Studio Sex aka Studio 69 / Exposed

by Liza Marklund

  "Someone who's down, I know. But you can publish facts, the burglaries at the addresses where the archives were kept, the invoices, the strip club receipt…"

  The deputy editor sighed. "For what purpose? To show how the government smuggles arms? Imagine the court case involving the freedom of the press that would follow."

  Annika stared down at the floor.

  "This story is dead, Annika."

  "What about the trip to Tallinn?" she said quietly.

  Schyman sighed again. "Maybe, if circumstances had been different. Unfortunately, though, the editor in chief is allergic to this story. He won't hear the mere mention of either the murder or the minister. And for a minister to go to a meeting in a neighboring country isn't controversial enough for me to put my job on the line. We've got nothing to show who he met or for what purpose. The minister for foreign trade probably travels for three hundred days of the year."

  "Why did he hand in his travel-expenses invoice to the Inspectorate of Strategic Products?"

  "It's strange, but hardly worth writing about. The ministries hand over hundreds of invoices for payment every day; this isn't even controversial. There's nothing fishy about a minister for foreign trade going abroad."

  Annika felt her chest tighten. At heart she knew that Anders Schyman was right. Now she just wanted to sink through the floor and disappear.

  The deputy editor got to his feet, walked up to the window, and looked out over the newsroom. "We need you here."

  Annika was startled. "What?"

  Schyman sighed. "We could do with someone of your character on the crime desk. Right now there are only three people working there: Berit Hamrin, Nils Langeby, and Eva-Britt Qvist. It would do Berit good to have a competent person by her side."

  "I've never met the other two," Annika said quietly.

  "What are you doing now? Did you get another job?"

  She shook her head.

  The deputy editor came and sat down next to her on the couch. "I'm sincerely sorry that we can't publish your stuff. You've done a fantastic piece of research, but the story is simply too incredible to be told."

  Annika didn't reply, just stared down at her hands.

  Schyman watched her in silence. "The worst of it is that you're probably right."

  "I've got something else. I can't do it myself, but you can give it to Berit."

  She pulled out the copy of the TV guy's credit card slip. It was a second-generation photocopy; she'd made a copy of her original copy at the post office.

  "He rented two girls and spent nearly an hour with them in a private room. On his way out he bought three videos. With animals. The thing is, he paid for it all with a Swedish Television credit card."

  Schyman whistled. "What do you know. This can go straight into the paper- TV star visits brothel, pays with TV license-payers' money."

  Annika smiled tiredly. "Glad to be of service," she said acerbically.

  "Why don't you write it yourself?"

  "You don't want to know."

  "But you've got to have something for it. What do you want?"

  Annika looked out over the deserted newsroom, which was bathed in the slanting rays of the fall sun.

  "A job," she whispered.

  Schyman walked over to his desk and flipped through the pages in a binder. "Subeditor on Jansson's night shift, starting in November, covering for parental leave. How does that sound?"

  "Sounds fine. Offer accepted."

  "It's a six-month contract so I have to take it up with the executive. The hours are awful; you start at ten P.M. and work until six A.M., four days on, four days off. You'll have to wait for a formal offer of a job, but this time I won't give in. This contract is yours. How about that?"

  He got up and held out his hand to her. She got up and shook his hand, embarrassed at the cold clamminess of hers.

  "Good to have you back." Schyman smiled.

  "Just one more thing. Do you remember that they said on Studio 69 that they'd found the strip-club receipt at the Ministry for Foreign Affairs?"

  Schyman blinked, gave it some thought, then shook his head. "Don't remember."

  "I'm sure they did. But the receipt wasn't there, it was at the Ministry of Industry, Employment, and Communication. What do you think that means?"

  Schyman gave her a penetrating look. "Probably the same as you. They didn't find the slip themselves."

  Annika gave a faint smile. "Exactly."

  "Some lobbyist put it in their hands. It was planted."

  "Now, isn't that ironic?" Annika said, and left the fish tank.

  ***

  The rain was hanging in the air just above the treetops, and the wind was cold. She turned up her collar and walked toward Fridhemsplan. She felt a warm tranquillity inside. Perhaps she was going to make it. Subediting wasn't her favorite thing, but it still felt as if she'd hit the jackpot. She'd be sitting with the backbench subs at the night desk going through the other reporters' copy, correcting spelling and grammar, cutting where necessary, adding a sentence. She'd be writing captions and little fact boxes, making suggestions for headlines and rewriting bad intros.

  She didn't have any illusions as to why Schyman had been able to offer her the job. Nobody else at the paper wanted it, they needed to get someone from outside. Even though the work was vital, it was seen as menial. No byline, no glamour, it was thoroughly uncool.

  Well, they've never run an illegal gambling outfit in a brothel, Annika thought.

  The wind was getting up as she came out onto the bridge. She walked slowly, pulling down the air into her lungs, holding it. She closed her eyes against the damp and let her hair fly free in the wind.

  November, she thought. Nearly two months away. She had some time to think and refuel her energy supply. Clear out the apartment in Hälleforsnäs, draft-proof the windows in the apartment on Hantverkargatan. Go to the Museum of Modern Art, catch a musical at the Oscars Theater. See Grandma, hang out with Whiskas.

  She suddenly missed her cat. But she couldn't have him with her in the city. He'd have to stay with Grandma.

  She had to break up with Sven.

  There it was- the thought that she'd been putting off all summer. She shuddered in the wind and pulled the jacket tighter around her. The summer was definitely over, time to get the winter clothes out.

  She walked along Drottningholmsvägen, kicking at the wet leaves that were piling up on the sidewalk. Not until she was right next to the park did she look up at the foliage.

  The vegetation sat brooding on the Kronoberg hill like a big, moldering mass.

  She slowly walked up to the cemetery. The damp made the fence shine. The air stood still, the wind didn't reach here. The sounds of the city were muffled and drifted away.

  Annika stopped by the entrance gate, put her hand on the padlock, and closed her eyes. All at once, the glow of the summer returned to her: the heat and the dizziness of the day Josefin lay in there among the graves; the sunlight dancing across the granite stones; the vibrations from the subway deep below.

  How futile, she thought. Why did Josefin Liljeberg live? Why was she born? Why did she learn to read, count, write? Why did she worry about the changes in her beautiful body? For what purpose- only to die?

  There has to be a meaning, Annika thought. There has to be a purpose to it all. How can we go on otherwise?

  "Hi there! What are you doing here?"

  Annika groaned inwardly. "Hi, Daniella. How are you?"

  "I'm fine, just fine," Daniella Hermansson chirped. "We've been to the park, but it got a bit too cold. Skruttis is starting day care on Monday. We both feel a bit nervous about it. Don't we, Skruttis?"

  The kid just looked up sadly at them.

  "Do you want to come up for a cup of coffee? It's time for Skruttis's afternoon nap, so we could talk."

  Annika remembered Daniella's weak coffee. "Some other day." Annika smiled. "I'm on my way home."

  Daniella took a quick look around and stepped closer to
Annika. "Listen, you're in the media," she said in a stage whisper, "did they ever catch the guy who did it?"

  "Who killed Josefin? No, they didn't. Not for the murder."

  Daniella sighed. "It's awful that he should be walking free."

  "The police know who he is. They're going to bring him in anyway, for something else. He'll go to jail."

  Daniella breathed a sigh of relief. "God, that's so good to know. Well, we never thought it was Christer."

  "Not your neighbor either, the lady with the dog?"

  Daniella giggled, a nervous and conspiratorial little laugh. "Now listen, you mustn't tell anybody about this, but Elna had already found the body at five in the morning."

  Annika felt herself stiffen, forcing herself to look friendly. "Oh, how's that?"

  "You know her dog, Jasper? Sweet little thing. Anyway, the dog went off inside the cemetery and chewed the girl a bit, and Auntie Elna was beside herself. She didn't dare call the police, for fear they'd put Jasper in jail. Did you ever hear of such a thing!" Daniella chuckled.

  Annika swallowed. "No, actually, I haven't."

  Skruttis started bawling. He wanted to get moving.

  "There, there, darling. We'll go home and eat a banana now. You like that, don't you, little friend?"

  The woman moved off down Kronobergsgatan toward her building. Annika looked at her for a long time.

  There's an explanation for everything, she thought.

  She slowly started walking in the opposite direction, toward the fire station. As she rounded the street corner, she saw the police cars blocking the whole street. She stopped.

  They're early, she thought. I hope they find the books.

  She took another way home.

  Nineteen Years, Eleven Months, and One Day

  R oughness against naked skin, the air full of dust, the oxygen used up: my living space shrunk to the size of a coffin. The ceiling presses against my brain, my knees and elbows get scratched.

  Deep hole, dark grave, smell of dirt.

  Panic.

  He says that I've misunderstood it all, that I've got the wrong sense of proportion. It's not my life that's too small, I'm too big.

  His love is infinite. He still loves me. No one else could give me what he gives me. There is only the one condition.

  He says

  he will never

  let me go.

  Sunday 9 September

  Her decision matured during the night. She was determined. She would break up with Sven. There was another life, she had found her way out.

  The situation filled her with sadness and a sense of loss. She and Sven had been a couple for so long. She had never made love with another man. She cried a little in the shower.

  The rain had stopped and the sun was pale and cold. She made coffee and called the railway station to check the departure times. The next train to Flen was in an hour and ten minutes.

  She opened the window in the living room, sat down on the couch, and looked at the slow billowing of the curtains. She was going to stay here. She could live her own life.

  Annika had put her jacket on and was getting ready to leave when she heard keys jangling in the front door. She stiffened, but relaxed when she saw it was Patricia. "Hi. Where have you been?"

  Patricia closed the door quietly behind her, her hand staying on the door handle for a moment before she looked up at Annika.

  "How could you?" she said in a stifled voice.

  Her face was blotchy, her eyes red with weeping. Annika was dismayed at first, then realized what had happened.

  "You sold me out. You blew the club sky-high. How could you?" Patricia came toward her, her mouth twisted, her hands like claws.

  Annika tried to stay calm. "I didn't blow the club."

  "It must have been you."

  Patricia lunged forward and gave Annika a shove, throwing the keys on the floor. Annika stumbled backward.

  "I did it to help you!" Patricia screamed. "You needed the money so I fixed you up with a job! How could you do this to me?"

  Annika held up her hands and backed into the living room. "Patricia, please, I didn't want to hurt you, you know that. I wanted to help you, help you get away from that club and the degradation-"

  "Don't you see what's going to happen?" Patricia screamed. "He'll finger me! He's been fucking all the other girls there, they've all been with him! I was Josefin's friend, he's got no loyalty toward me. He's going to drag me down with him! Oh, my God!"

  She cried out loud, and Annika grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "No, that won't happen. The other girls will tell the truth. Go to the police and tell it like it is, they'll believe you."

  Patricia threw her head back and gave a loud, shrill laugh. "You're so naive, Annika." Tears streamed down Patricia's cheeks. "You think that truth will always prevail. Grow up! It never does."

  She broke away and rushed into her room, threw her things into her bag, and came out again, dragging the mattress behind her. It got jammed in the door. Patricia tore at it and cursed.

  "Please, don't leave," Annika said.

  The mattress came loose and Patricia nearly fell over. She was shaking with sobs, pulling at the foam-rubber mattress.

  "I'm staying here. I got a job at Kvällspressen. You can stay for as long as you like."

  Patricia had reached the front door and stopped dead. "What did you say? You got a job?"

  Annika smiled nervously. "I got hold of a lot of information that I ran past the deputy editor, and he hired me again."

  Patricia let go of the mattress, turned around, and walked up to Annika. Her black eyes were on fire. "Fuck you," she hissed. "Fuck anyone who stabs their friend in the back."

  "But it had nothing to do with you, or the club…"

  "And you ratted to the police, you fucking bitch! How the hell else could they know that the books were there just then? You sold me out, your friend, for a fucking job!" Patricia shrieked. "You are such a stinking piece of shit! Fuck you forever!"

  Annika backed, hearing her own words inside her head. Jesus, Patricia was right. What have I done, what have I done?

  The woman ran back to her mattress, pulled it along, and left the apartment without closing the door. Annika rushed up to the window and saw Patricia running across the yard dragging the mattress over the gravel. Annika pressed her forehead against the cold glass. Slowly she walked over to Patricia's room. A glass lay on its side on the floor, and hanging on the wall was Josefin's pink suit. Annika felt the tears welling up.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered.

  ***

  The numbness stayed with her all the way to Flen. Unable either to feel or eat, she saw the farmsteads of Sörmland fly past. The rhythmic beat of the wheels of the train became an incantation in her mind: Your fault, Patricia, your fault, your fault, your fault, your fault…

  She covered her ears with her hands and shut her eyes.

  At least the bus was waiting at the railway station. It left for Hälleforsnäs a few minutes later, passing Mellösa and stopping at the builders' merchant in Flenmo.

  This may be the last time I go home when I come here, she mused.

  Her mother wasn't particularly happy to see her: "Come on in. I've just made coffee."

  Annika sat down at the kitchen table, still dazed and ashamed.

  "I've found a house," her mother said, putting another cup on the table.

  Annika pretended not to hear, just looked out at the roofs of the works.

  "It's got a carport and a pool," her mother went on, a bit louder. "White brick. It's big, seven rooms in all. There's space for you and Sven."

  "I don't want to live in Eskilstuna," Annika said without looking at her mother.

  "It's in Svista, outside Eskilstuna- you know, Hugelstaborg. It's a nice area. Respectable people."

  Annika blinked away the image before her eyes, closing her eyes tight in irritation. "What do you want with seven rooms?"

  Her mother stopped puttering aroun
d. She sounded hurt. "I want to have space for you all, for you and Sven and Birgitta. And for my grandchildren, of course."

  Annika hadn't thought about her sister in ages. Her mother must be really deluded if she thought they could all live together like a happy family. She got to her feet as her mother winked knowingly.

  "Then you'll have to rely on Birgitta," Annika said. "I won't be having any kids for a while yet."

  She walked over to the counter, took a glass out of the cupboard, and filled it from the tap. Her mother's gaze followed her, somewhat reproachful.

  "Doesn't Sven have a say in that, then?"

  Annika spun around. "What do you mean by that?"

  Her mother bridled. "Some people think you push him around. Moving up to Stockholm just like that, without discussing it with him."

  Annika turned white with rage. "What do you know about that?"

  Her mother fumbled with a pack of cigarettes. She had to try the lighter a few times before she got it to work. She took a deep drag and started coughing immediately.

  "You don't know a thing about me and Sven," Annika said while her mother coughed. "Are you saying I should have turned this opportunity down for his sake? Should my career and living be dependent on his whims? Is that really what you think? Huh?"

  Her mother had tears in her eyes when she got her breath back. "My, my, I really should quit." She attempted a smile.

  Annika didn't return it. "Of course I think you should concentrate on your job. You're very talented. Though it's a hard life up there, everybody knows that. No one's blaming you for failing to make it."

  Annika turned around and filled her glass up.

  Her mother came up to her and patted her arm awkwardly. "Annika, don't be mad at me."

  "I'm not mad at you," Annika said in a low voice without turning around.

  Her mother hesitated. "Seems like it sometimes."

  Annika turned around and looked at her mother with tired eyes. "I just don't understand why you keep thinking that you're going to move into a fancy villa in Eskilstuna. You don't have the money. And what would you do if you did? Would you commute to work at the supermarket here?"