Studio Sex aka Studio 69 / Exposed

know for sure is that people react in different ways. There is no universal right or wrong way of doing things. You have to be careful and sensitive so you don't hurt anyone.'

'Well, I'm glad I didn't call.' Annika got up to get some coffee.

By the time she returned, Berit had gone back to her own desk.

I wonder if I've offended her, Annika thought to herself. She saw Berit sitting hunched over a paper at the other end of the newsroom landscape. She quickly picked up the phone and dialed Berit's extension.

'Are you mad at me?' she asked, meeting Berit's gaze across the floor.

Annika saw her laughter and heard it in the earpiece. 'Not a bit! You have to find out for yourself what's right for you.'

The Creepy Calls phone rang and Annika switched receivers.

'How much for a really hot tip?' an excited male voice asked.

Annika groaned inwardly and reeled off the information.

'Okay,' the man said. 'Wait for this- you got a pen?'

'Yeah. Get to the point.'

'I know a TV celebrity who dresses up in women's clothes and visits sex clubs.' The man sounded as if he were ready to burst, and he named one of Sweden's most popular and admired TV presenters.

It made Annika crazy. 'Bull. Do you think Kvallspressen's going to print that garbage?'

The caller was taken by surprise. 'But it's a big story.'

'Jesus, people can do whatever they like. And what makes you think it's true?'

'I have it from a reliable source,' the man said proudly.

'Sure. Thanks for calling.' Annika hung up.

She saw that their tabloid rival had roughly the same copy and photos in their murder coverage as Kvallspressen. But Annika thought they hadn't done as good a job. For example, they didn't have the portrait of Josefin in her graduation cap. And their pictures from the murder scene were weaker and the articles more prosaic; the neighbors they had interviewed were more boring, and their update on the old Eva murder was less thorough. They had no teacher or friend, where Kvallspressen had short interviews both with the friend Charlotta and the deputy principal Martin Larsson-Berg.

'Well done,' Spike said from somewhere above her head. She looked up and met the gaze of her superior.

'Thank you,' she said.

He sat down on the edge of her desk. 'What are we doing today?'

A peculiar warmth spread inside her. She was one of them now. He had come up to her and asked what she was doing.

'I thought I'd go and talk to her roommate, the girl who identified the body.'

'Do you think she'll talk to you?'

'It's not impossible. I've been trying to get in touch with her.'

She knew instinctively that she shouldn't tell him about meeting Patricia in the park. If she did, Spike would get steamed up about her not coming right back to write a story on it.

'Okay,' the news editor said. 'Who's doing the police investigation?'

'Berit and I are doing it together.'

'Okay. What else? Do you think the father and mother will do a weepie?'

Annika fidgeted. 'I'm not sure now's the right time to disturb them.'

'He talked to the Rival. What did he say when you called?'

Annika's cheeks turned red. 'He… I… didn't want to intrude so shortly after…'

Spike got up and left without a word. Annika wanted to explain how wrong it had felt, that you couldn't behave like that. But she didn't make the rules. The stout back of Spike drifted away and she saw him plunk his heavy body down in the swivel chair by his desk. Despite the distance, Annika could make out its heavy creaking.

She quickly grabbed a pad and a pen and a tape recorder, stuffed everything in her bag, and went over to the picture desk. No photographers were in the office and consequently no cars were available. She ordered a cab.

'To Vasastan, Dalagatan.'

She wanted to know what life the dead woman had led.

***

He woke with a start from the light touch of his wife's hand on his shoulder.

'Christer,' she whispered. 'It's the prime minister.'

He sat up, feeling slightly disoriented. The bed swayed and his body ached with weariness.

He got up and walked over toward his study. 'I'll take it in here.'

The prime minister sounded steady and clear on the phone. He'd probably been awake for several hours.

'Well, Christer, did you get back home all right?'

The minister for foreign trade slumped down on the chair by his desk, pulling his hand through his hair. 'Yes, but the drive up was tedious. How are you?'

'I'm just fine. I'm at Harpsund with the family. So how did it go?'

Christer Lundgren cleared his throat. 'As expected. They're not exactly ballerinas at the negotiating table.'

'Well, the arena isn't exactly an opera stage either. How do we proceed?'

The minister for foreign trade quickly sorted through the thoughts in his muddled brain. When he started speaking, his words were tolerably structured and clear. He had had time to think it over on the drive up to Lulea.

After the call he stayed at his desk, his head hanging over the writing pad. It showed a world map from before the fall of the Iron Curtain. He looked among the republics' anonymous yellow patches without cities or borders.

His wife opened the door slightly. 'Do you want some coffee?'

He turned around and smiled at her. 'I'd love some,' he said, his smile widening, 'but first I want you.'

She took his hand and led him back into the bedroom.

***

The doorbell made Patricia jump. The police weren't coming for several hours yet. Her mouth turned dry. What if it was Jossie's parents?

She tiptoed out in the hall and peeked through the peephole. She recognized the woman from the park this morning. She opened the door without hesitation.

'Hi. How did you find me?'

The journalist smiled. She looked tired. 'Computers. There are registers for everything these days. Can I come in?'

'It's a bit of a mess. The police were here and turned everything upside down.'

'I promise not to start clearing up.'

Patricia gave it another moment's thought. 'Okay.' She held the door wide open to the woman. 'What did you say your name was?'

'Annika. Annika Bengtzon.'

They shook hands.

The journalist stepped inside the dark hall and took her shoes off. 'Phew, it's hot.'

'I know,' Patricia said. 'I hardly slept at all last night.'

'Because of Josefin?'

Patricia nodded.

'Nice suit.' Annika nodded in her direction.

Patricia turned red and passed her hand over the shiny pink fabric. 'It was Josefin's. I've been given it.'

'You look like Princess Diana in it.'

'I don't…! I'm too dark. I'll take it off. Just wait here.'