The Dogs of Riga

CHAPTER 11

Wallander left the hotel at 5.30 p.m. He reckoned that if he couldn't shake off the shadows during the next hour, then he never would. When he said goodbye to Sergeant Zids after their lunch together – he had excused himself by saying he had some paperwork to deal with and preferred to do it in his hotel room – he had spent the rest of the afternoon trying to resolve how to get rid of the men tailing him.

He had no experience of being shadowed, and only very rarely had he done any shadowing of a suspect himself. He ransacked his memory to try to recall any words of wisdom from Rydberg about the difficulties of tailing people, but was forced to conclude he had not expressed any views on the art of shadowing. Wallander also realised that he could not plan any surprise manoeuvres since he wasn't familiar with the streets of Riga. He would have to seize any opportunity that arose, and he was not confident of succeeding, but he felt bound to try. Baiba Liepa wouldn't have gone to such lengths to ensure that they met in secret unless she had good reason. Wallander couldn't imagine someone married to the major would be prone to overly dramatic gestures.

It was already dark when he left the hotel, and it had started to get windy. He left his key at reception without saying where he was going or when he would be back. St Gertrude's Church, where the concert was to take place, was not far from the Latvia Hotel. He had a vague hope of being able to lose himself among all the people hurrying home from work.

Out in the street, he buttoned up his jacket and glanced quickly round, but couldn't see anybody who looked as if they were following him. Perhaps there was more than one of them? He knew that experienced shadows never trailed their target, but always tried to position themselves ahead. He walked slowly, stopping frequently to look at shop windows. He hadn't been able to think of a better ploy than pretending to be a foreigner who was looking for suitable souvenirs to take back home with him. He crossed the broad Esplanade and walked down the street behind the government offices. He thought of hailing a taxi and asking to be taken to somewhere and then transferring to another one, but decided that would be far too easy a ruse for a pursuer to see through. No doubt whoever was following him. could very quickly establish who had used the city's taxis and where they had gone.

He stopped at a window display of drab-looking clothes for men. He didn't recognise any of the people passing by behind him, whose reflections he could see in the glass. What am I doing, he wondered. Baiba, you should have told Mr Eckers how he could find his way to the church without being followed. He set off again. His hands were cold, and he regretted not bringing any gloves with him.

On the spur of the moment he went into a cafe, and entered a smoke-filled room crammed with people, that smelt strongly of beer and tobacco and sweat, and looked round for a table. There wasn't an empty one, but he could see a vacant chair right at the back in a corner. Two old men, each with a glass of beer in front of him, were deep in conversation and merely nodded when Wallander pointed inquiringly at the chair. A waitress with damp patches under her arms shouted something at him, and he pointed at one of the beer glasses. All the time, he was keeping an eye on the entrance: would his shadow follow him in? The waitress came with his frothing glass. He gave her a note and she put his change on the sticky table. A man in a worn black leather jacket came in. Wallander watched him make his way to a group that seemed to have been waiting for him, and sit down. Wallander took a sip of beer and glanced at his wristwatch: 5.55 p.m. Now he would have to make up his mind how to proceed. The door to the lavatory was diagonally behind him – every time the door opened, he was assailed by the stench of urine. When he had half-emptied his glass, he got up and went to the lavatory. He found himself in a narrow corridor with cubicles on each side and a urinal at the end, lit by a single bulb. He thought there might be a back door he could use, but the corridor was closed off by a brick wall. That's no good, he thought: no point in even trying. How do you get away from something you can't even see? Unfortunately Mr Eckers will have unwelcome company when he goes to the concert. His inability to find a solution was irritating him. As he was standing at the urinal, the door opened and a man came in and locked himself in one of the cubicles.

Wallander knew immediately that it was somebody who'd arrived at the cafe***after him – he had a good memory for faces. He didn't hesitate, knowing he would just have to risk making a mistake. He hurried back through the smoky cafe***and out the door. Out in the street, he looked round, peering into doorways, but could see no one. Quickly he retraced his steps, turned into a narrow alley and ran as fast as he could until he emerged once more into the Esplanade. A bus was standing at a stop, and he managed to board it just before the doors closed. He got off at the next stop without having been asked for the fare, left the main road and went down one of the numerous alleys. He paused in the light from a street lamp to check the map. He still had some time, and he ducked into a dark entrance to wait. For the next 10 minutes nobody he judged to be a possible shadow went by. He knew he might still be being watched, but he reckoned he had now done all he could.

He reached the church just before 7 p.m. It was already quite full, but he found a space by one of the side aisles, and watched the people still streaming into the church. He couldn't see anyone who might be his shadow, and nor could he see Baiba Liepa.

The sound of the organ shocked him. It was as if the whole church was about to be shattered by the sheer power of the music. Wallander remembered an occasion when, as a child, his father had taken him to church. The organ music had frightened him so much that he'd burst into tears. Now, he recognised something soothing in the music. Bach has no homeland, he thought. His music belongs everywhere. Wallander let the music seep into his consciousness.

Murniers might have been the one who phoned Major Liepa. Something the major said when he got back from Sweden might have driven Murniers to silence him swiftly. Major Liepa might have been ordered to report for duty. He might even have been murdered at the police station itself.

He was suddenly shaken out of his train of thought by the sensation of being watched. He looked to either side of him but could see only faces concentrating on the music.

In the broad central choir all he could see was people's backs. He continued looking round until his gaze reached the aisle opposite.

There was Baiba Liepa, in the middle of a pew, amidst a group of old people. She was wearing her fur hat, and looked away once she was certain Wallander had recognised her. For the next hour he tried to avoid looking at her again, but now and then he couldn't resist glancing in her direction, and he could see she was sitting with her eyes closed, listening to the music. Wallander was overcome by a feeling of unreality. Only a few weeks ago her husband had been sitting on his sofa while they'd listened to Maria Callas singing in Turandot, with a blizzard raging outside the windows. Now he was in a church in Riga, the major was dead, and his widow was sitting with her eyes closed, listening to a Bach fugue.

She must know how we're going to get away from here, he thought. She chose the church as a meeting place, not me.

When the concert was over everyone stood up to leave immediately, and there was a bottleneck at the exit. The rush astonished Wallander. It was as if the music had never existed, and the congregation was trying to flee from a bomb scare. He lost sight of Baiba Liepa in the crush, and allowed himself to be carried along by the crowd. Just as he reached the porch, he caught sight of her in the shadows of the north transept. He saw her beckoning to him, and turned away from the throng of people elbowing their way towards the door.

"Follow me," she said. Behind an ancient burial vault was a narrow door, which she opened with a key bigger than her hand. They emerged into a churchyard, she looked around quickly, then hurried on through the decrepit headstones and rusty iron crosses. They left the churchyard through a gate into a back street, and a car with its lights off started its noisy engine, and they scrambled in. This time Wallander was certain the car was a Lada. The man behind the wheel was very young and smoking one of those extra-strong cigarettes. Baiba Liepa smiled quickly at Wallander, shy and uncertain, and they drove out into a wide main thoroughfare Wallander guessed must be Valdemar. They continued north, past a park Wallander remembered from the tour he'd made with Sergeant Zids, and then turned left. Baiba Liepa asked the driver something, and received a shake of the head by way of reply. Wallander noticed the driver checked his rear-view mirror constantly. They turned left again, and suddenly the driver accelerated and made a U-turn. They passed the park again, and Wallander was now sure it was the Verman's Park; then they drove back towards the city centre. Baiba Liepa was leaning forward in her seat, as if giving the driver silent instructions by breathing down the back of his neck. They went along Aspasias Boulevard, passed another of those deserted squares, and crossed a bridge whose name Wallander didn't know.

They came to a district of ramshackle factories and grim housing estates. They seemed to be going more slowly now; Baiba Liepa was leaning back in her seat, and Wallander assumed they were confident that nobody had managed to get on their trail.

Minutes later they drew up outside a rundown, two-storey building. Baiba nodded to Wallander, and they got out. She led him swiftly through an iron gate, up a gravel path, and unlocked a door. Wallander heard the car driving off behind them. He entered a hall that smelt faintly of disinfectant, noting that it was lit by just one dim bulb behind a red cloth shade, and it occurred to him that they could well be at the entrance to a disreputable nightclub. He hung up his thick overcoat, put his jacket over the back of a chair, then followed her into a living room where the first thing he saw was a crucifix hanging on one wall. She switched on some lights, and all at once she seemed quite calm. She signalled him to sit down.

Afterwards, long afterwards, he would be astonished to find he could remember nothing at all about the room in which he had his meetings with Baiba Liepa. The only thing that stuck in his memory was the black, metre-high crucifix hanging between two windows whose curtains were carefully drawn, and the lingering smell of disinfectant in the hall. But as for the worn armchair in which he sat, listening to Baiba Liepa's horrific story – what colour was it? He couldn't remember. It was as if they had talked in a room with invisible furniture. The black crucifix could just as well have been suspended in mid-air, held up by a divine force.

She had been wearing a russet-coloured dress which he later learned the major had bought for her in a department store in Ystad. She had put it on in order to honour his memory, she said, and she'd also thought it would be a reminder of the crime she herself had suffered through the betrayal and murder of her husband. Wallander did most of the talking, asking questions which she answered in her restrained voice.

The first thing they did was to do away with Mr Eckers.

"Why that particular name?" he had asked. "It's just a name," she said. "Maybe there is such a person, maybe not. I made it up. It was easy to remember." At first she spoke in a way that reminded Wallander of Upitis. It was as if she needed time to close in on the point she may well have been frightened of reaching. He listened attentively, afraid of missing any implied significance -something he had discovered was a feature of Latvian society, but she confirmed Upitis's account of the struggle that was taking place in Latvia. She spoke of revenge and hatred, of a fear that was slowly starting to lose its grip, of a post-war generation that had been suppressed. It seemed to Wallander that she was anti-communist, of course, anti-Soviet, one of the friends of the West that, paradoxically, the Eastern bloc countries had always managed to produce to give succour to their imagined enemies. Nevertheless, she never resorted to making claims she could not support by detailed argument. He realised afterwards that she was trying to get him to understand. She was his teacher, and she didn't want to leave him in ignorance about the circumstances that lay behind the current situation, that explained the events of which it was too soon to establish an overall view. He realised that he had been far too ignorant of what was really going on in Eastern Europe.

"Call me Kurt," he had said, but she shook her head and continued to keep him at the distance she'd settled on from the start. He would continue to be Mr Wallander.

He had asked her where they were.

"In a flat belonging to a friend," she told him. "To endure, and to survive, we have to share everything – the more so as we are living in a country and at a time when everyone is being urged to think only of themselves."

"As far as I can see, communism is the opposite of that," Wallander said. "I thought it claimed that only things thought and carried out collectively were acceptable."

"That's the way it used to be," she said. "But everything was different in those days. It might be possible to recreate that dream some time in the future, perhaps it's impossible to resurrect dead dreams? Just as once you're dead, you're dead forever."

"What exactly happened?" he asked.

At first she seemed not to understand what he meant, but then she understood that he was asking about her husband.

"Karlis was betrayed and murdered," she said. "He had penetrated too far under the surface of a crime too massive, that involved too many important people, for him to be allowed to go on living. He knew he was living dangerously, but he hadn't yet been exposed as a defector. A traitor inside the nomenklatura."

"He came back from Sweden," Wallander said. "He went straight to police headquarters to deliver his report. Did you meet him at the airport?"

"I didn't even know he was coming home," she answered. "Perhaps he'd tried to phone, I'll never know. Maybe he'd sent a telegram to the police headquarters and asked them to inform me. I'll never know that either. He didn't call me until he was in Riga. I didn't even have the right food in to celebrate his return. One of my friends gave me a chicken. I'd only just finished preparing the meal when he turned up with that beautiful book."

Wallander felt a little guilty. The book he had bought, in great haste and without much thought, was lacking in emotional significance. Now, when he heard her speaking of it like this, he felt as if he had deceived her.

"He must have said something when he came home" Wallander said, painfully aware of the limitations of his English vocabulary.

"He was elated," she said. "Naturally, he was also worried and furious; but what I shall remember above all is how elated he was."

"What had happened?"

"He said something had become clear at last. 'Now I'm sure I'm on the right track,' he said, again and again. Since he suspected our flat was bugged, he took me out into the kitchen, turned on the taps, and whispered in my ear. He said he had exposed a conspiracy that was so gross and so barbaric that you people in the West would finally be forced to recognise what was happening in the Baltic countries."

"Is that what he said? A conspiracy in the Baltic states? Not just in Latvia?"

"I'm quite certain of it. He often grew irritated because the three Baltic countries tend to be regarded as one entity, despite the big differences between them, but this time he wasn't only talking about Latvia."

"He actually used the word 'conspiracy'?"

"Yes."

"Did you realise what was implied?"

"Like everybody else, he'd known for a long time that there were direct links between certain criminals, politicians and even police officers. They protected each other in order to facilitate all kinds of criminal activity, and then shared the proceeds. Karlis himself had been offered bribes on many occasions, but he had too much self-respect to consider accepting any. For a long time he'd been working undercover, trying to track down what was happening and who was involved. I knew all about it, of course. I knew we lived in a society that was fundamentally nothing but a conspiracy. A collective philosophy of life had turned into a monster, and in the end the conspiracy was the only valid ideology."

"How long had he been investigating this conspiracy?"

"We were married for eight years, but he'd started those investigations long before we met." "What did he think he was going to achieve?" "At first, nothing more than the truth." "The truth?"

"For posterity. For a time he was certain would eventually come. A time when it would be possible to reveal what had really being going on during the occupation."

"So he was an opponent of the communist regime? In that case, how could he become a high-ranking police officer?"

Her response was angry, as if he were guilty of serious slander of her husband.

"But don't you understand? A communist is precisely what he was! What made him so disappointed was the massive betrayal! The corruption and indifference. The dream of a new kind of society that had been turned into a lie."

"So he led a double life?"

"You can hardly be expected to understand what that involves, year after year being forced to pretend you are somebody you are not, professing beliefs you abominate, defending a regime you hate. It didn't only affect Karlis, though. It affected me as well, and everybody else in this country who refused to give up the hope of a new world."

"What had he discovered that made him so elated?"

"I don't know. We didn't have time to talk about it. We had our most intimate conversations under the bedclothes, where no one could hear us."

"He said nothing at all?"

"He was hungry. He wanted to eat and drink wine. I think he felt that at long last, he could relax for a few hours. Give in to his feelings of elation. If the phone hadn't rung, I believe he'd have burst into song with his wine glass in his hand."

She broke off, and Wallander waited. It occurred to him that he didn't even know whether Major Liepa had been buried yet.

"Think back," he said gently. "He might have hinted at something. People who've made an important breakthrough can sometimes let slip something they don't intend to say."

She shook her head. "I have thought," she said. "And I'm quite certain he didn't. Maybe it was something he'd learnt in Sweden? Maybe he'd worked out in his head the solution to a crucial problem?"

"Did he leave any papers at home?"

"I have looked. He was very careful, though. The written word could be far too dangerous."

"Did he give anything to his friends? Upitis?"

"No. I'd have known if he had."

"Did he confide in you?"

"We confided in each other."

"Did he confide in anyone else?"

"Obviously he trusted his friends; but we have to understand that every secret we confide in another person can be a burden to them. I'm quite sure nobody else knew as much as I did."

"I must know everything," Wallander said. "Every little detail you know about this conspiracy is important."

She sat in silence for a while before she spoke. Wallander realised he'd been concentrating so hard that he'd broken into a sweat.

"Some years before we met, at the end of the 1970s, something happened that really opened his eyes to what was going on in this country. He often spoke of it, saying that every person's eyes need to be opened in an individual way. He used a metaphor I didn't understand at first. 'Some people are woken up by cocks crowing, others because the silence is too great.' Now I know what he meant. What happened, more than ten years ago, was that he'd been involved in a long and meticulous investigation that eventually led to his arrest of the culprit. It was a man who had stolen many icons from our churches, irreplaceable works of art that had been smuggled out of the country and sold for huge sums of money. Karlis had no doubt the man would be found guilty. But he wasn't." "Why not?"

"He wasn't even taken to court. The case was abandoned. Karlis couldn't understand what was going on, of course, and demanded a trial – but without warning the man was released and all the documents on the case declared secret. Karlis was ordered to forget the whole business. The man who issued that order was his superior. I can still remember his name, Amtmanis. Karlis was convinced that Amtmanis was himself protecting the criminal, and may even have been sharing the spoils. That incident hit him very hard."

Wallander's mind went back to that snowy night when the short-sighted little major was sitting on his sofa. "I'm a religious man," he had said. "I don't believe in a particular God, but even so one can still have a faith."

"And then?"

"I still hadn't met Karlis then, but I think he went through a serious crisis. Maybe he thought of resigning from the police. As a matter of fact, I believe it was me who convinced him he should continue in his job."

"How did you meet?"

She looked at him in surprise. "Does that matter?"

"It might. I don't know. All I do know is I have to keep asking questions if I'm going to be able to help you."

"How do people meet?" she said with a sad smile. "Through friends. I'd heard about this young police officer who wasn't like the others. He didn't look much, but I fell in love with him the first time I saw him."

"So you got married? He kept on working?"

"He was a captain when we met, but he was promoted unusually quickly. Every time he took another step up the ladder, he would come home and say that another invisible little funeral wreath had been hung on his shoulder straps. He continued to try to find proof of a link between the leading politicians of our country, the police, and various gangs. He had made up his mind to pin down all the contacts, and he once talked about a secret government department here in Latvia whose only purpose was to coordinate contacts between the underworld and the politicians and police officers involved. About a year ago I heard him use the word 'conspiracy***for the first time. You mustn't forget that he had the feeling then that he was in step with the times: perestroika in Moscow had spread as far as Latvia, and we'd begun to meet more often and to discuss more openly what needed to be done in our country."

"Was his boss still Amtmanis?"

"Amtmanis had died. Murniers and Putnis had become his immediate superiors. He distrusted both of them, and had the definite feeling that one of them was involved in, and possibly even the leader of the conspiracy he was trying to penetrate. He said there was a 'condor' and a 'lapwing' in the police force, but he didn't know which was which."

"A condor and a lapwing?"

"The condor is a vulture, but the lapwing is an innocent wader. When Karlis was a boy, he was very interested in birds and had even dreamt of becoming an ornithologist."

"But he didn't know which was which? I thought he had decided it was Colonel Murniers?"

"That was much later, about ten months ago. Karlis was on the trail of a huge drug-trafficking ring. He said it was a devilish plan that would be able to kill us twice."

"What did he mean by that?"

"I don't know." She stood up quickly, as if she were suddenly scared of going any further. "I can offer you a cup of tea," she said. "I'm afraid I don't have any coffee."

"I'd love a cup of tea," Wallander said.

She disappeared to the kitchen and Wallander tried to decide the most important questions to ask next. He was sure that she was being honest with him, but he still didn't know what she and Upitis thought he could do to help them. He doubted he'd be able to fulfil the expectations they had of him. I'm just a simple police officer from Ystad, he thought. What you people need is a man like Rydberg – but he's dead, like the major. He can't help you.

She came back with a teapot and cups on a tray. There must be somebody else in the flat, he thought – the water couldn't possibly have boiled as quickly as that. Wherever I go there's a hidden guard keeping watch on me, and I understand very little of what's really going on.

He could see she was tired.

"How long can we go on?" he asked.

"Not much longer. My house is bound to be under observation -1 can't stay away too long, but we can continue here tomorrow night."

"I'm invited to Colonel Putnis's then."

"I understand. What about the following night?"

He nodded, took a sip of tea (which was weak), and continued putting his questions. "You must have wondered what Karlis meant by the drug-smuggling ring killing twice," he said. "You must have discussed it with Upitis, surely?"

"Karlis once said that you can use anything at all for blackmail purposes," she answered. "When I asked what he meant by that, he said it was something one of the colonels had told him. Why I remember that particular detail, I have no idea. Maybe because Karlis was very quiet and withdrawn at the time.

"Blackmail?"

"That was the word he used." "Who was going to be blackmailed?" "Latvia."

"Did he really say that? A whole country could be subjected to blackmail?" "Yes. If I weren't certain, I wouldn't say it." "Which of the colonels had used the word 'blackmail'?" "I think it was Murniers, but I'm not sure." "What did Karlis think of Colonel Putnis?" "He said Putnis wasn't among the worst." "What did he mean by that?"

"He observed the law. He didn't take bribes from just anyone."

"But he did take bribes?" "They all do." "Not Karlis, though?" "Never. He was different."

Wallander could see she was starting to get restless. The rest of his questions would have to wait.

"Baiba," he said – and that was the first time he used her first name – "I want you to think over everything you've told me this evening. The day after tomorrow I might ask you the same questions again."

"Yes," she said. "All I do is think."

For a moment he thought she was going to cry, but she regained her self-control and got to her feet. She drew a curtain hanging on one wall back to reveal a door, which she opened. A young woman entered, smiled and began to clear away the tea things.

"This is Inese," Baiba Liepa told him. "You've been to visit her this evening. That's your explanation if you're asked. You met her in the nightclub at the Latvia Hotel, and she's become your lover. You don't know exactly where she lives, only that it's on the other side of the bridge. You don't know her second name as she's only your lover for the few days you're in Riga. You think she's a filing clerk."

Wallander listened open-mouthed. Baiba Liepa said something in Latvian, and Inese struck a pose for him.

"Remember her face," Baiba Liepa said. She'll be collecting you the day after tomorrow. Go to the nightclub after 8 p.m., and you'll find her there."

"What's your own alibi?"

"I went to an organ concert, then visited my brother." "Your brother?"

"He was the one driving the car."

"Why did you put a hood over my head when I went to meet Upitis?"

"His judgement is better than mine – we didn't then know if we could trust you."

"What do you really think I can do to help?"

"See you the day after tomorrow," she said evasively. "We have no time to lose."

The car was at the gate. She didn't say a word during the drive back to the city centre. Wallander suspected she was crying. When they dropped him not far from the hotel, she shook his hand. She muttered something in

Latvian, and Wallander scrambled out of the car, which disappeared in a flash. He was hungry, but even so he went straight up to his room. He poured himself a glass of whisky then lay down on the bed, under the cover. He could think only of Baiba Liepa.

It was after 2 a.m. before he undressed and got into bed. In his dreams, someone was lying at his side. It wasn't his "lover" Inese, but somebody else, someone the colonels directing his dreams never allowed him to see.

Sergeant Zids collected him the next morning at exactly 8 a.m. At 8.30 a.m. Colonel Murniers called in at his office.

"We think we've found Major Liepa's murderer," he said.

Wallander looked at him in astonishment.

"You mean the man Colonel Putnis has been interrogating these last couple of days?"

"No, not him. He's no doubt a slimy criminal who's also involved in some way or other – but we've got another man. Come and see!"

They went down to the basement. Murniers opened the door to an antechamber with a two-way mirror on one wall. Murniers beckoned to Wallander, inviting him to take a look.

The room behind the mirror had bare walls, a table and two chairs. On one of the chairs was Upitis. He had a dirty bandage on his forehead. He was wearing the same shirt he'd had during their night-time conversation in the unknown hunting lodge.

"Who is he?" Wallander asked, without taking his eyes off Upitis. He was afraid his shock might betray him. On the other hand, maybe Murniers knew already.

"He's a man we've had our eyes on," Murniers said. "A failed academic, poet, butterfly collector, journalist. Drinks too much, talks too much. He's spent quite a few years in prison, for all kinds of offences. We've known for some time that he was involved in serious crime, although we could never prove it. We had an anonymous tip suggesting he might have something to do with Major Liepa's death." "Is there any proof?"

"Needless to say, he doesn't confess to anything at all -but we have evidence as significant as a voluntary confession."

"What?"

"The murder weapon."

Wallander turned to look at Murniers.

"The murder weapon," Murniers repeated. "Perhaps we should go up to my office so that I can give you the background to this arrest. Colonel Putnis ought to be there as well by now."

Wallander followed Murniers up the stairs. He noticed the Colonel was humming to himself. Somebody's been leading me up the garden path, he thought, horrified. Somebody's been leading me up the garden path – but I don't know who. I don't know who, and I don't know why.