Death in Pink

By Djordje Bajic

A snow-clad birthday party ends with a mysterious call to 911. Ivana Ružić is dead. Too many suspects, unreliable witnesses, jealous lovers, and secret family members will make this case a nightmare for the Belgrade police department.

 

Take a closer look at the corrupt society of the Serbian capital. The o

• Language: English
• Publisher: YU Biblioteka
• Release date: Mar 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088103654

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DEATH

IN PINK

ĐORĐE BAJIĆ

Translated into English by Eli Gilić

Copyright © 2021 by Djordje Bajic

Copyright © 2023, YU Biblioteka

DEATH IN PINK

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Đorđe Bajić

First Edition 2023

For information, please email the YU Biblioteka at [e-mail]

ISBN 979-8-218-06632-1

Translated from Serbian by Eli Gilic

Book design by Lazar Bodroza

Shape, circle Description automatically generated

DEATH

IN PINK

To My Caca

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF CHARACTERS

PROLOGUE

A Girl and Her Doll

PART ONE

The Sleeping Beauty

INTERLUDE

The Big City

PART TWO

The Witness

INTERLUDE

Happy Birthday to You

PART THREE

Three Days With Mirna

Interlude

Love Hurts

PART FOUR

The Ghosts

INTERLUDE

The Last Dinner

PART FIVE

One Man’s Loss...

INTERLUDE

The Triangle

PART SIX

The Bullet

EPILOGUE ONE

Farewell

EPILOGUE TWO

New Year’s Eve

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LIST OF CHARACTERS

The police

Nikola Liman — senior police detective of the Belgrade PD, steady, insightful, and libertine; in the middle of his marital wreck, trying to unravel a complicated case.

Danko Dane Banić — Nikola’s colleague and loyal friend, always ready to help; twice divorced and slightly life-overwhelmed.

Mladen Dražević—head of the Police Department in Despota Stefana Boulevard, Nikola’s and Dane’s boss and protector; resourceful and experienced, with a direct link to the top.

Anđelija Anđa Božić¹—the chief’s right hand, eccentric and very enterprising; an ally anyone could only dream of.

Selma Šola—a young police officer, ambitious and eager to help; unexpectedly becomes part of the investigation.

Milan Relić — detective on the rise; an arrogant and calculating short-fused man willing to do anything, or almost anything, to get the chief’s post.

Ivica Ivković—Relić’s partner and his regular scapegoat; always in the background, with his head down, he stoically endures all the insults.

The birthday girl and her guests

Ivana Ružić²—a beauty eager for fame and love, found with a bullet in her heart shortly after the celebration of her 44th birthday.

Vid Korać — once a criminal, now an ʽhonest’ businessman; a sadist who brutally abused Ivana while they were married.

Daniel Markičević—a rascal, ravishing and ruthless; the birthday girl’s latest love, at the very top on the list of suspects for her death.

Mirna³ Despotović—devoted to Ivana and deeply affected by what happened to her, this brave woman puts her life in danger to seek justice.

Filip Otašević — a gossip magazine editor-in-chief who uses the death of his close friend to escape financial dire straits.

Andrea Savić—a young woman with a secret and owner of a successful hair salon, Curl; Ivana’s death will lead her to reconsider her own life.

Stefana Simović—a small-town girl with big dreams; Ivana’s protégé and neighbor, stubbornly sure of her wrong choices.

The third seven

Jadranka Živanović Liman—a lovely woman who, regardless of his betrayal, still loves her husband; after Nikola’s infidelity, she has to make a tough decision.

Vilhelmina Mina Nikolić—a beautiful and unscrupulous journalist on national television, always on the trail of a new sensationalism-laced story.

Kristina Pajić—a resourceful attorney who has a very special relationship with her client, Vid Korać; an ice queen carrying a latent fire inside.

Giorgia Grabež—Deputy Mayor of Belgrade, determined to destroy Dražević and his men; an adversary not to be underestimated, cunning, and very vengeful.

Ljubomir Ljuba Filipovski—a drug lord who is used to foul play; Daniel Markičević’s longtime boss.

Nataša Selaković—Daniel’s only ex-girlfriend who survived to talk about the time they spent together, still in love with him.

Vesna Bogdanov—an unbalanced woman prone to impulsive behavior, obsessed with Nikola Liman.

PROLOGUE

A Girl and Her Doll

F

or a long time, she wanted that beautiful toy. The girl begged her parents to buy it for her, reminding them again and again, with that unwavering persistence typical of children. Unfortunately, there was enough money only for the bare necessities, or so they told her. The doll she asked for was a luxury her father and mother could not or would not afford her.

Barbie... That beautiful, long-legged Barbie. How much she wanted her.

Although over time, she realized her chances of success were slim, the girl didn’t give up. She was obedient, didn’t oppose, and tried not to cry after a slap because she knew well how much her father hated tears (he would always reprimand her mother for whimpering after he, as he liked to put it, ʽgave her a good thrashing’). And so, year after year, from one birthday to another, until she almost lost hope they would fulfill her life wish... And then, suddenly, with no hint or announcement, the girl got her first Barbie for her ninth birthday.

She remembered that magnificent day with delight for the rest of her life.

Immediately after breakfast, her father smiled conspiratorially and placed an oblong box in pink wrapping paper in front of her. As soon as she saw it, the girl jumped from her chair, the hope that the realization of her dreams was within reach burning unstoppably. The shape of the box suggested it, but she couldn’t be sure until she ripped the paper. The girl squealed with delight at the sight behind the clear plastic window: a beautiful petite girl in a puffy pale pink sweater, skinny jeans, and matching pink boots.

That day, she couldn’t wait for school to end, nor could she pay attention in class. The girl calmed down only when she returned home and saw her new friend waiting for her where she left her – under the pillow, hidden like the greatest treasure. The doll was so beautiful she didn’t dare take it out of the box and touch it for a long time. A thin layer of transparent plastic separated her from that tiny rubber face, constantly beaming and so unequivocally happy. Sparkling earrings, disproportionately large compared to the rest of the head, adorned the doll’s tiny earlobes. Of course, the diamonds were fake, just like everything else about that lovely toy, but that didn’t matter to the girl. She didn’t care that the doll’s measurements had nothing to do with reality, that human anatomy doesn’t create such elongated legs and neck, that the waist was too narrow, the nose too small, and the eyes unnaturally large and too blue. The girl was happy, as rarely before and after that... When she finally braced herself to take the doll out of the box, enchanted, she smelled its pink sweater and caressed the pixie light blonde hair for a long, long time.

In the coming days, the girl got to know every inch of the new toy. She took off her clothes and shoes, ran her fingers over the firm plastic breasts without nipples, and caressed her legs, made of a special type of rubber so they could bend at the knee... And then Ivana Ružić, that chubby girl with wavy brown hair, made a new wish: to turn into a long-legged blonde beauty in pink boots, to have oversized diamond earrings adorning her ears, to be rich and perpetually smiling, one day. And to achieve that, the girl realized, even though she was only ten years old, she had to leave her parents’ home as soon as possible and venture into the world. There was no other way. A few years later, when she matured a bit, that desire remained ingrained in her. It prompted and directed her throughout her life. And it was fulfilled, at least as much as such wishes can be fulfilled.

Three and a half decades since that glorious morning and the moment she tore the pink wrapping paper, Ivana lived in a big house and didn’t lack anything. She was slim, blonde, and had not one, but twelve pairs of sparkling earrings—and they weren’t fake, but real expensive diamonds that easily reflected the light. She had everything she dreamed of while she was a poor girl living with her parents in a studio apartment in Jagodina. Everything, except the most important thing.

She was not happy. And she could have been.

That double realization hit her like a flash, only a few seconds before her heart stopped beating. She opened her mouth to tell her truth. To reject the delusion that had crept into her life and destroyed it. She couldn’t do it. It was too late. Her body was no longer listening to her. She fell on the bed and her long hair spread over the silk sheets.

It was dawning outside. The darkness was fading, receding before the awakened day. The sky gradually turned gray, and then the gray melted into dove blue. Gentle purple lines framed by all shades of gold cut through the ever-stronger blue.

Ivana could no longer see that beauty. The morning sun spotlighted the dead female body on pink silk.

PART ONE

The Sleeping Beauty

1

W

hile sleeping, tucked comfortably away in their warm beds, most Belgraders can’t even imagine what goes on in their city at night, but those employed in the city emergency services know very well: Belgrade is the most dangerous at night. In the police central office’s communication center, telephones ring all the time, but after sunset, the number of calls increases drastically. Most call 192 to complain about noise from a neighbor’s apartment or report an attempted car theft. Of course, there are serious and more serious cases. Panicked voices report robberies, traffic accidents, fights… The time between midnight and one in the morning, popularly known as the witching hour, is the most critical. Especially when the moon is full. Then people go mad. Totally crazy.

Jasna Jović was working as a dispatcher for only three months, and she already had enough of it. Every time the phone rang, she would wince, dreading the fresh horror she would hear. Only when Jasna started working at the central office did she realize she lived in a city full of lunatics. People would sit behind the wheel, drunk and furious, and run over passers-by, crash into other cars, destroying themselves and everyone who got in their way. Others jumped from skyscrapers and bridges, threw themselves under trucks, and shot themselves in the head in public parks. Husbands abused wives. Mothers beat their children until they bled. Children stabbed their fathers with knives. As if some unstoppable vicious circle of violence existed and gained momentum after dark.

The night between the sixth to seventh of December was pretty calm. Four minor traffic accidents without injuries and a few calls that almost made Jasna laugh. A guy from Dorćol reported ʽdomestic violence’ because his wife didn’t let him sleep in their double bed. An elderly lady from Zvezdara complained about a ʽhuge hairy dog’ lying in the hallway in front of her apartment, while a guy from Palilula mixed up the police and the Yellow Taxi phone numbers after six mugs of beer, dialed 192 instead of 19802 and requested a cab for 2 Homoljska Street.

Around seven in the morning, Jasna was in a fairly good mood. A beautiful December day was dawning over Belgrade. The sky was clear and alluringly blue; a pleasant freshness was flowing into the office through a half-open window. Just a little more, and her shift would be over... She will go home and get a good sleep. At that moment, the phone on Jasna’s desk rang. She felt a slight uneasiness but waved it off. Surely nothing was wrong, nothing really nasty. Probably that old lady wants to complain about the huge wooly canine reappearing in her hallway. It must be something like that.

192, she answered. What’s your emergency?

The silence lasted a few seconds before a single soft word broke it, Murder.

Excuse me? Jasna was bewildered. What ... What did you just say?

Murder, the woman on the other end rolled the R in the word murder. Another unpleasant silence followed before the voice quietly, on the verge of whispering, added two more words, I’m dying.

W-what did you say?

Departed... That rolling R again.

Jasna felt sweat trickling down her forehead, her hands trembling. She remembered her training. She had to stay calm. The call came from a landline and the display showed the number, with the address already written below. The city of Belgrade. District: Savski venac. Street: 6a Malog Radojice. Private house. Owner: Ivana Ružić. Although Jasna already knew all that, she had to follow the protocol.

Please, tell me your addr...

She didn’t get to finish. A deep sigh interrupted her. Something between a sigh and a death rattle, like a drowning man fighting for air. Dedinje, 6a Malog Radojice, the voice suddenly became shrill, the whisper turned into a horrified cry for help. Send someone. As soon as possible. He will...

The connection broke in the middle of the sentence.

2

W

hen the call got through, police officers Žarko Matić and Stevan Ćosić were getting ready to return to the station and hand over their shifts. It wasn’t meant to be. Matić’s walkie-talkie crackled. The conversation lasted less than a minute. They were the closest to the facility in Malog Radojice Street, so the dispatcher sent them to check it out. Suspicion of murder, the dispatcher told them.

They headed to the house, which was in a good neighborhood, not exactly in the most elite part of Dedinje, although not too far off. Maybe it drew the attention of burglars, and things got out of hand. Such things happen. Matic thought that the owner’s name rang a bell... Ivana Ružić... Where had he heard it?

When they reached their destination, Stevan Ćosić, the younger police officer, looked at his watch. It was 7.29. The facade of the magnificent three-story house at 6a Malog Radojice Street was snow-white and decorated with pale pink floral ornaments. White bars and thick glass protected the ground floor with pleated curtains behind the elegant arched windows. An ornate semicircular balcony stood out on the second floor.

The gate was ajar. Matić and Ćosić exchanged a brief look before cautiously stepping into the yard. Not a sound drifted from the house they were approaching. The reign of crisp December silence was complete. It looked like all the birds from Dedinje have flown to warmer regions since not a single one made a noise to disturb that ominous peace. Instead of a bell, a gilded knocker stood on the door. Matic wondered if should they knock and then reached for the knob. Unlocked.

They entered. The walls and ceiling were painted pink, while the furniture was in different shades of the same color. The hall looked like a replica from a magazine about the rich and famous. Police, Matic called out, looking curiously at the splendor. Anybody here? No one answered, so the police officers turned right and passed under an archway leading into a spacious room, a combination of a living and dining room. A sweet smell, too strong to be pleasant, lingered in the air. Two huge vases full of listless flowers and seven plates with the remains of a meal stood on the big dining table. Not a soul in sight.

They returned to the hall. The framed photographs arranged on a small table between the coat rack and the stairs caught the senior officer’s attention. All of them showed the same woman, alone or in a company, always smiling, with parted, lipstick-covered lips, and teeth as white as porcelain tiles. That smile, those light blonde bangs, those eyes with a hint of mischief... Well, yes... Of course! Matić realized why her name sounded familiar. He swallowed and instinctively took a few steps back. Ćosić noticed his colleague was upset. What’s the matter with you? he asked. Why that face?

Do you know whose house this is?

Ivana Ružić’s house. Wasn’t that what they told us?

And do you know who she is? The ex-wife of Vid Korać.

At the mention of Korać, Ćosić paled. Oh, was the only thing he uttered, bewildered. Matić nodded. His colleague put it nicely. Oh. A hundred times oh. But that didn’t change what they had to do. Let’s go upstairs, he said and drew his gun from its holster.

Should we wait for reinforcements? Ćosić suggested almost pleadingly.

We can’t do that. We must see what is going on right away.

Ćosić stared blankly at Matić for a moment, as if hoping he would change his mind. Then, having no choice, he relented. They went upstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible with their black boots on the pink synthetic nylon runner. Behind the first door in the corridor, on the left, an empty, spacious bathroom. Then: the room on the right—rows and rows of dolls neatly arranged on shelves; the stuffed toys’ glassy eyes glared ominously in the semi-darkness. Barbies with raised arms seemed to warn them it wasn’t wise to continue. Police. Anybody here? Matic tried again. Even if there was anyone there, there was no answer. They continued down the hall.

The door at the end of the hall was ajar. Matić cautiously pushed it with his foot and then entered the bedroom illuminated by the morning light. He spotted her immediately. She was lying on her back, on the pink silk and lace sheets, stretched across the middle of the huge double bed, head thrown back, arms raised, as if she was stretching after waking up. A beautifully sculpted leg poked out under the covers.

Ms. Ružić, Matić called out as he approached. Ma’am, is everything all... He didn’t finish the question. Obviously, nothing was all right.

He was already close enough to the bed to realize the woman wasn’t stretching after a good night’s sleep. Ivana Ružić will never stretch again. Ivana Ružić was dead. On her ample bust, on the left side, under a chain with a pendant in the shape of an ankh, the key of life, gaped a red bullet hole.

3

H

e startled from the nightmare with a brief cry. Opening his gray eyes, Nikola looked around. It took him a minute or two to calm down, to realize he was safe in his bed. He usually remembered dreams well, often in great detail, no matter how terrifying they were. In fact, the more disturbed Nikola was, the better he remembered the details. Sometimes, that could even be useful. Not that morning. Now, he needed not to think about anything, not to remember anything.

Ever since he began numbing himself with alcohol, almost a week ago, Nikola Liman barely remembered even what happened in reality, let alone in dreams. That suited him. He was desperately trying to forget that Jadranka had left and all the harsh words she had said as she vented out her anger and disappointment on everything she could get her hands on. He had never seen her like that. Her face flushed and her eyes bulged, unable to control herself. That petite woman, two heads shorter than him, made him pull back in fear. The very fact that she was hurt so badly showed not only the depth of her disappointment but also how much she cared for him. Because of his stupidity, Nikola pushed away someone who truly loved him, and that realization hurt him the most.

The silence Jadranka had left behind was difficult to endure. He spent time mainly curled up on his bed, gulping from a bottle and absentmindedly staring at the colorful images on the smooth surface of the television screen. Nikola no longer answered the phone, even when Dražević called him. He didn’t turn it off only because he hoped Jadranka would relent and call him, which, of course, didn’t happen. Nights and days took turns, but he barely noticed it.

He forced himself to move his big body. The pleasant numbness caused by the alcohol disappeared after a long sleep. Every muscle ached, and his head was heavy as if made of stone. Somehow, he got to his feet and unsteadily headed towards the bathroom, winding through the attic and avoiding the debris Jadranka had left behind. Nikola reached the bathroom just in time. With relief and a hint of satisfaction, he watched as the yellow stream splashed the toilet bowl’s ceramic interior. He was about to finish when dizziness overcame him. Nikola staggered and nearly fell, wetting his boxers and splashing the tiles on the bathroom wall at the same time. He cursed and took off his boxers and the T-shirt stinking of sweat he had been wearing for days.

Nikola realized he would have to take a shower, although he would prefer to return to bed. He managed to get his two hundred pounds into the tub, wisely assuming it was better to sit than stand. Everything around him was spinning like a merry-go-round as he splashed lukewarm water on his head and torso, hoping to lessen his hangover. Who knows how long he would have stayed in the tub if the creaking of the stairs didn’t startle him? Someone was climbing toward the attic. He stood up quickly, his heart pounding like crazy. Jadranka, he thought, it must be her.

And indeed: It was Jadranka. By the time he dried himself and wrapped a towel around his waist, she had already started packing her things in the open suitcase standing on the double bed.

You’re not at work? Jadranka asked when she saw him. I assumed you would be working.

Honey, I... he began, but she didn’t let him finish.

Don’t bother. I didn’t change my mind. Today, I came to take some basic stuff. I will return for the rest soon. And I would prefer you weren’t here then. I don’t want to see you.

Nikola shivered. The lump in his throat was growing. He had been so close to that woman with whom he had shared a bed until recently, but now she looked like a stranger. So cold and distant. The last time they were in that room, she was shouting and breaking things. Now, Jadranka seemed completely composed. Like someone who has made a final decision and didn’t want to waste energy on something already concluded. Nikola could not stand it. He started towards her, but his bare foot stepped on a piece of glass. He groaned in pain and hopped on one leg to the nearest chair.

Fool, Jadranka muttered with contempt laced with pity. Why didn’t you clean up? Are you so lazy?

I couldn’t... he groaned.

You couldn’t because you were too busy with rakia. I should have guessed. Rakia is your solution to everything.

She kneeled in front of him to inspect the wound. Nikola obediently lifted his leg when she motioned him to do that. She held his big foot in front of her face to see where the glass and flesh met. He gritted his teeth when she swiftly removed a piece of the broken crystal ashtray from his leg. Blood trickled onto the carpet. You will survive, she said. As usual, luck is on your side. You don’t even need stitches. Disinfect the wound and bandage it. That should be enough.

Hope awoke in him. He reached for her. Jadranka moved away, deftly avoiding his hands. Don’t touch me! she yelled.

We need to talk... Nikola said.

As far as I’m concerned, there is nothing more to say. It’s over.

Please, baby... Don’t say that... What I did was wrong, I know that... I am sorry...

Jadranka didn’t intend to listen to him. She closed the suitcase and started down the stairs. Nikola followed her, balancing on one leg. She glanced at him only when she reached the front door. I will leave the keys on the fridge when I come for the rest of the stuff. I will text you to let you know when I’ll come so we don’t run into each other again.’

Nikola realized this was the last moment to try to turn the situation around. Jadranka, I love you, he implored. Forgive me. I will change. I swear.

Silently, they looked at each other. Nikola was trembling with excitement. He felt Jadranka wavering. Something in her eyes changed. The determination did not disappear, but it seemed to have diminished. If he could only make her falter now... Maybe...

Honey... he began.

At that moment, the old landline rang hoarsely and rudely interrupted his declaration of love. Jadranka flinched. Determination returned to her brown eyes. She sighed painfully, gritted her teeth, and left the house she had called home for the past three years. She didn’t look back when Nikola called her name. The ringing of the phone swallowed the sound of the suitcase wheels rolling on the yard concrete walkway.

4

T

hat morning, when he opened the heavy door and entered the Police Department at 107 Despota Stefana Boulevard, popularly known as station ‛29. November, detective Dane Banić thought: maybe today is the day when Nikola will return to work. The elevator doors opened and Dane stepped into the gray hallway and resolutely turned toward the office he shared with Nikola. It was empty.

Checking is our essential Liman here? a chirpy female voice asked behind him.

Dane turned and saw Anđa Božić, the chief’s secretary and one of the most capable human beings he had the honor of knowing. The most capable and most eccentric. As soon as December arrived, and sometimes even earlier, in late November, Anđa would start coming to work in her holiday sweaters. Today, she was wearing a red polyester monstrosity with a reindeer muzzle with bared teeth. Dane didn’t mind. On the contrary, he was amused and thought it brightened the grayness of their workplace. As always, he was happy to see her so colorful and energetic. His lips stretched into a smile, but his eyes remained melancholic.

Anđa noticed and friendly smacked him on the shoulder, immediately realizing the reason for his downcast mood. Come on... Cheer up! Liman didn’t, God forbid, die. He will return. Maybe faster than you think. She winked conspiratorially. You know, something happened. We have just found out... The journalists didn’t catch on yet, although they will soon. It will explode any minute now.

Dane’s eyes lit up. Something with a political background?

Is there anything in this country without a political background? But your boss should brief you about everything. Dražević instructed me to tell you to go to his office immediately... He wants Liman and you to take the case. We must nip the mess in the bud. And is there anyone better for that than the two of you?

The chief filled the entire office with smoke. He found it difficult to adhere to the ban on smoking in public institutions and often violated it. However, Drazevic usually tried to be discreet. He mainly blew rings sitting by an open window, trying to attract as little attention as possible and always putting out his cigarette when someone entered. Not today. Have you heard from Liman yet? he asked without preamble. Such was chief Mladen Drazevic. Getting straight to the point.

We spoke briefly on the phone yesterday. A minute or two, Dane replied. He is in pretty bad shape.

He didn’t patch things up with Jadranka?

Hardly... Dane waved his hand. He doesn’t leave the house, anesthetizing himself with rakia. He is waiting, I guess, for the problem to solve by itself.

Still boozing? Dražević frowned and lit a new cigarette. He couldn’t find the worst time... I need him, you know. I need both of you. And it’s urgent. About an hour ago, we found the body of Vid Korać’s ex-wife. Murdered.

Dane now understood why Dražević was nervous. Korać was a rich man, arrogant and violent, with friends in the highest places. Rumor has it that he has savagely beaten several girls during sex. Since none of them pressed charges, Dane assumed he either paid or intimidated, probably both, those unfortunate women to remain silent. People like Korać always double their security. The investigation of a murder linked to his name will inevitably attract a lot of attention and who knows what it could unearth.

As soon as I found out what happened, I tried to get hold of Liman, Dražević said through a cloud of smoke. He’s not answering the phone.

Do you want me to go to his place? I will drag him out of bed and make him sober up now that I have a good reason to do it.

No. You must head straight to the crime scene. We can’t postpone it. The forensics is already there. Dražević paused briefly before continuing, And not only that... There is one more thing you should know... Relić and Ivković are also working on the case.

Now it was Dane’s turn to frown. Ren and Stimpy? he exclaimed with disgust. Why them? Didn’t you just say Nikola and I will work on the case?

Dane, don’t call them Ren and Stimpy. You will blurt it out in front of them. You don’t have to like them, but don’t start a fight either. I have enough problems as it is. In the middle of this mess, I can’t worry will my detectives grab each other by the throat.

Boss, those guys are complete morons. They...

Dražević didn’t let him finish. It’s no use, Dane. The four of you will work on the case. There is nothing we can do about it. I had to include them. The order came from above. That is why I want Liman and you to start investigating as soon as possible and prevent it from turning into a disaster. And that is why I need to know if I can count on you.

Boss, was there ever a time you could not count on your Dane? We will solve it, Nikola and me. At the double.

I hope so, Dane... I sure hope so... From your lips to God’s ears.

5

F

ilip Otašević snorted with dissatisfaction. He had to admit defeat. Despite trying his best, he couldn’t get his hands on a superb story for the new issue of The World of Scandals. And only a fantastic story combined with very explicit photos could secure a bombastic front page that would make people reach for their wallets.

Yesterday, he received an offer to buy photographs at the performance of a middle-aged singer, a star in the early 2000s. An amateur paparazzo took her frog’s-eye view picture in some provincial club and demanded five hundred euros for the ‛exclusive rights’. Filip refused. From his extensive tabloid experience, he knew very well the panties in question were not worth that money. He offered a hundred and fifty euros and after short bargaining, got the photos for half of the original offer. That was something, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. It could pass as a piece of second or third news. As the major news—not at all. He needed something to spark the readers’ imagination.

Otašević waddled to the kitchen. While waiting for the water to boil, Filip wondered why he had chosen this life. He could have finished law school like his father had tried to persuade him. By now, he would have his own office and practice. A secretary to make him coffee... But no... The deceptive shine of the Serbian showbiz, that fake diamond glittering in the mud, had tempted him.

Carrying a smoking mug, he returned to the computer screen. The smell of coffee calmed him. Filip checked his email. One unread message. Ivana wrote to him. This morning at thirty-three minutes past six. How come she got up so early?