Studio Sex aka Studio 69 / Exposed

'You've seen the minister in the photographs. Was he with those guys at the club?'Annika interrupted.

Patricia shrugged. 'They all look the same, you know.'

Annika recognized her words, she'd heard them somewhere else before. She looked at the woman on the couch. Doubtless, she avoided looking at the men altogether.

'Did the police ask you about this?'

'Of course. They've asked about everything a million times.'

'What, for example?'

Patricia got to her feet, irritated. 'Everything, a thousand different things. I'm tired now. Good night.'

She quietly closed the door to her room behind her.

Eighteen Years, Eleven Months, and Five Days

We don't know where we're headed. The truth that was behind the clouds has drifted off into space. I can't see it any longer, can't even sense its presence.

He cries over the emptiness. All I feel is flat and cold. I'm unmoved: indifferent, sterile.

Resignation is next door to failure. The will that is either too strong or too weak; the love that is either too demanding or too pale.

I can't back out now.

We are, despite everything,

the most important thing there is

to each other.

Tuesday 7 August

She's got to go,' said the first one.

'How do we get rid of her?' said the second one.

'Shoot her?' said the third.

The men from Studio 69 were sitting around her kitchen table. Annika wasn't going to stay on at the newspaper, that much was clear.

'But you haven't asked me!' Annika called out.

They continued mumbling among themselves at the table, and Annika couldn't catch their words.

'Hey, listen!' she called to them. 'Maybe I don't want to go with you! I don't want to go to Harpsund!'

'Do you want some breakfast?'

When Annika opened her eyes, she was looking straight at Patricia.

'What's that?'

Patricia's hands flew up to her mouth. 'Oh, I'm sorry, you were still sleeping. I thought… You were talking. It must have been a dream.'

Annika closed her eyes and smoothed back her hair. 'Weird.'

Annika got out of bed, put on her dressing gown, and padded down to the toilet. She returned just as Patricia was pouring out coffee.

'Didn't you sleep well?'

Annika sat down with a sigh. 'They make their decision today.'

'I think they'll let you stay on.' Patricia smiled.

Annika pondered. 'I have a chance. I'm a member of the Union of Journalists, so I've got them behind me. Even if the senior editors have been influenced by Studio 69, the union will back me up.'

She had a bite of her roll, her expression lighting up. 'Of course, that's what'll happen. It's possible the bosses will want to drop me, because they're really out of touch. But the union will stand up for me.'

'There you go,' Patricia said, and this time Annika returned the smile.

***

The rain had stopped. Nevertheless, his first breath filled his lungs with dampness. The fog was so dense he could barely make out his rental car.

He stepped out onto the crunching gravel, dropping the heavy door behind him. The sounds were muffled, as if wrapped in cotton wool. He passed his hand through the veils. They danced.

He walked around the house and emerged at the back. You couldn't guess that the lake was only a few hundred yards away. He knew the fog would lift during the morning, but if he was to get any fresh air today, it would have to be now.

A car drove past in the road, but he couldn't see it.

Talk about a perfect hiding place, he thought.

He sat down on a park bench and the damp immediately penetrated the seat of his pants. He didn't care.

The feeling of failure burned in his lungs as he drew deep, misty breaths. The view over the lake was as clear as his future. The prime minister was unwilling to discuss what he'd be doing after it was all over. All his energy was now aimed at salvaging the election campaign. Nothing must jeopardize that. The prime minister would get rid of him today in a public axing, on some invented pretext, and he'd grovel to the media. The amoebas, as he called them, controlled the election campaign, and it took precedence over everything else.

Except the truth, he reflected.

This realization had the same effect on his future as if the sun had suddenly broken through the thick clouds and made the fog lift in a moment.

It was that simple!

He suddenly laughed out loud.

He could choose to do damn well anything he wanted.

As long as no one found them out.

His laughter froze, the fog swallowed and drowned it.

***

'He resigned,' Anne Snapphane hollered. 'The news flash just came in from TT.'

Annika dropped her bag on the floor. 'And?'

' 'At a press conference the prime minister announced that the minister for foreign trade has resigned,'' Anne read on her screen. ' 'The prime minister expressed regret at Christer Lundgren's decision but understands his motives.''

'Which were?' Annika sat down at her own desk and switched on her computer.

'Family reasons.'

'Of course he'd say that. They always say that. But it's not that straightforward.'

'Oh, you,' Anne said, 'you're just imagining things.'

'And what's the alternative? That he really is the murderer?'

'There's a lot that's pointing toward that now.'

Annika didn't respond. She clicked onto the list of cable copy on the TT page on her computer. They had already reached 'Minister resigns 5.' No one had been able to get hold of Christer Lundgren himself for a comment. The prime minister had once again pointed out that the minister wasn't suspected of any form of criminal act and that the police interviews had been routine.

'So why did he resign?' Annika muttered.