Studio Sex aka Studio 69 / Exposed

'We've found her clothes.'

Annika felt the hair on her arms stand on end. This was news. He was giving her an exclusive.

'Where?'

'At the incinerating plant in Hogdalen.'

'At the dump?'

'No, they were in a compactor together with a whole lot of other garbage. They must have been thrown in a trash can somewhere on Kungsholmen. They're emptied into open wagons every day and the contents are compacted along with everything that's picked up from the street. So you can imagine.'

'Will you be able to use the clothes as evidence?'

'So far the techs have found parts of a TV, fibers from couch upholstery, what look like bits of banana, and feces from a diaper among the clothes.' He sighed.

'So it's useless?'

'So far, yes.'

'Were the clothes torn?'

'Torn to pieces- by the compactor.'

'So all fingerprints, hairs, tears, and other stuff that could have told you something is ruined.'

'You've got it.'

'Can I write that?'

'Do you think it's of any interest?'

'The murderer must have dumped the clothes in the trash can. Someone might have seen him.'

'Where? How many people throw rubbish in a bin on Kungsholmen every day? Take a guess!'

'Like… everybody?'

'Correct! And it doesn't even have to have been the murderer who put them in the bin. The clothes could have been found by some concerned citizen who thought they were littering the footpath or something.'

She waited in silence. 'At least it shows that the police are doing something,' she said after a while.

He laughed. 'Which must be a good thing.'

'Perhaps I don't need to state exactly how ruined the clothes are. The murderer doesn't need to know.'

He grunted but didn't respond.

'What about the interviews?'

'I can't say anything about them. They're progressing.' The chill was back.

'What about the people I mentioned earlier?'

'They're just a start.'

'What about the autopsy? Did it produce anything?'

'It will be performed during office hours, that is, tomorrow.'

'What kind of place is Studio 69?'

'Go find out for yourself.'

'Do you know which minister the woman was talking about?'

'I'm glad there's something left for you to find out. I can't talk any longer now. Bye.'

Annika contemplated the information she'd been given. The clothes thing was new, they could work that. Pity the police didn't rate the find highly, but at least they knew now that the murderer didn't keep the clothes.

Spike, Jansson, and Picture Pelle had returned from the handover. They were chatting over at the news desk.

'I've got an exclusive, at least for the time being.'

The men looked at her, all with the same surprised and slightly annoyed look on their faces.

'They've found her clothes.'

The men straightened up and reached for their pens.

'No shit. Can we get a photo of them?' the picture editor asked.

'No, but of the place where they were found. The incineration plant in Hogdalen.'

'They get any leads?'

Annika weighed her answer. 'Not really, but the police don't want to say that.'

The men nodded.

'It's looking good,' Jansson said. 'Together with what we've got already, this is some good stuff. Look at it.'

He held out a sketch pad to Annika.

'I think we'll lead off with your story, 'New Police Lead'; photo of Josefin; photo of the dump. Soon we'll have to get a picture byline for you, Bengtzon!'

The men all laughed, kindly laughs. Annika cast down her eyes and blushed.

'Then there's the dad,' Jansson went on. 'Berit got a fantastic interview with him.'

Annika was dumbfounded. 'She did?'

'She sure did. He came up here shouting and going on about getting screwed, and Berit took care of him. Said he wanted to tell his story. She's gone out to the parents with the copy. They wanted to see the story first.'

'Incredible,' Annika mumbled.

'Then we need something from the murder scene. Any flowers there yet?'

'There weren't many this afternoon.'

'Can you go and check out if there's any more now? Maybe talk to some mourners, someone leaving a message or lighting a candle.'

Annika sighed and nodded. 'What about her classmates?'

'Berit couldn't find any, apart from your Charlotta. We've got a photo of her in her room. Some of them are sure to be returning home tonight- it's the end of the industrial holidays today. But leave that for the time being, this will do for today. We've got the forest fires and the situation in the Middle East as well. It's getting pretty bad…'

The subeditors clattered in, raring to go to work. Annika returned to her desk, wrote her copy about the new police lead, and packed her bag to go down to the murder scene again.

Bertil Strand wasn't in, so she switched on the TV that was suspended from the ceiling above the desk. Josefin wasn't even mentioned on the local news.

Rapport spent half of their thirty-minute broadcast on the Middle East. Seven Israelis and fifteen Palestinians had been killed during the day. Three of them were small children. Annika shuddered.

After that the spokesperson for the Green Party demanded a commission be set up to look into the systematic registration of leftists in the seventies and into the IB affair.

Toward the end they showed part two of the Russia correspondent's report on the Caucasus conflict. The day before he had interviewed the Swedish-speaking president, today the reporter was with his guerrilla opponent.

'We're fighting for freedom,' the leader said, one Kalashnikov in each hand. 'The president is a hypocrite and a traitor.'

There were women and children at the opposition headquarters. The little ones were laughing, running around barefoot, covered in dust. The women pulled their kerchiefs over their heads and disappeared into the black doorways of the houses. The guerrilla leader opened a door to a cellar and the TV reporter followed him underground. In the camera's light you could see row upon row of Russian arms: crates of mines, handguns, automatic weapons, hand grenades, antitank-grenade launchers, and on and on.

Annika was depressed. She was tired and hungry. What did it matter what she wrote about one dead Swedish girl when people around the world did nothing but destroy each other?

She went to the cafeteria and bought a bag of raspberry candies. She ate the entire contents of the bag on the way back to her desk and felt sick.

'How's it going, Annika?' It was Berit.

'So-so. I can't help thinking about all the misery in the world. It brings me down. Did you do okay with the parents?'

'Oh, yes. They had a few minor objections to what I'd written, but on the whole we agreed. We've got a picture of them sitting on the bed in Josefin's room. It looked untouched.'

Berit walked over to the news desk to tell the editors. At the same moment Bertil Strand walked in.

'Have you got time for a quick trip to the murder scene?' Annika said, reaching for her bag.

'I just parked the car in the garage. Couldn't you have said something earlier?'