Studio Sex aka Studio 69 / Exposed

presenter pointed out. 'But what would happen were he to be arrested?'

Annika got up, her head spinning. So a government minister was involved. The fat woman had been right.

The professor and the studio reporter droned on, occasionally with the involvement of two reporters out on location.

'Does this have anything to do with your job?' Grandmother asked.

Annika gave a wan smile. 'You can say that again. I've written quite a lot about this murder. She was only nineteen, Grandma. Her name was Josefin.'

The studio reporter sounded serious and confident. 'We have not been able to get hold of the minister for foreign trade for a comment. He has been in a meeting with the prime minister and the party secretary all afternoon. Our reporter is outside the Cabinet Office.'

Annika opened her eyes wide. 'They're wrong!' she exclaimed.

Her grandmother gave her a quizzical look.

'The prime minister- he hasn't been in any meetings. I've got to go back to Stockholm. You have the mushrooms.'

'Do you have to?'

Annika hesitated. 'No, but I want to.'

'Take care of yourself,' the old woman said.

They hugged quickly and Annika stepped out into the hot evening sun. Whiskas scampered along the path with her.

'No, go back. You can't come with me. You have to stay with Grandma.'

Annika stopped and cuddled the cat for a moment before she pushed him back in the opposite direction.

'Stay there. That's it, go back to Grandma.'

The cat ran past her on the path, toward the barrier. Annika sighed, called the cat to her, scooped him up in her arms, and returned with him to the house.

'I think you'll have to shut the front door until I'm gone,' Annika said, and her grandmother chuckled.

The wind had picked up and was sweeping down the road, helping Annika along. She pedaled equally hard up and down the hills and was out of breath when she parked the bicycle outside the house on Tattarbacken.

'I heard you were back.'

Sven slammed the car door and came walking toward her from the parking lot. Annika locked her bicycle and gave him a pale smile.

'It's only a quick visit.'

Sven took her in his arms. 'I've missed you,' he whispered.

Annika hugged him and he kissed her hard. She withdrew.

'What's wrong?' He let go of her.

'I've got to go back to Stockholm.'

The gravel crunched under her feet as she walked over to the street door. She heard him following behind.

'But you just got here. Don't you get any time off at all?'

She pulled the door open. The stairwell smelled of garbage.

'Yes, I'm off right now. But things have happened in the murder case I'm covering.'

'And are you the only reporter they have?'

She leaned against the wall, shut her eyes, and thought about it. 'I want to go. This is my chance.'

He stood in front of her. He placed one hand on each side of her head, a thoughtful look in his eyes. 'To get away from here? Is that it?'

She looked him in the eyes. 'To get somewhere. I've already written everything there is to write about at Katrineholms-Kuriren: forestry supplements, auctions, municipal meetings, composting reports… I want to move on.' She ducked under his arm.

He grabbed her by the shoulder. 'I'll drive you.'

'That's okay. I'll take the train.'

***

The club was empty. Daytime business was slow in this heat. The men could ogle tits for free on the beach. Patricia took a quick look in the register- only three thousand. Five customers all afternoon and evening. Pitiful. She pushed the register closed. Oh, well, they'd make good during the night. The heat got the tourists' blood boiling.

She went into the bare dressing room next to the office and hung up her bag and jeans jacket, pulled off her top and shorts, and put on the sequined bra. Her panties were dirty and she had to remember to wash them before she left tomorrow morning. She quickly put on a thick layer of makeup. She didn't really like wearing it. Her shoes were wearing down; the heel was almost gone on one of them. She did up the straps, took a deep breath, and tripped back to the entrance.

The roulette table was gray from cigarette ash on the guests' side; she noticed yet another cigarette burn on the green baize. She removed the ashtray- smoking shouldn't be allowed at the table. She picked up the brush from the shelf on the croupier side and brushed off the ash, up over the edge and down on the floor.

'So the cleaning lady is keeping herself busy.'

Joachim was standing in the doorway to the office, leaning against the doorpost.

Patricia stiffened. 'It was filthy.'

'You shouldn't have to think about that.' Joachim smiled at her. 'You should only be beautiful and sexy.'

He straightened up and approached her slowly, still smiling and with his hand stretched out. Patricia swallowed. He stroked her shoulder and down her arm. She pulled back. His smile died.

'What are you afraid of?' The look in his eyes was totally different now, cold and penetrating.

Patricia looked down at her glittering breasts. 'Nothing at all. What makes you think I am?' Her voice wasn't steady.

Abruptly, he let go of her. 'You shouldn't believe what you read in the newspapers,' he spat.

Patricia looked up with innocent eyes. 'Which one of them?'

His gaze rested heavily on her; she made an effort to return it.

'They'll catch him soon,' he said.

She blinked. 'Who?'

'The minister- they said it on the radio. Those bigwigs that were here that night, he was one of them. He's been interrogated all day. They say the prime minister's mad as hell.'

Her eyes narrowed. 'How do you know?'

He turned around and walked toward the bar. 'They said so on the radio. Studio 69.'

He stopped short, looked at her over his shoulder, and smiled again. 'Now isn't that just too fitting?'

Part Two August

Eighteen Years, One Month, and Three Days

Love is often described in such dull and impassive terms, a monochrome rosy red. But to love another human being can involve all the colors on the palette, vary in strength