Alexander Smith - The no. 1 ladies' detective agency

Mma Ramotswe was standing at the counter of the shop looking at a bottle of perfume when Mma Makutsi hurtled through the door.

"Mma Ramotswe," she panted. "A client. There is a client in the office. It is a big case. A missing man. Come quickly. There is no time to lose."

THE WIVES of missing men are all the same, thought Mma Ramotswe. At first they feel anxiety, and are convinced that something dreadful has happened. Then doubt begins to creep in, and they wonder whether he's gone off with another woman (which he usually has), and then finally they become angry. At the anger stage, most of them don't want him back anymore, even if he's found. They just want to have a good chance to shout at him.

Mma Malatsi was in the second stage, she thought. She has begun to suspect that he is off somewhere having a good time, while she's left at home, and of course it's beginning to rankle. Perhaps there are debts to be paid, even if she looks as if she's got a fair bit of money.

"Maybe you should tell me a little bit more about your husband," she said, as Mma Malatsi began to drink the cup of strong bush tea which Mma Makutsi had brewed for her.

"His name is Peter Malatsi," Mma Malatsi said. "He's forty and he has-had-has a business selling furniture. It's a good business and he did well. So he hasn't run away from any creditors."

Mma Ramotswe nodded. "There must be another reason," she began, and then, cautiously. "You know what men are like, Mma. What about another woman? Do you think…"

Mma Malatsi shook her head vigorously.

"I don't think so," she said. "Maybe a year ago that would have been possible, but then he became a Christian and took up with some Church that was always singing and marching around the place in white uniforms."

Mma Ramotswe noted this down. Church. Singing. Got religion badly? Lady preacher lured him away?

"Who were these people?" she said. "Maybe they know something about him?"

Mma Malatsi shrugged. "I'm not sure," she said, slightly irritably. "In fact, I don't know. He asked me to come with him once or twice, but I refused. So he just used to go off by himself on Sundays. In fact, he disappeared on a Sunday. I thought he'd gone off to his Church."

Mma Ramotswe looked at the ceiling. This was not going to be as hard as some of these cases. Peter Malatsi had gone off with one of the Christians; that was pretty clear. All she had to do now was find which group it was and she would be on his trail. It was the old predictable story; it would be a younger Christian, she was sure of that.

BY THE end of the following day, Mma Ramotswe had compiled a list of five Christian groups which could fit the description. Over the next two days she tracked down the leaders of three of them, and was satisfied that nothing was known of Peter Malatsi. Two of the three tried to convert her; the third merely asked her for money and received a five-pula note.

When she located the leader of the fourth group, the Reverend Shadreck Mapeli, she knew that the search was over. When she mentioned the Malatsi name, the Reverend gave a shudder and glanced over his shoulder surreptitiously.

"Are you from the police?" he asked. "Are you a policeman?"

"Policewoman," she said.

"Ah!" he said mournfully. "Aee!"

"I mean, I'm not a policewoman," she said quickly. "I'm a private detective."

The Reverend appeared to calm down slightly.

"Who sent you?"

"Mma Malatsi."

"Ooh," said the Reverend. "He told us that he had no wife."

"Well, he did," said Mma Ramotswe. "And she's been wondering where he is."

"He's dead," said the Reverend. "He's gone to the Lord."

Mma Ramotswe sensed that he was telling the truth, and that the enquiry was effectively at an end. Now all that remained to be done was to find out how he had died.

"You must tell me," she said. "I won't reveal your name to anybody if you don't want me to. Just tell me how it happened."

They drove to the river in Mma Ramotswe's small white van. It was the rainy season, and there had been several storms, which made the track almost impassable. But at last they reached the river's edge and parked the van under a tree.

"This is where we have our baptisms," said the Reverend, pointing to a pool in the swollen waters of the river. "This is where I stood, here, and this is where the sinners entered the water."

"How many sinners did you have?" asked Mma Ramotswe.

"Six sinners altogether, including Peter. They all went in together, while I prepared to follow them with my staff."

"Yes?" said Mma Ramotswe. "Then what happened?"

"The sinners were standing in the water up to about here." The Reverend indicated his upper chest. "I turned round to tell the flock to start singing, and then when I turned back I noticed that there was something wrong. There were only five sinners in the water." "One had disappeared?"

"Yes," said the Reverend, shaking slightly as he spoke. "God had taken one of them to His bosom."

Mma Ramotswe looked at the water. It was not a big river, and for much of the year it was reduced to a few stagnant pools. But in a good rainy season, such as that year's, it could be quite a torrent. A nonswimmer could easily be swept away, she reflected, and yet, if somebody were to be swept away the body would surely be found downstream. There were plenty of people who went down to the river for one purpose or another and who would be bound to notice a body. The police would have been called. There would have been something in the newspaper about an unidentified body being found in the Not-wane River; the paper was always looking for stories like that. They wouldn't have let the opportunity go by.

She thought for a moment. There was another explanation, and it made her shiver. But before she went into that, she had to find out why the Reverend had kept so quiet about it all.

"You didn't tell the police," she said, trying not to sound too accusing. "Why not?"

The Reverend looked down at the ground, which, in her experience, was where people usually looked if they felt truly sorry. The shamelessly unrepentant, she found, always looked up at the sky.

"I know I should have told them. God will punish me for it. But I was worried that I would be blamed for poor Peter's accident and I thought they would take me to court. They might make me pay damages for it, and that would drive the Church into bankruptcy and put a stop to God's work." He paused. "Do you understand why I kept quiet, and told all the flock not to say anything?"

Mma Ramotswe nodded, and reached out to touch the Reverend gently on the arm.

"I do not think that what you did was bad," she said. "I'm sure that God wanted you to continue and He will not be angry. It was not your fault."

The Reverend raised his eyes and smiled.

"Those are kind words, my sister. Thank you."

THAT AFTERNOON, Mma Ramotswe asked her neighbour if she could borrow one of his dogs. He had a pack of five, and she hated every one of them for their incessant barking. These dogs barked in the morning, as if they were roosters, and at night, when the moon rose in the sky. They barked at crows, and at hammerkops; they barked at passersby; and they sometimes barked just because they had got too hot.

"I need a dog to help me on one of my cases," she explained. "I'll bring him back safe and sound."

The neighbour was flattered to have been asked.

"I'll give you this dog here," he said. "It's the senior dog, and he has a very good nose. He will make a good detective dog."

Mma Ramotswe took the dog warily. It was a large yellow creature, with a curious, offensive smell. That night, just after sunset, she put it in the back of her van, tying its neck to a handle with a piece of string. Then she set off down the track that led to the river, her headlights picking out the shapes of the thorn trees and the anthills in the darkness. In a strange way, she felt glad of the company of the dog, unpleasant though it was.