Read Online Morality for Beautiful Girls by Alexander McCall Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Alexander McCall Smith
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Principles of Private Detection,
had clearly warned, on page two if not on page one itself, that those who became private detectives to find a more exciting life were gravely mistaken as to the nature of the work.
Our job,
he wrote, in a paragraph which had stuck in Mma Ramotswe’s mind and which she had quoted in its entirety to Mma Makutsi when she had first engaged her,
is
to help people in need to resolve the unresolved questions in their lives. There is very little drama in our calling; rather a process of
patient observation, deduction, and analysis. We are sophisticated
watchmen, watching and reporting; there is nothing romantic in our job and those who are looking for romance should lay down this manual at this point and do something else.
Mma Makutsi’s eyes had glazed over when Mma Ramotswe had quoted this to her. It was obvious, then, that she thought of the job in a very different way. Now, with no less a person than the Government Man sitting before them talking about family intrigue and possible poisonings, she felt that at last here was an investigation which could allow them to get their teeth into something worthwhile. And, just as this arose, Mma Ramotswe seemed intent on putting off the client!
The Government Man stared at Mma Ramotswe. Her intervention had annoyed him, and it seemed that he was making an effort to control his displeasure. Mma Makutsi noticed that the top of his lip quivered slightly as he listened.
“I cannot go to the police,” he said, struggling to keep his voice normal. “What could I say to the police? The police would ask for some proof, even from me. They would say that they could hardly go into that house and arrest a wife who would say that she had done nothing, with the husband there, too, saying
This woman has not done anything. What are you talking about?
”
He stopped and looked at Mma Ramotswe as if he had made out his case.
“Well?” he said abruptly. “If I cannot go to the police, then it becomes the job of a private detective. That’s what you people are for, isn’t it? Well, Mma?”
Mma Ramotswe returned his gaze, which in itself was a gesture. In traditional society, she should not have looked so hard into the eyes of a man of his rank. That would have been very rude. But times had changed, and she was a citizen of the modern Republic of Botswana, where there was a constitution which guaranteed the dignity of all citizens, lady private detectives among them. That constitution had been upheld from the very day in 1966 when the Union Jack had been taken down in the stadium and that wonderful blue flag had been raised to the ululating of the crowd. It was a record which no other country in Africa, not one, could match. And she was, after all, Precious Ramotswe, daughter of the late Obed Ramotswe, a man whose dignity and worth was the equal of any man, whether he was from a chiefly family or not. He had been able to look into the eye of anyone, right to the day of his death, and she should be able to do so too.
“It is for me to decide whether I take a case, Rra,” she said. “I cannot help everybody. I try to help people as much as I can, but if I cannot do a thing, then I say that I am sorry but I cannot help that person. That is how we work in the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. In your case, I just do not see how we could find out what we need to find out. This is a problem inside a family. I do not see how a stranger could find out anything about it.”
The Government Man was silent. He glanced at Mma Makutsi, but she dropped her eyes.
“I see,” he said after a few moments. “I think you do not want to help me, Mma. Well now, that is very sad for me.” He paused. “Do you have a licence for this business, Mma?”
Mma Ramotswe caught her breath. “A licence? Is there a law which requires a licence to be a private detective?”
The Government Man smiled, but his eyes were cold. “Probably not. I haven’t checked. But there could be.
had clearly warned, on page two if not on page one itself, that those who became private detectives to find a more exciting life were gravely mistaken as to the nature of the work.
Our job,
he wrote, in a paragraph which had stuck in Mma Ramotswe’s mind and which she had quoted in its entirety to Mma Makutsi when she had first engaged her,
is
to help people in need to resolve the unresolved questions in their lives. There is very little drama in our calling; rather a process of
patient observation, deduction, and analysis. We are sophisticated
watchmen, watching and reporting; there is nothing romantic in our job and those who are looking for romance should lay down this manual at this point and do something else.
Mma Makutsi’s eyes had glazed over when Mma Ramotswe had quoted this to her. It was obvious, then, that she thought of the job in a very different way. Now, with no less a person than the Government Man sitting before them talking about family intrigue and possible poisonings, she felt that at last here was an investigation which could allow them to get their teeth into something worthwhile. And, just as this arose, Mma Ramotswe seemed intent on putting off the client!
The Government Man stared at Mma Ramotswe. Her intervention had annoyed him, and it seemed that he was making an effort to control his displeasure. Mma Makutsi noticed that the top of his lip quivered slightly as he listened.
“I cannot go to the police,” he said, struggling to keep his voice normal. “What could I say to the police? The police would ask for some proof, even from me. They would say that they could hardly go into that house and arrest a wife who would say that she had done nothing, with the husband there, too, saying
This woman has not done anything. What are you talking about?
”
He stopped and looked at Mma Ramotswe as if he had made out his case.
“Well?” he said abruptly. “If I cannot go to the police, then it becomes the job of a private detective. That’s what you people are for, isn’t it? Well, Mma?”
Mma Ramotswe returned his gaze, which in itself was a gesture. In traditional society, she should not have looked so hard into the eyes of a man of his rank. That would have been very rude. But times had changed, and she was a citizen of the modern Republic of Botswana, where there was a constitution which guaranteed the dignity of all citizens, lady private detectives among them. That constitution had been upheld from the very day in 1966 when the Union Jack had been taken down in the stadium and that wonderful blue flag had been raised to the ululating of the crowd. It was a record which no other country in Africa, not one, could match. And she was, after all, Precious Ramotswe, daughter of the late Obed Ramotswe, a man whose dignity and worth was the equal of any man, whether he was from a chiefly family or not. He had been able to look into the eye of anyone, right to the day of his death, and she should be able to do so too.
“It is for me to decide whether I take a case, Rra,” she said. “I cannot help everybody. I try to help people as much as I can, but if I cannot do a thing, then I say that I am sorry but I cannot help that person. That is how we work in the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. In your case, I just do not see how we could find out what we need to find out. This is a problem inside a family. I do not see how a stranger could find out anything about it.”
The Government Man was silent. He glanced at Mma Makutsi, but she dropped her eyes.
“I see,” he said after a few moments. “I think you do not want to help me, Mma. Well now, that is very sad for me.” He paused. “Do you have a licence for this business, Mma?”
Mma Ramotswe caught her breath. “A licence? Is there a law which requires a licence to be a private detective?”
The Government Man smiled, but his eyes were cold. “Probably not. I haven’t checked. But there could be.
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