Studio Sex aka Studio 69 / Exposed

'Kvallspressen. I'm covering over the summer. I'm not quite sure how you go about these things, how you communicate with the media. Back home in Katrineholm, I always call Johansson at Krim at three o'clock, he usually knows everything.'

'Here in Stockholm you call the press officer.'

'But you're in charge of the investigation?' Annika chanced it.

'So far, yes.'

Yes!

'No prosecutor?' Annika quickly asked.

'There's no need for that at this stage.'

'So you don't have a suspect.'

The man didn't confirm it, then said, 'You're smarter than you look. What are you getting at?'

'Who was she?'

He groaned again. 'Listen, I told you to speak to the-'

'He says he doesn't know anything.'

'Then you'll have to content yourself with that for now.' He was getting annoyed.

'I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to put pressure on you.'

'Yes, you were. Now, I've got a lot-'

'She had silicone breasts,' Annika said. 'She wore heavy makeup and had been crying. What does that suggest?'

The man stayed silent. Annika held her breath.

'How do you know all that?' he asked. Annika could tell that he was surprised.

'Well, she hadn't been lying there for very long. The mascara was smeared, she had lipstick on her cheek. She must be at the forensic medical unit in Solna now, right? When will you tell me what you know?'

'What makes you think she had silicone breasts?'

'Ordinary breasts sort of float out to the side when you're lying down. Plastic tits point straight up. It's not that common on young girls. Was she a prostitute?'

'No, absolutely not,' the police captain said, and Annika could hear him bite his tongue.

'So you do know who she was! When will you publish the name?'

'We're not one hundred percent sure yet. She hasn't been formally identified.'

'But she will be soon? And what was wrong with her hand?'

'Sorry, I haven't got time now. Bye!'

Q, the police captain in charge of the investigation, hung up. Not until the tone was in her ear did Annika realize she still didn't know what his name was.

***

The minister shifted to fourth gear and sped into the Karlberg Tunnel. It was stifling hot inside the car, so he leaned forward and groped for the air-conditioning. The cooling system clicked on and turned to a hushed murmur. He let out a sigh. The road felt endless.

At least it'll cool down toward evening, he thought. He turned onto the North Circular and got in the lane for the tunnel leading to the E4. The different sounds of the vehicle echoed inside the car, becoming amplified and bouncing between the windows: the tires thundering against the asphalt road; the wheezing of the air-conditioning; a whining from a seal that wasn't airtight. He switched on the radio to drown out the sounds. The blaring music on the P3 station filled the car. He looked at the digital clock on the dashboard: 17:53. Studio 69, the news and current affairs program, would be starting soon.

A thought crossed his mind: I wonder if I'm going to be on.

His next thought: Of course not. Why would I be? They haven't interviewed me.

He moved over to the fast lane and overtook two French camper vans. The Haga North bus terminal flickered past, and he realized he was driving much too fast. That would be a pretty story, getting caught speeding, he reflected as he changed lanes. The vans filled his rearview mirror and hooted at his sudden braking.

It was six o'clock, and he turned up the volume to listen to the Eko news. The U.S. president was concerned about the Middle East peace process. He had invited the parties for talks in Washington the next week. It wasn't clear whether the Palestinian representatives would accept the invitation. The minister listened attentively; this could have repercussions for his own work.

Then came a report from Gotland where a big forest fire was raging. Large areas of the eastern part of the island were threatened. The reporter interviewed a worried farmer. The minister noticed that his concentration was divided. He had passed the turnoff to Sollentuna- he hadn't noticed driving past Jarva Krog.

Eko left Gotland and returned to the studio reporter. Air-traffic controllers were threatening industrial action; negotiations were going on and the deadline for the union representatives' response to the employer's latest offer was 7 P.M. A young woman had been found dead in Kronoberg Park in central Stockholm. The minister pricked up his ears and turned up the volume. There wasn't much information, but signs indicated the woman had been murdered.

Eko continued with a short piece on the former Social Democratic Party secretary who had written an op-ed article on the old IB affair in one of the broadsheets. There had been a scandal involving a clandestine intelligence outfit, the Information Bureau, in the service of the ruling Social Democratic Party. The minister got annoyed. Stupid old man! He should keep his mouth shut- they were in the middle of the election campaign.

'We did it for the sake of democracy,' he heard the old party secretary say floridly over the radio. 'We were all that stood between Sweden and the Marxist-Leninists.'

The weather report followed. The high-pressure system would stay over Scandinavia for the coming five days. By now the water table was below normal in the whole country, and the risk of forest fires was high. The ban on the lighting of fires remained. The minister sighed.

The studio reporter concluded the news bulletin just as the minister drove past the Rotebro Interchange and a hypermarket flashed by to the right. The minister waited for the howling electric-guitar signature tune of the current affairs program Studio 69, but to his surprise it didn't come on. Instead they announced yet another program with hysterically shouting youths for hosts. Shit, it was Saturday. Studio 69 was only on Monday to Friday. Annoyed, he switched off the radio. The moment he did, his cell phone rang. Judging by the signal, it was somewhere deep inside a bag on the backseat. He cursed out loud and threw his right arm back. Swerving within his lane, he pulled the suitcase onto the floor and fished out the small overnight bag. A late-model, silver Mercedes beeped at him angrily as it drove past.

'Capitalist swine,' the minister muttered.

He turned the overnight bag upside down on the backseat and fished out the cell phone.

'Yes?'

'It's Karina. Hi.' His press secretary. 'Where are you?'

'What do you want?' he countered brusquely.

'Svenska Dagbladet wants to know whether the new crisis in the Middle East peace talks will threaten the consignment of JAS fighter aircraft to Israel.'

'That's a trick question. We haven't signed any contract for JAS deliveries to Israel.'

'That's not the question,' the press secretary said. 'The question was whether the negotiations are threatened.'

'The government won't comment on potential negotiations with potential buyers of Swedish munitions or Swedish fighter aircraft. Lengthy negotiations with prospective buyers take place all the time and relatively seldom lead to any big purchases. In this case, there is no threat to any consignment, as there won't be any- at least not to my knowledge.'

The press secretary took down his words in silence.

'Okay,' she then said. 'Have I got this right? 'The answer is no. No consignments are threatened, as no contract has been signed.''

The minister passed his hand over his tired brow. 'No, no, Karina. That's not at all what I said. I didn't answer no. It's an unanswerable question. Since there are no planned consignments, they can't be threatened. Answering