Mma Ramotswe took a sip of her red bush tea. “Somebody who doesn’t like the teacher woman.”
Charlie raised a finger. “If it was for that teacher woman,” he said. “If…We don’t know, do we? Clovis Andersen…” He paused, smiling with satisfaction at the reference. “Clovis Andersen would say: What do you know? Do you know anything?”
Mma Makutsi looked scornful. “You’re quoting Clovis Andersen, Charlie? Have you actually read that book? You have not. So how do you know what he says?”
Charlie laughed. “He is always saying the same thing. Clovis Andersen says blah, blah, blah! I have heard it all—all the time, you go on about Clovis Andersen and what he says. It is always the same, Mma Makutsi—every time. Exactly the same. So now I know what that guy says without needing to read his book.”
This was heresy, and for a few moments Mma Makutsi was almost too shocked to respond. Yes, it was heresy, and a gross slur against a trusted authority. It was almost as bad—almost—as if somebody were to question the reputation of the Botswana Secretarial College.
Mma Ramotswe sought to reduce the temperature of the conversation. “Let’s not argue about Clovis Andersen,” she said. “But I might just say that Mr. Andersen would always say—and he did, you know, although I forget on which page—that there is often a clue under your nose, right there. And I think there might be one here that settles the question as to whom this letter was addressed.”
“A clue?” asked Charlie. “But there is no name. All I’m saying is that this note might have been for somebody else—who knows? Maybe the person dropped it…” He thought for a moment before continuing, “Yes, what if somebody had dropped it? Somebody walking along the street drops it, and then some other person—some other party—comes along and picks it up and thinks, Oh, some party has dropped a letter he was taking to another party, and then that party—the party who picks up the letter—thinks, I should put it somewhere where that first party will find it. And so he sticks it to the nearest gatepost.” He paused. “So that would mean that this unnamed party is somebody else altogether—somebody who has nothing at all to do with this teacher woman.”
Mma Makutsi looked confused, but Mma Ramotswe simply sighed. “I don’t think so, Charlie.”
Charlie looked reproachfully at Mma Ramotswe. “Why not, Mma?”
“Because,” she explained, “this note is clearly directed at a mathematics person. That is why it talks about being able to add. That is how you might speak to a person who knows all about mathematics. You would say, Yes, but I can add two and two—if you wanted to be rude, of course, which this person clearly wants to be.”
The logic of this was irrefutable; Charlie looked deflated.
“But it is a good idea nonetheless, Charlie,” Mma Ramotswe added hurriedly. “It is exactly what we should be doing in our job—exploring possibilities.” She turned to Mma Makutsi. “Don’t you agree, Mma?”
She did agree. Furthermore, she was now of the opinion that the letter confirmed her earlier view—that the client’s suspicions about her husband were well founded. “This letter is clearly from a woman who has discovered that this lady is having an affair with her husband.” She paused, watching, with some pride, her deduction sink in. “So that, Mma Ramotswe, amounts to corroboration. That is what Clovis Andersen calls it—corroboration. It is evidence that points in the same direction.” She paused again. “Corroboration is very important, Mma.”
Mma Ramotswe took a sip of her tea. “Possibly, Mma Makutsi. Possibly.”
Mma Makutsi’s spectacles caught a beam of sunlight and flashed it back across the room. “Not just possibly, Mma. Definitely.”
Charlie nodded. This conclusion may have been reached by Mma Makutsi, but he had played a vital part in the discovery of the evidence, and he should by rights get at least some of the credit. “That is my view too,” he said gravely. “That lady—that mathematics lady—is interested in other things than equations and stuff. Oh yes, I can tell you that! She is interested in men too, I’d say. Lots of men. Two men plus two men makes four men. That’s what ladies like that think. The more men the better. A man for Monday and then another one for Tuesday. And when Wednesday comes along, well, there’s a man for Wednesday…”
Mma Ramotswe held up a hand. “Excuse me,” she said. “I don’t like to throw cold water—except where some cold water is needed. So I must point out that the note could have been written by our client herself. Had you thought of that, Mma Makutsi? Charlie?”
For a while, the question hung in the air unanswered. But then Mma Makutsi shook her head. “No, Mma. I don’t think that is likely. That lady—our client—knows that her husband is not having an affair. You told her that. You said that he was having mathematics lessons.”
“That is true,” Mma Ramotswe conceded. “But what if she didn’t believe me? What if she thinks that the mathematics lessons are just cover for an affair?”
Charlie saw the force of this interpretation. “Yes, that’s quite possible, I think. There are plenty of mathematics teachers who just pretend to give lessons, but are really carrying on with other women’s husbands. It’s happening all the time, I think.”
Mma Makutsi gave him a withering glance. “That’s complete nonsense, Charlie. Where are these mathematics teachers? Name one. No, you can’t, can you? You think you can say things with no evidence to back them up, but you can’t, you know.”
“I don’t think we should bicker,” said Mma Ramotswe mildly. “It never helps to bicker.”
Mma Makutsi shrugged. Mma Ramotswe might not require facts and figures for her assertions, but she was not going to fall into that trap. Mma Ramotswe, of course, was only too ready to attribute sayings to the late Seretse Khama, first President of Botswana, and a great man in so many respects. If there was a point she wanted to make, then she would say that Seretse Khama said something along those lines. But Mma Makutsi did not believe that Seretse Khama had said half the things that Mma Ramotswe insisted he had said. Why, one lifetime would hardly be enough to pronounce on as many subjects as that. You would have to get out of bed early every morning in order to start saying wise things before breakfast, and then you would spend much of the rest of the day making observations about the world and its workings, about human nature, even about the best way of taking mud off a pair of boots or cleaning a kitchen window. Much as she admired Seretse Khama, she did not think that he had given an opinion on everything.
“I still think—,” Mma Makutsi began, only to be interrupted by Mma Ramotswe.
“Let’s leave it where it should be—as an open question. This letter may be from some other lady, or it may be from our client. So the teacher may be innocent—as I thought she was—or, if the letter is from another person, then she may not be so innocent. I have had a letter myself this morning.”