“What did you do?”
The woman sighed. “I took it to my boss. He called someone at the ministry and got it cleared. I paid it about a week ago.”
Annika swallowed, her mouth was completely dry. “Could I get photocopies of the receipts and tickets?”
“I really have to ask my boss first.” The woman vanished into her office. A few moments later she came out and hurried down the corridor. Thirty seconds later she came back and handed Annika a sheaf of photocopies.
“Here you go.” She smiled.
Annika’s fingers were trembling as she accepted the documents. “Where did he go?” She leafed through the papers.
“He flew Estonian Air to Tallinn on the night of the twenty-seventh and chartered a private plane back the same night. It landed at Barkarby. The plane was Estonian. Would you like the amount converted into Swedish kronor?”
“Thanks, I’m fine.”
Annika stared down at the photocopied credit card slip in her hand. It had arrived at the inspectorate already on Monday the thirtieth of July. The minister had charged the cost of the plane to his government credit card. She had expected to see the same sprawling signature as on the slip from Studio 69, but this was round and childish.
“Thank you so much.” Annika smiled at the woman. “You’ve no idea how much this means to me.”
“Don’t mention it.”
*
Her feet were beating down on the asphalt but she couldn’t feel them. They were bouncing on air. She laughed giddily as she skipped along.
What a cheapskate! He had to invoice someone for his expenses right away.
She floated homeward to Hantverkargatan— she’d been right! The minister had gone away and wouldn’t for the life of him say why.
The so-and-so, she thought. He’s done for now.
The telephone was ringing when she opened the front door. She sprinted for it and answered all out of breath.
“I’m the information officer at the Trade Council,” said a man with a cut-glass accent. “You were interested in seeing some documents.”
Annika sank down onto the couch with her coat on and the bag still across her shoulder. “I was told that the council isn’t a public authority and that I couldn’t.”
“Well, we are. Just send us a written request, and we’ll enter it in the daybook and decide whether the document in question can be handed out. Some papers are classified.”
Oh, really, she thought. You’ve changed your tune now. “Thanks a lot for phoning back.”
The woman she’d first spoken to had been talking through her hat, but Annika couldn’t be bothered to get irritated by the autocratic stupidity of civil servants. So many of them still didn’t know that the principle of public access to official records was part of the freedom of the press law as established in the Constitution. All documents at all public authorities had to be handed over at once to someone who asked to see them, unless they had been statutorily declared secret.
Everything in the world you should do yourself, Annika thought, so you could be sure it got done properly.
She got up and hung up her coat and bag, and then she called the Cherry Company to see if she could get a job.
“We’re full at the moment,” said the head of personnel. “Try again in the spring.”
It hit her like a brick in the back of her head. She put the phone down and swallowed. Now what was she going to do?
She got to her feet, drank some water in the kitchen, and looked in on Patricia. The woman was fast asleep with her mouth open. Annika stood watching her for a while.
Patricia knows a lot more than she’s telling me, she thought. The police should know where she’s staying. And she had something to tell them now.
She closed the door cautiously and went back to the phone.
Q was in. “Course I remember you. You’re the one fishing for information on Josefin Liljeberg.”
“I was working as a journalist then. I don’t anymore.”
“So,” the police captain said, clearly amused, “why are you calling me now?”
“I know where Patricia can be found.”
“Who?”
Annika felt stupid. “Josefin’s roommate.”
“Right. Where is she then?”
“With me. Sharing my apartment.”
“Sounds familiar. Better be careful. Anyway, we can find her at the club. What do you want?”
“Don’t be an asshole,” Annika snapped. “I’d like to know what’s happened in your investigation.”
He laughed. “You would, would you?”
“I know the minister was in Tallinn that night. Why doesn’t he want that to be made public?”
The police officer’s laughter died away. “You’re a devil at digging things up. How did you find out about that?”
“You knew all along, didn’t you?”
“Of course we did. We know a lot of things we don’t let on to the media.”
“Do you know what he was doing there?”
The police officer hesitated. “Actually, we don’t. It wasn’t part of the investigation.”
“Didn’t you wonder?”
“Not really. Some politicians’ meeting, I imagine.”
“On a Friday night?”
They fell silent.
“I don’t care what the minister was up to. All I’m interested in is the perpetrator.”
“And it’s not Christer Lundgren?”
“No.”
“So as far as the police are concerned, the case has been cleared up, is that right?”
Q sighed. “Thanks for telling me where Patricia’s staying. Not that we’ve missed her, but you never know.”
“Couldn’t you tell me something more about the investigation?” Annika pleaded.
“Then you’ll have to bring me something better. Now, I’ve got stuff to do.”
He rang off. Annika dropped down on her back on the couch and closed her eyes. She had some thinking to do.
*
“Have you got a moment?”
Anders Schyman looked up; Berit Hamrin had popped her head around the door.
“Sure.” The deputy editor closed the document on his screen. “Come on in.”
Berit closed the door carefully behind her and sat down on the new leather couch. “How’s it going?”
“So-so. This is an unwieldy ship we have here.”
Berit smiled. “It’s not going to alter course that easily. For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing. We should look at what we are doing more closely.”
The man gave a light sigh. “I’m glad someone agrees with me. It doesn’t always feel that way.”
Berit rubbed her hands together. “Well, I was wondering about the crime desk. We’ve got a vacancy now, since Sjölander was moved to current affairs. Are you going to fill it?”
Schyman turned around to the bookcase, pulled out a ring binder, and leafed through it. “No. The senior editors decided to keep Sjölander at current affairs, and crime will have to make do with you and the other two. The editor in chief wants to keep a low profile on crime stories for the time being. He’s still reeling from the criticism on Studio 69.”
Berit chewed on her lip. “I think he’s wrong,” she said cautiously. “I don’t think we’ll get out of this crisis by slamming on the brakes. I think we should go full speed ahead but carefully. But we can’t do that with the present staff.”
Schyman nodded. “I agree with you. But the way things are looking at the moment, there’s no way I could do anything like you’re suggesting. It would mean reorganizing and recruiting new reporters.”
“Then I’ve got a suggestion.”
The deputy editor smiled at her. “I’m sure you do.”
“Annika Bengtzon is a very alert young woman. She turns things around fast, and she has a completely different approach in her thinking. She goes too far sometimes, but I think that could be remedied. I think we should try to hire her bac
k.”
The deputy editor made a gesture of resignation. “Sorry, but she’s stone dead here right now. The editor in chief gets a rash at the mere mention of her name. I argued pretty strongly in favor of her when Carl Wennergren’s contract was up for grabs, and that nearly cost me my job. Jansson was on my side, but the rest of the senior editors wanted to throw her out on her ear.”
“And so you did,” Berit said a bit tartly.
Schyman shrugged. “Sure, but it’s not going to kill her. I talked to her just before she left. She was pissed off, all right, but she was in control.”
Berit stood up. “I met Annika last night. She’s got something going, something to do with the IB affair, I’m not quite sure what.”
“I’m happy for her to write freelance.”
Berit smiled. “I’ll tell her that if I see her.”
*
Patricia knocked on Annika’s bedroom door.
“I’m sorry, but the kitchen’s empty and it’s your turn to do the shopping.”
Annika put down her book and looked up. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m broke.”
Patricia crossed her arms. “Why don’t you get a job then?”
Annika got up and they went out into the kitchen. The fridge was empty except for a tin of sardines.
“Shit. I phoned the Cherry Company but they had nothing until the spring.”
“Have you checked at the unemployment office?” Patricia asked.
“That horror show? Nope.”
“Maybe there’s some journalist gigs out there.”
“I’m not a journalist anymore,” Annika replied curtly, pouring herself a glass of water. She sat down at the table.
“Well, why don’t you come and work at the club?” Patricia sat down opposite her. “We need a croupier.”
“I’m not working in a strip club!” Annika exclaimed, and emptied the glass.
Patricia raised her eyebrows and gave Annika a contemptuous look. “You’re that superior to Josefin and me, are you? It’s not good enough for you?”
Annika felt her cheeks blush. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Patricia leaned forward. “We’re not whores, you know. We’re not even naked. I wear a red bikini— it’s really nice. You’ve got big enough tits, you could have Josefin’s. It’s blue.”
Annika’s cheeks deepened a shade. “Are you serious?”
Patricia snorted. “It’s not that big a deal. But I’ve got to talk to Joachim first. Do you want me to?”
Annika hesitated. I’ll get a chance to see where she worked, she thought. I’ll get to know her boyfriend and boss. I’ll be wearing her bra and panties.
The last thought made her crotch tingle, a feeling that filled her with both excitement and shame.
She nodded.
“Okay,” Patricia said. “I’ll put a note on the table if you’re asleep when I get back.”
Then she left to go to work.
Annika sat at the kitchen table for a long time.
Nineteen Years, Five Months, and Two Days
There are no cheap insights. Experience is never sold short. When you buy it, the price always seems too high, impossible to pay. Yet we stand there with our credit cards, running our peace of mind into debt for years to come.
Eventually, when the accounts have been settled and the payments are behind us, we always think it was worth it. That’s my comfort now, because I made up my mind today. I’ve understood what I have to do. I’ve fished out my plastic and cashed in my soul.
It came close yesterday. I can barely remember the reason; something he couldn’t find and claimed I’d thrown away. It wasn’t true, of course, and he knew it.
I know what I have to do. My back against the wall.
I have to confront him and I know it’s going to come at a high price.
Because he says
he will never
let me go.
Thursday 6 September
The folded note lay on the kitchen table, the text consisted of two letters: OK.
Annika shuddered and swallowed, quickly throwing the note away. Sven entered the kitchen, naked and with tousled hair.
Annika had to smile. “You look like a little boy.”
He kissed her softly. “Are there any good places to run around here?”
“No tracks that are illuminated, but there are footpaths all around Kungsholmen where you can run.”
“Last man out is a monkey!” Sven rushed out into the hallway and into his jogging suit.
They raced each other the whole way. Sven won, of course, but Annika wasn’t far behind. Then they made love in the basement shower, fervently but quietly so the whole backyard wouldn’t hear.
Back up in the flat, Annika made coffee.
“My training starts next week,” Sven said.
Annika poured coffee into mugs and sat down opposite him at the table. “I’ll be staying here a while longer.”
Sven fidgeted.
“I’ve been thinking about something. It’s silly for us to have one apartment each in Hälleforsnäs. We could rent a bigger one together, or buy a house.”
Annika got up and opened the fridge. It was as empty as it had been the night before. “Do you think you could do some shopping? There’s a market down on the square.”
“You’re not listening to me.”
She sat down with a sigh. “I am. But you’re not listening to me. I’m going to stay here.”
Sven stared into his coffee mug. “How long?”
Annika breathed for a few seconds. “I don’t know. At least a few more weeks.”
“What about your job?”
“I told you, I’m on leave.”
Sven leaned across the table and put his hand across hers. “I miss you.”
She gave his fingers a quick squeeze, then got up and picked out the recycling from the cupboard under the sink. “If you can’t do the shopping, I’ll do it.”
He got to his feet. “You’re not listening, damn it! I want us to move in together. I want to get married. I want us to have children.”
Annika felt her hands drop. She stared down at the cans. “Sven, I’m not ready for any of that.”
He threw his hands out. “What are you waiting for?”
She looked up at him, fighting to keep her cool. “All I’m saying is that I want to finish off a project first. And it may take a while.”
He took a step closer to her. “And I’m saying that I want you to come home. Now. Today.”
She put the last Coke can in the bag, the last drops splashing onto the floor. “You’re the one who’s not listening now.” She left the kitchen. She got dressed and went down to the shop in Kungsholms Square. She didn’t really like this place; it was cramped, confusing, and pretentious. The shelves were full of fancy little jars with umpteen different kinds of marinated garlic cloves. The staff frowned at her as she lugged the bags with cans and bottles to the deposit machines. She didn’t care. She got enough deposit money to buy a loaf of bread and a carton of eggs.
The apartment was quiet and empty when she returned. Sven had taken off.
She found a bottle of cooking oil and a can of mushrooms in the kitchen cupboard, fried them up with three eggs, and made a big omelette. She sat staring out at the building opposite while she ate, then she lay down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling.
*
Patricia opened the door to Studio 69 with a key and by punching in a code on a code lock.
“You’ll get your own key eventually,” she said over her shoulder.
Annika swallowed and felt her heartbeat. She was regretting this so badly her whole body was screaming.
The darkness inside the door had a red shimmer to it. A spiral staircase led down toward the red light.
“Be careful on these stairs,” Patricia said. “We’ve had customers nearly break their necks here.”
Annika desperately hung on to the banister while she slowly glided into the underworld.
; The underworld of porn, she thought. This is what it looks like. She felt shame and anticipation, curiosity and revulsion.
Straight ahead in the foyer was the roulette table, the sight of which filled her with some sense of calm and self-confidence. There were a couple of black leather armchairs and a round table; to the right, a small, high reception desk with a phone and a cash register.
“This is the entrance,” Patricia said. “That’s Sanna’s responsibility.”
Annika looked at the grubby white plaster walls. The parquet floor was covered with cheap IKEA copies of Oriental carpets. A lowwattage lamp was in the ceiling, the dim light barely penetrating the lampshade.
Behind the reception desk were two doors.
“These are the locker room and the office,” Patricia said, nodding at the doors. “We’ll start by getting changed. I’ve washed Jossie’s bikini for you.”
Annika took a deep breath and forced down the feeling of morbid excitement. Patricia stepped inside the locker room, turned a switch, and the cold, bluish light from strip lights in the ceiling filled the room.
“This is my locker. You can have number fourteen.”
Annika put her bag in the metal locker she’d been allotted. “There’s no lock.” She thanked God she had emptied her bag of anything that could point to her identity.
“Joachim says we don’t need them. Here, I think they’ll fit you.” Patricia held out a bra with sky-blue sequins and a minimal G-string. Annika took them, the material burning her hands, turned around, and undressed.
“We’ve got exotic dancing, a bar, and private shows.” Patricia took out a plastic bag with makeup from her locker. “I do the bar and hardly ever do any shows. Jossie mostly danced, Joachim wouldn’t let her work the booths. It made him too jealous.”
Patricia did up her bra at the back. Annika saw that she rolled up her socks and put them in the cups.
“Joachim thinks they’re too small,” Patricia explained, and closed her locker. “Here, take these shoes.”
Annika put on her bra. “Does everybody wear these?”
“No.” Patricia started to put on makeup. “Most of the girls are completely naked, except when they dance. Then they have to wear a G-string. Dancing naked is illegal in Sweden.”
Studio Sex Page 30
