but then, hereminded himself, this fat woman down in Lobatse had borne him five children already and one had to acknowledge that fact. If only she would not carp on about other women.

"You are the woman from Matekoni?"

She did not like his voice. It was sandpaper-rough, and he slurred the ends of the words lazily, as if he could not be bothered to make himself clear. This came from contempt, she felt; if you were as powerful as he was, then why bother to communicate properly with your inferiors? As long as they understood what you wanted-that was the essential thing.

"Mr J.L.B. Matekoni asked me to help him, Rra. I am a private detective."

Mr Gotso stared at her, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"I have seen this place of yours. I saw a sign when I was driving past. A private detective agency for ladies, or something like that."

"Not just for ladies, Rra," said Mma Ramotswe. "We are lady detectives but we work for men too. Mr Patel, for example. He consulted us."

The smile became broader. "You think you can tell men things?"

Mma Ramotswe answered calmly. "Sometimes. It depends. Sometimes men are too proud to listen. We can't tell that sort of man anything."

He narrowed his eyes. The remark was ambiguous. She could have been suggesting he was proud, or she could be talking about other men. There were others, of course…

"So anyway," said Mr Gotso. "You know that I lost some property from my car. Matekoni says that you might know who took it and get it back for me?"

Mma Ramotswe inclined her head in agreement. "I have done that," she said. "I found out who broke into your car. They were just boys. A couple of boys."

Mr Gotso raised an eyebrow. "Their names? Tell me who they are."

"I cannot do that," said Mma Ramotswe. "I want to smack them. You will tell me who they are." Mma Ramotswe looked up at Mr Gotso and met his gaze. For a moment neither said anything. Then she spoke: "I gave them my word I would not give their names to anybody if they gave me back what they had stolen. It was a bargain." As she spoke, she looked around Mr Gotso's office. It was just behind the Mall, in an unprepossessing side street, marked on the outside with a large blue sign, gotso holding enterprises. Inside, the room was simply furnished, and if it were not for the photographs on the wall, you would hardly know that this was the room of a powerful man. But the photographs gave it away: Mr Gotso with Moeshoeshoe, King of the Basotho; Mr Gotso with Hastings Banda; Mr Gotso with Sobhuza II. This was a man whose influence extended beyond their borders.

"You made a promise on my behalf?" "Yes, I did. It was the only way I could get the item back." Mr Gotso appeared to think for a moment; Mma Ramotswe looked at one of the pictures more closely. Mr Gotso was giving a cheque to some good cause and everybody was smiling; "Big cheque handed over for charity" ran the cut-out newspaper headline below.

"Very well," he said. "I suppose that was all you could do. Now, where is this item of property?"

Mma Ramotswe reached into her handbag and took out the small leather pouch.

"This is what they gave me."

She put it on the table and he reached across and took it in his hand.

"This is not mine, of course. This is something which one of my men had. I was looking after it for him. I have no idea what it is."

"Muti, Rra. Medicine from a witch doctor."

Mr Gotso's look was steely.

"Oh yes? Some little charm for the superstitious?"

Mma Ramotswe shook her head.

"No, I don't think so. I think that is powerful stuff. I think that was probably rather expensive."

"Powerful?" His head stayed absolutely still as he spoke, she noticed. Only the lips moved as the unfinished words slid out.

"Yes. That is good. I would like to be able to get something like that myself. But I do not know where I can find it."

Mr Gotso moved slightly now, and the eyes slid down Mma Ramotswe's figure.

"Maybe I could help you, Mma."

She thought quickly, and then gave her answer. "I would like you to help me. Then maybe I could help you in some way."

He had reached for a cigarette from a small box on his table and was now lighting it. Again the head did not move.

"In what way could you help me, Mma? Do you think I'm a lonely man?"

"You are not lonely. I have heard that you are a man with many women friends. You don't need another."

"Surely I'm the best judge of that."

"No, I think you are a man who likes information. You need that to keep powerful. You need muti too, don't you?"

He took the cigarette out of his mouth and laid it on a large glass ashtray.

"You should be careful about saying things like that," he said. The words were well articulated now; he could speak clearly when he wanted to. "People who accuse others of witchcraft can regret it. Really regret it."

"But I am not accusing you of anything. I told you myself that I used it, didn't I? No, what I was saying was that you are a man who needs to know what's going on in this town. You can easily miss things if your ears are blocked with wax."

He picked up the cigarette again and drew on it.

"You can tell me things?"

Mma Ramotswe nodded. "I hear some very interesting things in my business. For example, I can tell you about that man who is trying to build a shop next to your shop in the Mall. You know him? Would you like to hear about what he did before he came to Gaborone? He wouldn't like people to know that, I think."

Mr Gotso opened his mouth and picked a fragment of tobacco from his teeth.

"You are a very interesting woman, Mma Ramotswe. I think I understand you very well. I will give you the name of the witch doctor if you give me this useful information. Would that suit you?"

Mma Ramotswe clicked her tongue in agreement. "That is very good. I shall be able to get something from this man which will help me get even better information. And if I hear anything else, well I shall be happy to let you know."

"You are a very good woman," said Mr Gotso, picking up a small pad of paper. "I'm going to draw you a sketch-map. This man lives out in the bush not far from Molepolole. It is difficult to find his place, but this will show you just where to go. I warn you, by the way-he's not cheap. But if you say that you are a friend of Mr Charlie Gotso, then you will find that he takes off twenty percent. Which isn't at all bad, is it?"