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The man came out of his dream flailing, sending a stand of nicely sharpened pencils on a flight across the room. He leaped from the desktop and into his shoes. The visitors watched as he ran around the desk, gathered his shirt, and put it on. He was a plain-looking man with a naturally confused expression. He sat on the chair, fastened his shirt buttons, and, as if they hadn’t witnessed the entire resurrection, asked his visitors, “May I help you?”
Phosy, smiling, handed him a mimeographed sheet with his photograph stapled to a top corner. This was his ID. The man scrutinized it with great care.
“Police?” he concluded.
“Very good. There was a death in front of The Ministry last night. Maybe early this morning. Are you missing anyone?”
“Now, that’s hard to say.”
“We’re missing people all the time. Staff off in other provinces. People off sick. We haven’t seen the head or deputy head for over a week."
“Isn’t there some schedule? Some way to check who is supposed to be where?”
“Where’s the office that arranges all the trips?”
“Oh, right. That would be me."
Härlig bok. Lite mysig på samma sätt som Damernas detektivbyrå med älskvärda karaktärer samtidigt som det är intressant att läsa lite om Laos historia. Fler smakbitar finns på Flukten fra virkeligheten.
Ha en trevlig söndag!