Studio Sex aka Studio 69 / Exposed

Annika gave it some thought. 'No, not really. I guess you know what you're doing. You've stepped over the line of your own free will. It takes strength to do that, it shows a kind of flexibility. You're not the type to be scared and that's a quality.'

Patricia gave Annika a searching look. 'What about you? What boundaries have you crossed?'

Annika gave a lopsided smile and didn't reply.

Patricia put her mug on the floor, sighed quietly, and looked down at her hands. 'That morning, that last night… Josefin and Joachim were fighting like mad. They were screaming at each other, at first in the office, then on the stairs. Josefin rushed out and he followed her.'

Annika didn't say a word; she knew this was an important confidence. Patricia sat silent for a moment before continuing.

'Josefin wanted to quit the club. She wanted some time off before starting her course. She'd been admitted to university, the media program, but Joachim didn't want her to leave. He was trying to trap her, tie her to the club and make her give up her education. Jossie said she would leave anyway and that she'd made enough money for him to pay for ten breast operations. She split up with him, said they were over. They were fighting.'

Patricia fell silent again and the sounds of dawn crept in through the open windows. The night bus stopping outside the street door in Hantverkargatan, the never-ending sirens of the fire trucks, the fall winds' whispers of chill and rain.

'They used to make love in that cemetery,' Patricia whispered. 'Joachim got a kick out of it, but Jossie thought it was scary. They used to climb the fence at the back where it's not so high. I thought it was horrible. Just imagine- among the graves…'

Annika said nothing and they sat in silence for a long time.

'I know what you're thinking.'

'What?' Annika said in a hushed voice.

'You're wondering why she stayed with him. Why she didn't leave.'

Annika sighed deeply. 'I think I know. At first she was in love and he was kind to her. Then he started making demands, affectionate little demands that Josefin thought were cute. He had an opinion on who she saw, what she should do, how she should talk. Everything was hunkydory until the bubble burst and Josefin wanted to enter the world again. Study, go to the movies, talk on the phone to her friends. It pissed Joachim off, he demanded that she stop and do what he wanted, and when she didn't- he beat her up. Afterward he was full of remorse, crying and saying he loved her.'

Patricia nodded. 'How do you know all this?'

Annika smiled a mournful smile. 'There are books on battered women. The tabloids run series of articles on the violence. The abuse usually follows a pattern; I'm sure Josefin's was no different. All the time she thought things would improve if only she'd change and become like he wanted her. Some days were probably quite good, and Josefin thought they were moving in the right direction. But the guy's craving for control only grew and he probably got more and more jealous. He criticized her for everything, in front of other people, eroding her self-esteem.'

Patricia nodded. 'It was like a slow brainwash. He made her doubt herself, told her she'd never cope with university. She was nothing but a lousy, fat whore, and the only one who could love her was him. Jossie cried more and more; toward the end she cried almost constantly. She didn't dare leave him, he'd swear he'd kill her if she tried.'

'Did he rape her? Sexual violence is very common. Some men get excited when the woman is terrified… What's wrong?'

Patricia had put her hands over her ears, her eyes were tightly shut, and she was clenching her teeth.

'Patricia, what's wrong?'

Annika took the woman in her arms and rocked her slowly. Her tears poured down as hard as the rain outside. She shook uncontrollably.

'That was the worst,' Patricia whispered when her tears were finally exhausted. 'The worst of it all was when he raped her. Her screams were just too much.'

Nineteen Years, Six Months, and Thirteen Days

I see him coming through the mists of memory, the pattern repeating, the chorus picking up. He starts by stomping around, working himself up into his usual rage, then cursing, pushing me, and shouting. The usual thing happens to me: my field of vision shrinks, my shoulders drop; with elbows pressed against my sides I hold my hands up to protect my head. I lose my focus, the sounds take over, paralysis sets in. A corner to sink into, a soundless plea for mercy.

His voice echoes in my head, I can't hear my own. The song of terror is wailing inside me, the nameless fear, the unarticulated horror. Maybe I try to scream, I don't know, his roar rising and falling. I'm transported, the warmth spreads, the redness appears. No, I don't feel any pain. The pressure is red and hot. The song fades under the hardest blows, jumps like the pickup on an old vinyl record, then returns a semitone higher. Horror, horror, fear and love. Don't hurt me! Oh, please, my darling, love me!

And he says

he will never

let me go.

Friday 7 September

Annika was dog-tired when the alarm went off. With a groan she switched it off. Her legs were aching, heavy as lead. The rain was still beating down on the windowsill, an abstract rhythm with an erratic beat.

She went and sat on the couch and made two phone calls. She was lucky: both men were in. She made a date with the first one for an hour later, the other for the following day. Then she crept back into bed and fought against sleep for half an hour. When she got out again, she was even more tired. She smelled of sweat, strong and pungent, but she didn't have the energy to go down to the shower. She rolled on some deodorant and put on a thick sweater.

He was already there, sitting at a window table staring at the rain streaming down the window. In front of him was a cup of coffee and a glass of water.

'Do you recognize me?' Annika held out her hand.

The man rose to his feet and smiled mockingly. 'Sure. We've bumped into each other. Literally.'

Annika blushed. They shook hands and sat down.

'What is it you want, exactly?' Q asked.

'Studio 69 is being creative with its bookkeeping. Joachim keeps two sets of books. The real ones, where the actual figures are entered, are only at the club occasionally.'

Annika drank the police captain's water at one go.

Q raised his eyebrows. 'Be my guest. I wasn't thirsty anyway.'

'They're there at the moment and they'll be there until Saturday.'

'How do you know?' the police captain said calmly.

'I've got a job there as a croupier. I'm not a journalist anymore. I've resigned from my job and left the union. The girls at the club are paid cash. They don't pay taxes or contributions.'

'Who told you this?'

'Patricia. She enters the figures from the bar. And then I saw it myself this morning.'

The police officer got up and walked over to the counter, bought another cup of coffee, and poured out two glasses of water. He put it all on the table. 'You look like you could do with a shot of caffeine.'

Annika drank some of the coffee. It was lukewarm.