Studio Sex aka Studio 69 / Exposed

'We're supposed to send them over to the Rival as soon as we've finished with them.'

'Of course. We'll have them couriered over as soon as they've printed their last edition tomorrow. Well done!'

Annika returned to her desk. She sat down and stared at the phone. There wasn't much to think about. It was half past two, and if she was going to get hold of any of Josefin's friends, she had to get started right away.

She started with two non-Swedish surnames but got no reply. Then she tried a Silfverbiorck and got hold of a young woman. Annika's pulse quickened and she covered her eyes with one hand.

'I'm sorry to call in the middle of the night,' Annika began slowly in a low voice. 'My name is Annika Bengtzon and I'm calling from the newspaper Kvallspressen. I'm calling because one of your classmates, Josefin Liljeberg, has…' Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat.

'Yes, I've heard,' the girl- Charlotta, according to the class register- sobbed. 'It's awful. We're all so shocked. We have to support each other.'

Annika opened her eyes, grabbed a pen, and started taking notes. This was a lot simpler than she'd imagined.

'It's our biggest fear,' Charlotta said. 'It's what young women like us are most afraid of. Now it's happened to a friend, one of us. We all have to respond to it.' She had stopped sobbing and sounded quite alert.

Annika took notes. 'Is it something you and your friends have discussed?'

'Yes, sure. Though no one really thought it would happen to one of us. You never do.'

'Did you know Josefin well?'

Charlotta gave a sob, a dry, deep sigh. 'She was my best friend.' Annika suspected she was telling a lie.

'What was Josefin like?'

Charlotta had a ready answer: 'Always kind and cheerful. Helpful, fair, good grades. She liked partying. Yes, I suppose you can say that…'

Annika waited in silence for a moment.

'Will you need my picture?'

Annika looked at her watch. She figured it out: to Taby and back, developing the film- it would be too tight. 'Not tonight. The paper's going to press soon. Can I call you again tomorrow?'

'Of course, or you can try my pager.'

Annika took the number. She leaned her forehead on her hand and had a think. Josefin still felt vague and distant to her. She couldn't establish a clear picture of the dead woman.

'What did Josefin want to do with her life?'

'What do you mean, 'do'? Have a family, get a job, you know…'

'Where did she work?'

'Work?'

'Yes, which restaurant?'

'Oh, I don't know that.'

'She'd moved in to Stockholm, to Dalagatan. Did you visit her there?'

'Dalagatan? No…'

'Do you know why she moved?'

'She wanted to get into town, I guess.'

'Did she have a boyfriend?'

Charlotta was silent. Annika understood. This girl didn't know Josefin well at all.

'Thanks for letting me disturb you in the middle of the night,' Annika said.

Now there was only one more call to make. She looked up Liljeberg in the phone book again, but there was no Josefin on Dalagatan. She'd recently moved there and hadn't been listed yet, Annika thought, and called directory assistance.

'No, we have no Liljeberg on Dalagatan sixty-four,' the operator informed her.

'It could be a very new number.'

'I can see all subscriptions that were ordered up until yesterday.'

'Could she be ex-directory?'

'No,' the operator said. 'That information would have showed up on my screen. Could the number be in somebody else's name?'

Annika aimlessly leafed through the printouts. She came across Josefin's mother, Liljeberg Hed, Siv Barbro. 'Hed. Check if there's a Hed on Dalagatan sixty-four.'

The operator typed it in. 'Yes, there's a Barbro Hed. Could that be the one?'

'Yep.'

She dialed the number without hesitation. A man answered on the fourth ring.

'Is this Josefin's house?'

'Who are you?'

'My name's Annika Bengtzon and I'm calling from-'

'Damn it, I'm running into you everywhere.' Now Annika recognized the voice. 'Q!' she exclaimed. 'What are you doing there?'

'What do you think? And how the hell did you get hold of this number? Even we haven't got it!'

'It was really hard, you know. I called directory assistance. What have you got?'

'I really don't have time right now.' The man hung up.

Annika smiled. At least she had the right number. And she could add the fact that the police had been at Josefin's apartment during the night.

'I've got to know what you've got,' Jansson said, and sat down on her desk.

'This is how it'll be,' she said, and made a quick outline on a pad. Jansson nodded approvingly and jogged back to his desk.

She wrote the article about who Josefin was- the ambitious clergyman's daughter who dreamed of becoming a journalist. She wrote another piece on her death, mentioning her eyes and the death scream, her gnawed hand and the grief of her friend. She left the silicone breasts out. She wrote about the police hunt, the missing clothes, her last hours, the agitated tipster who had phoned the paper, about Daniella Hermansson's unease and the appeal of the press officer: 'This maniac has to be stopped.'

'This is pretty good,' Jansson said. 'Elegantly written, factual, and to the point. You've got some potential!'

Annika immediately had to walk away. She was bad at handling criticism, even worse at dealing with praise. She treasured the magic, the dance of the letters, that which gave her words wings. If she accepted the praise, the shimmering bubbles might burst.

'Let's have a cup of cocoa before you go home,' Berit said.

***

The minister passed Bergnas Bridge. He met a vintage American convertible halfway across, some aging rockers draped over the sides of the car. Other than that, he didn't see a single living soul.

He breathed out when he turned into the side streets behind the green bunker of the social security office. The noises and the whining had accompanied him for over 150 miles. It would soon be over.

After parking next to the rental firm office, he just sat in the car, enjoying the silence. He still had a little ringing in his left ear. He was exhausted. Still he had no choice. He groaned and climbed out of the car with stiff limbs. He quickly glanced about him and then urinated behind the car.

The bags were heavier than he'd imagined. I won't make it, he thought. He walked toward Storgatan, past the Citizen's Advice Bureau, then entered the old residential district of Ostermalm. He got a glimpse of his own house behind the birch trees, the old windows glittering in the early dawn. The kids' bikes lay next to the porch. The bedroom window was ajar, and he smiled when he saw the curtain flutter in the breeze.

'Christer…?' His wife looked over at him drowsily when he crept into the bedroom. He hurried over to the bed and sat down next to her, stroked her hair, and kissed her on the mouth.

'You go on sleeping, darling,' he whispered.