Studio Sex aka Studio 69 / Exposed

The man didn't answer but walked over to the elevator.

'It's not working, I'm afraid.' Annika pushed the doorbell again.

She focused on the gleaming spot in the middle of the peephole. Suddenly it went dark. Someone had got in the way of the light. She looked straight ahead at the peephole, trying to look reassuring. No one opened the door. She rang the bell again. The peephole gleamed brightly again. Nothing happened. She rang the bell for the fourth time.

'Hello?' she called through the mail slot. 'My name is Annika Bengtzon and I'm from Kvallspressen. Could I ask you a few questions?'

Huffing and puffing, old man Hessler began walking downstairs, the dog straining at its lead ahead of him.

She rang the bell again.

'Go away,' a voice said from inside the apartment.

Annika started breathing faster and realized she desperately needed the bathroom.

'You'll only make it worse for yourself if you don't make any comments,' she said, and swallowed.

'Bullshit.'

She closed her eyes and breathed. 'I'm sorry, could I borrow your bathroom?'

'What?'

She crossed her legs. Daniella's weak coffee threatened to burst her bladder.

'Please! I really need to go,' she pleaded.

The door opened. 'I've never heard that one before.'

'Where is it? Please.'

He pointed at a light green door to the left. She staggered inside and pulled the door closed behind her. She sat down on the toilet, breathing a big sigh of relief. She flushed and washed her hands.

The apartment was extremely bright and unbearably hot. You could walk all around it from one room into another- from the kitchen into the dining recess, out into the big room and back into the hallway.

'Now you have to go,' the minister said, standing in the doorway.

She scrutinized the man. He looked tired and pale, dressed in a white, unbuttoned shirt and crumpled black pants. His hair was untidy and he hadn't shaved. Good-looking, Annika thought.

She smiled. 'Thanks. Necessity knows no law.'

The words hung in the air. He turned around and walked inside the room. 'Close the door behind you.'

She followed him into the room.

'I don't think you did it.'

'How did you find me?' he asked, sounding dog-tired.

'Research.'

He sat down on the bed.

Annika went up and stood in front of him. 'You saw something, didn't you? That's why they're questioning you, isn't it?'

The minister looked up at her with weary eyes. 'Hardly anyone knows where I live. How did you know where to find me?'

Annika watched the man closely. 'You're hiding something, aren't you? What is it you can't talk about?'

The minister got to his feet suddenly and walked up close to her.

'You don't know shit. Now go, before I throw you out!'

Annika swallowed, held up both her hands, and started backing toward the door. 'Okay. I'm on my way. Thanks for letting me use the bathroom.'

She quickly left the apartment, quietly shutting the door behind her. She caught up with Hessler on the second floor.

'Fantastic summer, isn't it?' she said to him.

***

The minister unbuttoned his shirt. He might as well go down to Bergsgatan straightaway. He sighed, sat down on his bed, and tied his shoes.

The tricks they get up to, he thought, and looked at the door the reporter had disappeared through. The bathroom- my ass!

He stood up and was in two minds about whether to put on a jacket. He chose one made of light linen.

How the hell did she find him here? Not even Karina Bjornlund knew where he lived when he was in Stockholm. She always called him on his cell phone.

The telephone rang, the regular one, not his mobile. He answered it immediately. Only a handful of people had this number.

'How are you?'

His wife was worried about him. He slumped down on the bed again and to his amazement started to cry.

'Darling, tell me what's wrong!' She was also crying.

'Are you with Stina?'

'We arrived yesterday.'

He blew his nose. 'I can't tell you.'

'These terrible stories, I mean, there's nothing to them…'

He rubbed his forehead with his hand. 'How can you even ask me that?'

'But what am I supposed to think?' Offended, frightened, suspicious.

'Do you think that I could… kill someone?'

She hesitated. 'Not of your own accord,' she said eventually.

'But if…'

'There's nothing you wouldn't do for the party.' A note of resignation was in her voice.

***

Q answered the phone. Annika was beside herself with joy, short-lived though it turned out to be.

'I can't say a word.'

'Is the minister really a suspect?' Annika leaned back in her chair and put her feet on her desk.

He gave a coarse laugh. 'What an intelligent question! Did you come up with that all by yourself?'

'There's something about him. He's scared of something coming out. What's he hiding?'

Q's laughter died out and was followed by a brief silence. 'Where do you get your information?'

'I listen, check things out, observe. He lives very close to the murder scene, for one thing.'

'You've figured that out.'

'Does that have anything to do with it?'

'All the tenants at sixty-four Sankt Goransgatan have been interviewed.'

'It's a condo.'

'What?'

'They're not tenants, they own their apartments.'

'Oh, for Christ's sake!' the captain exclaimed.

'Do you really think he did it?'

Q sighed. 'It's not unthinkable.'

Annika was at a loss. 'But… what about the boyfriend? Joachim?'

'He's got an alibi.'

Annika leaned forward in her chair. 'So it wasn't… It seemed like you-'

'It would be better for everybody concerned if there wasn't so much speculating going on in the media. You make life very difficult for people sometimes.'

Annika flared up. 'You're one to talk! Who called a press conference at 10 P.M. on a Saturday evening so you could maximize the media coverage? Don't bullshit me. What do you mean 'make life very difficult'? Journalists never beat people up. The police have a lot more to answer for than the media!'

'I don't need to sit here and listen to this.' The police captain hung up.