'Where is the Ministry of Industry, Employment, and Communications?'
Annika got the directions and walked past the Museum of Mediterranean and Near East Antiquities to 8 Fredsgatan. She found the equivalent civil servant and asked, 'A traveling-expenses invoice and an entertainment invoice from July twenty-eighth this year. Will it take long?'
The registry clerk was a friendly and efficient woman. 'No, it won't take long. Come back in an hour and we'll have it ready for you. But don't come any later, as we'll be closed.'
Annika went up to Drottninggatan and had a look around. There was a light drizzle, and a mass of black clouds behind the Parliament building signaled heavier rain later in the evening. She strolled around, indifferently looking at the music, posters, and cheap clothes on offer. It was all beyond her, she was flat broke. The impulsive flight up to Pitea had cleaned her out.
She walked down the mall toward Klarabergsgatan. She went into a vile American coffee place and ordered ice water. They wanted five kronor for a glass of tap water. Annika swallowed her cutting remark and dug into her pocket. The rain had gotten heavier and it was worth spending the money to avoid getting soaked.
She sat down at the bar and had a look around. The cafe was full of trendy people with their cappuccinos and espressos. Annika took a sip of water and chewed on an ice cube.
So far she'd resisted the thought, but now it was inescapable. By resigning voluntarily from
But my expenses aren't that high, she thought. She began listing them.
Her rent was only 1,970 kronor a month, and now she had a roommate. Food didn't have to be that much, she could eat pasta. She didn't need a monthly travel ticket. She could buy reduced-rate tickets, walk or sneak in on the subway. She had to have a telephone, that was a priority. Forgoing clothes and makeup was no big sacrifice, at least not for a while.
I need a part-time job, she thought.
'Is this chair taken?'
A guy with two-tone hair and wearing mascara was standing in front of her.
'No, go ahead,' Annika mumbled.
She took the opportunity to go to the bathroom. That didn't cost anything.
Fifty minutes later she was back at the office in Fredsgatan. The registry clerk went inside to collect the papers. She returned with a concerned look on her face.
'I couldn't find any travel-expenses invoices for that date, but here's the entertainment invoice.'
She gave Annika a copy of the invoice. The receipt from Studio 69 was for 55,600 kronor and was specified as 'entertainment and refreshments.'
'Jesus,' Annika said.
'I think they may have trouble getting that past the auditors,' the clerk said without looking up.
'Have a lot of people asked to see this?'
The woman hesitated. 'Not that many, actually.' She looked up. 'We thought a lot would, but so far only a handful have asked for it.'
'But there's no travel-expenses invoice?'
The woman shook her head. 'I checked both the preceding and the following weeks.'
Annika thought a moment. She looked at the sprawling signature on the credit card slip. 'Could he have handed in his travel-expenses invoice at another ministry?'
'The minister for foreign trade? I doubt it. It would still end up here.'
'What about some other public authority? He travels a lot, lobbying for different organizations and companies, doesn't he?'
'Well, I suppose. Maybe the companies pay. I don't know.'
Annika persisted. 'But if he was traveling on behalf of the government and the invoices weren't handed in here, then where?'
The woman's phone rang. Annika noticed her tense up.
'I'm sorry, I honestly don't know,' the woman said. 'Keep the copy, it's on me.'
Annika thanked her and left the woman to answer the call.
The apartment was quiet and still. She went straight to Patricia's room and peeped in.
'Annika!'
To her surprise, Patricia sounded frightened, and she entered the room.
'What is it?' Annika smiled.
Patricia jumped up, threw herself around Annika's neck, and cried.
'Jesus, what's wrong?' Annika said worriedly. 'Has something happened?'
Patricia's hair got tangled up in her eyelashes, and she carefully tried to remove it so that she could see.
'You didn't come home. You didn't spend the night at home, and your boyfriend came here and asked where you were. I thought… something had happened.'
Annika stroked Patricia's hair tenderly. 'Silly. What would happen to me?'
Patricia let go of Annika and wiped her nose on her T-shirt. 'I don't know,' she whispered.
'I'm not Josefin,' Annika said, smiling. 'You don't need to worry yourself over me.' She had to laugh. 'Come on, Patricia, snap out of it! You're worse than my mom. Do you want some coffee?'
Patricia nodded and Annika went out into the kitchen.
'Toast?'
'Yes, please.'
Annika set out evening coffee while Patricia put on a sweat suit. The mood at the table was a bit quiet.
'I'm sorry,' Patricia said, spreading marmalade on a piece of toast.
'Don't worry. You're just a bit on edge, that's all.'
They ate in silence.
'Are you moving out?' Patricia asked timidly after a while.
'Not right now. Why?'
Patricia shrugged. 'Just wondering…'
Annika poured more coffee. 'Has there been much in the papers about Josefin while I've been away?' She blew at the hot drink.
Patricia shook her head. 'Hardly anything. The police say that suspicions point in one direction but that they won't be arresting anyone. Not at the moment, at least.'
'And everybody's interpretation is that the minister is guilty?'
'Something like that.'
'Have they written a lot about him?'
'Even less. It's as if he died rather than resigned.'
Annika sighed. 'Never kick a man when he's down.'
'What?'
'That's how they reason- you stop digging when someone accepts the consequences of his actions and resigns. What else have they been writing about while I was gone?'
'They said on
Annika nodded, it made sense. A minister suspected of murder in the middle of an election campaign was a nightmare.
Patricia wiped her fingers on a piece of paper towel and began clearing the table.
'Have you spoken to the police lately?'
