The Dogs of Riga

CHAPTER 18

He sensed danger the moment he woke. It was nearly 7 a.m. He lay quite still in the darkness, listening. Eventually, he realised the danger was not a threat outside the door or somewhere in the room, but inside himself. It was a warning that he still hadn't turned over every stone to discover what was lying underneath it.

The pain seemed to have eased a little. Carefully, he tried to move his fingers although he still couldn't bear to look at his hand. The pain returned immediately. He wouldn't be able to last many hours more before seeing a doctor.

Wallander was exhausted. Before he'd dozed off, some hours earlier, he had felt defeated. The colonels' power was too great, and his own ability to handle the situation had been continually curtailed. Now, he could see that he was also being defeated by exhaustion. He didn't trust his own judgement, and he knew this was due to a lack of sleep over a long period.

He tried to analyse the nagging feeling he had experienced on waking. What had he overlooked? Where, in all his thoughts and his constant efforts to establish connections, had he drawn the wrong conclusions, or perhaps not thought things through properly? What had he still not managed to see? He couldn't ignore his instinct. Just now, in his dazed condition, it was his only chance of getting his bearings.

What had he still not managed to see? He sat up in bed carefully, still not having answered the question. He looked in disgust at his swollen hand for the first time, and filled the basin with cold water. He first dipped his face into it, then his injured hand. After a few minutes he went over to the window and opened the blind. There was a very strong smell of coal. Misty dawn was just breaking over the church towers of the city. He stayed at the window and watched all the people hurrying along the pavements, but he was still unable to answer his own question: what had he failed to see?

Then he left the room, paid, and allowed himself to be swallowed up by the city. It was as he walked through one of the city's many parks – he couldn't remember what it was called – that he noticed how many dogs there were in Riga. It wasn't just the invisible pack that was pursuing him. There were lots of other dogs, real ones, the kind people play with and take for walks. He paused to watch a pair of dogs involved in a violent fight. One was an Alsatian, the other a mongrel. The two owners were shouting at their dogs as they tried to separate them, and then began to shout at each other as well. The owner of the Alsatian was an elderly man, but the mongrel belonged to a woman in her 30s. Wallander had the feeling that what he was witnessing was symbolic of the opposing forces in Latvia. The dogs were fighting and the people as well, and there were no outcomes that could be predicted in advance.

He arrived at the central department store just as they were opening at 10 a.m. The blue folder was burning hot inside his shirt: his instinct told him he ought to get rid of it, to find a temporary hiding place.

While he'd been wandering around the streets that morning, he had monitored every movement behind and in front of him, and he was now certain that the colonels had encircled him again. There were more shadows than ever now, and the grim thought that a storm was brewing struck him. He stopped just inside the entrance and pretended to read an information board, but in fact he was observing a left luggage counter where customers could leave bags and parcels. The counter was L-shaped. He had remembered it all correctly. He went over to the bureau de change, handed over a Swedish note and received a bundle of Latvian notes in exchange. Then he went up to the floor where they sold records. He picked out two LPs of Verdi, and noted that the records were just about the same size as the file. When he paid and had the records put in a carrier bag, he saw the closest of the shadows pretending to study a shelf with jazz records. He then went back to the left luggage counter and waited for a few seconds until there were several people waiting to be served. He walked quickly to the farthest corner of the counter, pulled out the file and placed it between the records. He acted quickly, even though he could only use one hand properly. He handed in the carrier bag, was given a tag with a number, and walked away. The various shadows were dotted around near the entrance doors, but even so he felt pretty sure they hadn't noticed him putting the file into the carrier. Of course, there was a risk that they would search the bag, but he thought it was unlikely since they had watched him buy the two records.

He looked at his watch: only 10 minutes to go until Baiba was due at their meeting place. He was still uneasy, but he felt more secure now for having got rid of the file. He went upstairs to the furniture department. Although it was still early, there were lots of customers gazing dreamily or in resignation at suites and bedroom furniture. Wallander strolled slowly towards the area displaying kitchen equipment. He didn't want to arrive too soon, but wanted to get to the meeting place at the exact time they had planned, and so he filled the time by wandering around and looking at various light fittings. They had agreed to meet among the ovens and refrigerators, all of which were made in the Soviet Union.

He saw her straight away. She was examining a cooker, and he noticed that it only had three hotplates. He could tell immediately that something was wrong. Something had happened to Baiba, something he had suspected the moment he woke up that morning. His uneasiness bristled and sharpened all his senses.

She noticed him at the same moment. She smiled, but he could see the fear in her eyes. Wallander walked towards her, not bothering to establish what positions the shadows had taken up. Just for the moment his whole attention was concentrated on finding out what had happened. He stood beside her, and they both stared at a dazzling white refrigerator.

"What's happened?" he asked. "Just tell me the important bits, we haven't much time."

"Nothing's happened," she said. "It was just that I couldn't leave the university as they had it under observation."

Why is she lying, he wondered frantically. Why is she trying to lie so convincingly that I won't notice?

"Did you get the file?" she asked.

He hesitated over whether he ought to tell the truth, but then he decided he was fed up with all the lies.

"Yes, I got the file," he said. "Mikelis was reliable."

She gave him a quick look.

"Give me it," she said. "I know where we can hide it."

It was clear to Wallander that this was not Baiba speaking. It was her fear that was asking for the file, the threat she was exposed to.

"What's happened?" he asked again, this time more firmly, and perhaps with a note of anger. "Nothing," she insisted.

"Don't lie," he said, unable to prevent his voice from rising. "I'll give you the file. What will happen if you don't get it?"

He could see she was at the end of her tether. Don't collapse just yet, he thought in desperation. We're still one step ahead of them as long as they are not sure whether or not I've got the major's testimony.

"Upitis will die," she whispered.

"Who has threatened you with that?"

She shook her head dismissively.

"I have to know," he said. "It won't have any effect on Upitis if you tell me."

She looked at him in horror. He took hold of her arm and shook her.

"Who?" he said. "Who was it?"

"Sergeant Zids."

He let her go. Her reply had made him furious. Would he never get to know which of the colonels was at the core of the conspiracy?

He noticed the shadows closing in on them. They now seemed to have decided that he had the major's testimony. Without pausing to think he grabbed hold of Baiba and dragged her with him in a race for the stairs. Upitis won't be the first to die, he thought. It'll be us, unless we can get away.

Their sudden flight had confused the pack of dogs. Even though he doubted whether they could get away, he knew they would have to try. He pulled Baiba after him down the stairs, elbowed aside a man who hadn't managed to get out of their way, and suddenly they found themselves in the clothing department. Sales assistants and customers stared at them in astonishment as they charged past. Wallander stumbled and fell into a rack of suits. As he pulled and grabbed at the suits, the rack overturned. When he fell, he'd landed on his injured hand and the pain shot through his arm like a knife. A security guard came running up and took hold of his arm, but Wallander had no inhibitions any longer. He punched the man in the face with his good hand, then pulled Baiba after him towards where he hoped there might be a back staircase or an emergency exit. The shadows were catching up, and making no attempt to conceal themselves now. Wallander was pushing and pulling at doors that refused to budge, but eventually came to one standing ajar. They emerged into a back staircase, but he could hear footsteps coming towards them from below: there was no choice but to head for the upper floor.

He flung open a fire door and they came out on to a roof covered with gravel. He looked round for an escape route, but they were trapped. The only way down from the roof was the long leap into eternity. He noticed he was holding Baiba's hand. There was nothing to do but wait. He knew that the colonel who would soon step out on to the roof would be the man who had murdered the major. The grey fire door would reveal the answer at last, and he realised bitterly that it no longer mattered whether he'd guessed right or not.

When the door opened and Colonel Putnis stepped out accompanied by a group of armed men, however, he was surprised even so to see that he had been wrong. Despite everything he had come to the conclusion that Murniers was the monster who had been lurking for so long in the shadows.

Putnis came towards them with a very serious expression on his face. Wallander could feel Baiba's nails digging into his hand. He can't very well order his men to shoot us here, Wallander thought desperately. Or maybe he can? He recalled the execution of Inese and her friends, and suddenly he could feel himself trembling, overcome by fear.

Then Putnis's face broke into a smile, and Wallander realised to his bewilderment that it wasn't an animal of prey standing before him and smiling, but a man displaying great friendliness.

"You don't need to look so perplexed, Mr Wallander. You seem to think I'm the one behind all this business. But I must say, you're a very difficult person to protect."

For one brief moment Wallander's mind stood still. Then he realised he'd been right after all, that it wasn't Putnis but Murniers who was the devil's henchman he'd been hunting for so long. He'd also been right in suspecting there was a third possibility, that the enemy also had an enemy. Everything fell into place. His judgement hadn't let him down, and he stretched out his left hand in order to greet Putnis.

"A somewhat unusual meeting place," Putnis said, "but you are obviously a man of surprises. I must admit that I wonder how you managed to get into the country without our border guards noticing."

"I hardly know myself," Wallander said. "It's a very long story."

Putnis seemed concerned about his injured hand. "You ought to get that treated as soon as possible," he said.

Wallander nodded, and smiled at Baiba. She was still tense and didn't seem to understand what was going on.

"Murniers," Wallander said. "So he was the one?"

Putnis nodded. "Major Liepa's suspicions were well founded."

"There's a lot I don't understand," Wallander said.

"Colonel Murniers is a very intelligent person," Putnis said. "Certainly, he's an evil man, but I'm afraid that only shows that sharp minds often have a tendency to be located in heads belonging to brutal people."

"Is that certain?" Baiba said suddenly. "That he was the one who killed my husband?"

"He wasn't the one who smashed his skull," Putnis said. "That is more likely to have been his faithful sergeant."

"My driver," Wallander said. "Sergeant Zids. The one who killed Inese and the others in the warehouse."

Putnis nodded. "Colonel Murniers has never liked the Latvian nation," he said. "Even though he played the part of a police officer who held the political world at a distance, as do all professionals, in his heart and soul he is a fanatical supporter of the old regime. As far as he's concerned, God will always be in the Kremlin. That was the guarantee for his being able to form an unholy alliance with various criminals without interference. When Major Liepa began to see through him, he set false trails implicating me. I have to admit it was a long time before I began to suspect what was happening. Then I decided I might as well continue pretending not to know what was going on."

"I still don't understand, though," Wallander said. "There must have been more to it than that. Major Liepa talked about a conspiracy, something that would make the whole of Europe realise what was happening in this country."

Putnis nodded sagely. "Of course there was more to it than that," he said. "Something much bigger than a high-ranking police officer being corrupt and protecting his privileges with as much brutality as was necessary. It was a devilish plot, and Major Liepa had realised that."

Wallander felt cold. He was still holding Baiba's hand.

Putnis's armed men had withdrawn and were standing by the fire door.

"It was all very cleverly worked out," Putnis said. "Murniers had an idea and succeeded in selling it to the Kremlin and the leading Russian circles in Latvia. He had seen the possibility of killing two birds with one stone."

"By using the new Europe, where the border controls no longer existed, in order to earn money from the organised smuggling of drugs," Wallander said. "Including Sweden. But at the same time, he also used the drug smuggling to discredit the Latvian national movements. Am I right?"

Putnis nodded. "I could see from the start that you were a good police officer, Inspector Wallander. Very analytical, very patient. That's exactly how Murniers had worked it out. The blame for the drug trafficking would be attached to the freedom movements here in Latvia, and in Sweden public opinion would be radically altered. Who would want to support a political freedom movement that thanked you for the support it was receiving by flooding your country with drugs? It can't be denied that Murniers had created a weapon that was both dangerous and cleverly devised, a weapon that could have smashed the freedom movement in this country once and for all."

Wallander thought about what Putnis had said.

"Do you understand?" he asked Baiba.

She nodded slowly.

"Where is Sergeant Zids?" he asked.

"As soon as I have the necessary proof, Murniers and Sergeant Zids will be arrested," said Putnis. "I have no doubt Murniers is feeling very worried just now. He probably hasn't realised that all the time we've been keeping watch on those of his men who've been keeping watch on-you.

Of course, you could criticise me for exposing you to unnecessary danger, but I assumed it was probably the only way of finding the papers Major Liepa must have left behind."

"When I left the university yesterday, Zids was lying in wait for me," said Baiba. "He told me that if I didn't hand over the papers, Upitis would die."

"Upitis is innocent, of course," Putnis said. "Murniers had taken his sister's two small children hostage, and told him they'd be killed unless Upitis confessed to being Major Liepa's murderer. There really is no limit to what Murniers is capable of doing. It will come as a relief to the whole country once he's been exposed for what he is, and condemned to death and executed, as will Sergeant Zids. The major's evidence will be published. The plot will be revealed, not just in the courts, but it will be circulated to the whole nation. I've no doubt it will also be of interest to people beyond our borders."

Wallander could feel relief seeping through his body. It was all over.

Putnis smiled.

"All that remains is for me to read Major Liepa's documents," he said. "And now you can go back home for real, Inspector Wallander. We are deeply grateful for the help you have given us."

Wallander took the numbered tag out of his pocket.

"The file is blue," he said. "It's in a carrier bag at the left luggage desk. Along with two records that I would like to have back."

Putnis laughed. "You really are very clever, Mr Wallander. You don't put a foot wrong unless you're forced to."

Was it something in Putnis's tone of voice that gave him away? Wallander never managed to work out precisely why he was suddenly struck by the awful thought – but just as Putnis was putting the tag into his pocket, it became crystal clear to Wallander that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. He simply knew without knowing why he knew. He could no longer distinguish between intuition and rational thought, and his mouth was as dry as a desert.

Putnis continued to smile as he took his pistol from out of his pocket. His men closed in, spreading themselves all over the roof and pointing their machine guns at Baiba and Wallander. She didn't seem to grasp what was happening, and Wallander was struck dumb with fear and humiliation. At that very moment the fire door opened, and Sergeant Zids stepped out on to the roof. It occurred to Wallander's confused mind that Zids must have been there behind the door all the time, waiting to make his entrance. The show was over now, and he didn't need to wait in the wings any more.

"Your only mistake," Putnis said, his voice expressionless. "Everything I've just told you is absolutely true, of course. The only thing that distances my words from reality is my good self. Everything I said about Murniers applies to me. You were right and wrong at the same time, Inspector Wallander. If you had been a Marxist, like me, you would have realised that one must occasionally stand the world on its head in order to put it on its feet."

Putnis took a step backwards. "I trust you will realise that it is not possible for you to return to Sweden," he said. "After all, you'll be quite close to heaven when you die, up here on the roof."

"Not Baiba," Wallander pleaded. "Not Baiba."

"I'm so sorry," Putnis said.

He raised his gun, and Wallander realised he was going to shoot Baiba first. There was nothing he could do, he would die here on the roof in the centre of Riga. At that very moment the fire door burst open. Putnis gave a start and turned to see what had caused the unexpected noise. At the head of a large number of armed police officers pouring out on to the roof was Colonel Murniers. When he saw Colonel Putnis standing there with his gun in his hand, he did not hesitate. His own pistol was already drawn, and he shot Putnis through the chest, three bullets in rapid succession. Wallander threw himself over Baiba in order to shield her. A violent gun battle raged all over the roof. Murniers's and Putnis's men tried to hide behind chimneys and ventilators. Wallander saw he was in the firing line, and tried to pull Baiba with him behind Putnis's corpse. He suddenly noticed Sergeant Zids crouching behind one of the chimneys. Their eyes met, then Zids noticed Baiba, and it was immediately clear to Wallander that Zids was going to try to take both of them hostage in order to secure a safe passage for himself. Murniers's men outnumbered the others, and several of Putnis's henchmen had already been killed. Wallander could see Putnis's pistol lying beside his body, but before he could reach it Zids had flung himself at him. Wallander thrust his injured hand into Zids's face, and cried out in agony. Zids reeled from the force of the blow, his mouth started bleeding, but he had not been seriously hurt by Wallander's desperate reaction. There was hatred in his eyes as he raised his gun to shoot the Swedish police officer who had caused him and his superior so much trouble. But when the shot rang out and Wallander realised he was still alive, he opened his eyes and registered that Baiba was kneeling beside him. She had Putnis's pistol in her hands, and had shot Sergeant Zids between the eyes. She was crying, but he knew it was due to a mixture of fury and relief rather than the fear and misery she had been subjected to for so long.

The gunfire on the roof ceased just as suddenly as it had begun. Two of Putnis's men were wounded, the rest were dead. Murniers looked grim as he examined one of his own men who had received a number of gunshots to the chest, then he walked over to Baiba and Wallander.

"I'm sorry it had to turn out like this," he said apologetically, "but I had to know what Putnis said."

"You'll no doubt be able to read the full story in the major's papers," Wallander said.

"How could I have been sure they existed? And still less that you had found them?"

"By asking," Wallander said.

Murniers shook his head. "If I'd contacted either of you, I'd have entered into open warfare with Putnis, he'd have fled the country and we'd never have been able to catch him. I had no option but to keep watch over you by constantly following on the heels of Putnis's shadows."

Wallander suddenly felt far too weary to listen any more. His hand was throbbing and the pain was agonising. He took Baiba's hand and pulled himself up.

Then he passed out. When he came round he was on a treatment table in hospital, his hand was in plaster and the pain had gone at last. Colonel Murniers was standing in the doorway, cigarette in hand, watching him and smiling.

"Do you feel better now?" he asked. "Our doctors are very good. Your hand was not a pretty sight. You can have the x-rays to take home with you."

"What happened?" Wallander asked.

"You fainted. I'm sure I would have done as well, if I'd been in your situation."

Wallander looked round the examination room. "Where's Baiba?"

"She's at home in her flat. She was very calm when I left her there a few hours ago."

Wallander's mouth was dry. He sat up gingerly on the edge of the treatment table.

"Coffee," he said. "Can you get a cup of coffee here?"

Murniers burst out laughing.

"I've never known a man drink as much coffee as you do," he said. "Of course you can have some coffee. If you are feeling up to it, I suggest you come to my office so that we can wind up the whole business. Then I expect you and Baiba Liepa will have plenty to talk about. A police surgeon will give you an injection of painkillers if your hand starts hurting again. The doctor who put it in plaster said that could well happen."

They drove across the city. It was already quite late in the day, and it was starting to get dark. When they drove through the arch into the courtyard of the police headquarters, it seemed to Wallander that this must surely be for the last time. On the way up to his office, Murniers paused to unlock a safe and take out the blue file. An armed guard was sitting beside the imposing safe.

"I suppose it's a good idea to keep it locked up," Wallander said.

Murniers looked at him in surprise. "A good idea?" he echoed. "It's necessary, Inspector Wallander. Even if Putnis is now out of the way, it doesn't mean that all our problems are solved. We are still living in the same world as before. We are living in a country torn apart by conflicting forces, and we shan't get rid of those simply by putting three bullets into the chest of a police colonel."

Wallander reflected on Murniers's words as they continued to his office. A man with a coffee tray was standing to attention outside the door. Wallander recalled his first visit to that dingy room. It seemed like a distant memory. Would he ever be able to grasp everything that had happened in between?

Murniers took a bottle out of a desk drawer and filled two glasses.

"It's not pleasant to drink a celebratory toast when so many people have died," he said, "but nevertheless, I think we deserve it. Especially you, Inspector Wallander."

"I've done practically nothing except make mistakes," Wallander said. "I've been on the wrong track, and didn't catch on to how various things fitted together until it was too late."

"On the contrary," Murniers said. "I am very impressed by what you've done, and not least by your courage."

Wallander shook his head. "I'm not a brave man," he said. "I'm amazed that I'm still alive."

They emptied their glasses, and sat down at the table with the major's testimony between them.

"I suppose I really only have one question," Wallander said. "Upitis?"

Murniers nodded thoughtfully. "There was no limit to Putnis's cunning and brutality. He needed a scapegoat, a plausible murderer. And he also needed an excuse to send you home. I could see right from the start that he was uneasy about your competence, and scared. He had his men kidnap two small children, Inspector Wallander. Two small children whose mother is Upitis's sister. If Upitis didn't confess to the murder of Major Liepa, those children were to die. Upitis didn't really have any choice. I often wonder what I would have done in the same situation. He's been released now, of course. Baiba Liepa already knows he was not a traitor. We've also found the children who were being held hostage."

"It all started with a life-raft being washed ashore on the Swedish coast," Wallander said, after a few moments' thought.

"Colonel Putnis and his fellow-conspirators had just commenced the large-scale operation involving the smuggling of drugs into various countries, including Sweden," Murniers said. "Putnis had placed a number of agents in Sweden. They had tracked down various groups of Latvian emigres and were about to start distributing the drugs that would lead to the discrediting of the Latvian freedom organisation. But something happened on one of the vessels smuggling the drugs from Ventspils. It seems that some of the colonel's men had improvised a sort of palace revolution and intended to commandeer a large amount of amphetamines for their own profit. They were found out, shot, and set adrift in a life-raft. In the confusion nobody remembered the drugs stashed away inside the raft. As I understand it they spent a whole day searching for the raft, but failed to find it. We can now consider ourselves lucky that it was washed ashore in Sweden – if it hadn't been, it is very likely that Colonel Putnis would have succeeded in his intentions. It was also Putnis's agents who were cunning enough to retrieve the drugs from your police station once they had realised nobody had discovered what was hidden in the life-raft."

"Something else must have happened," Wallander said thoughtfully. "Why did Putnis decide to kill Major Liepa the moment he got back home?"

"Putnis lost his nerve. He didn't know what Major Liepa was up to in Sweden, and he couldn't risk letting him stay alive without being able to check what he was doing all the time. As long as Major Liepa was in Latvia, it was possible to keep an eye on him, or at least to be aware of the people he met. Colonel Putnis simply got nervous. Sergeant Zids was given the order to kill Major Liepa. And he did."

They sank into a long silence. Wallander could see Murniers was tired and worried.

"What happens now?" asked Wallander at last.

"I shall study Major Liepa's papers thoroughly, of course," Murniers replied. "Then we shall see."

The reply made Wallander uneasy. "They must be published, of course," he said.

Murniers didn't respond, and Wallander suddenly realised that was not definite so far as Murniers was concerned. His interests were not necessarily the same as those of Baiba Liepa and her friends. For him it could well be enough to have unmasked Putnis. Murniers might have an entirely different view of the appropriateness of giving the story wider circulation. Wallander was upset at the thought that Major Liepa's testimony might be swept under the carpet.

"I'd like a copy of the major's report," he said.

Murniers saw through his request immediately. "I didn't know you could read Latvian," he said.

"One can't know everything," Wallander replied.

Murniers stared at him for a long time, without speaking. Wallander looked him in the eye, and knew he must not give way. This was the last time he would be involved with Murniers in a trial of strength, and it was absolutely essential that he was not defeated. He owed that to the short-sighted little major.

All at once, Murniers made up his mind. He pressed the button fixed to the underside of the table, and a man appeared to fetch the blue folder. A little later Wallander received a copy, the existence of which would never be recorded. Murniers would disclaim any responsibility for it. A copy the Swedish police officer Inspector Wallander had appropriated for himself, without permission and against all the laws and regulations governing practices between friendly nations, and which he had then passed onto people who had no right to these secret documents. By doing this the Swedish police officer Kurt Wallander had displayed exceptionally poor judgement and should be condemned out of hand.

That is what would happen, that is what would pass for the truth. If anybody should ever ask, which was unlikely. Wallander would never know why Murniers allowed it to happen. Was it for the major's sake? For the country's? Or did he just think Wallander deserved an appropriate farewell present?

That was the end of the conversation. There was nothing more to say.

"The passport you are currently holding is of very doubtful validity," Murniers said, "but I'll make sure you get back home to Sweden without any problems. When are you thinking of going?"

"Maybe not tomorrow," Wallander said, "but the day after, perhaps."

Colonel Murniers accompanied him down to the car that was waiting in the yard. Wallander suddenly remembered his Peugeot that was parked in a barn somewhere in Germany, not far from the Polish border.

"I wonder how on earth I'm going to get my car back home," he said.

Murniers stared at him in bewilderment. Wallander realised he would never discover how close Murniers was to the people who considered themselves to be a guarantee for a better future in Latvia. He had only scraped the surface of what he had been allowed to come into contact with. That was a stone he would never turn. Murniers simply had no idea how Wallander had got into Latvia.

"It doesn't matter," Wallander said.

That damned Lippman, he thought angrily. I wonder if the Latvian organisations in exile have funds with which to compensate Swedish police officers for lost cars.

He felt hard done by, without being fully able to explain why. Perhaps he was still hampered by his overwhelming exhaustion. His judgement would continue to be unreliable until he'd had an opportunity to rest properly.

They bade each other farewell when they got to the car waiting to take Wallander to Baiba Liepa.

"I'll go to the airport with you," Murniers said. "You'll receive two tickets, one for the flight to Helsinki, and one for Helsinki to Stockholm. As there are no passport controls within the Nordic countries, no one will ever know you have been in Riga."

The car drove out of the courtyard. A glass panel separated the back seat from the driver. Wallander sat in the dark, thinking about what Murniers had said. Nobody would ever know he had been in Riga. It dawned on him that he would never be able to talk to anybody about it, not even to his father. One very good reason for it remaining a secret was that it had all been so improbable, so incredible. Who would ever believe him?

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. The important thing now was his meeting with Baiba Liepa. What would happen when he got back to Sweden was something he could think about when it happened.

He spent two nights and a day in Baiba Liepa's flat. All the time he was waiting for what, not being able to think of anything better, he called "the right moment", but it never occurred. He didn't utter a word about the conflicting feelings he had for her. The closest he came to her was when they sat next to each other on the sofa the second evening, looking at photographs. When he got out of the car that had taken him from Murniers to her house, her greeting had been muted, as if he had become a stranger to her again. He was put out, without even being sure what it was he was put out about. What had he expected, after all? She cooked a meal for him, a casserole with some tough chicken as the main ingredient, and he got the impression that Baiba wasn't exactly an inspired cook. I mustn't forget that she's an intellectual, he thought. She's the kind of person who is probably better qualified to dream about a better society than to cook a meal. Both types are needed, even if presumably they can't always live happily alongside each other.

Wallander was weighed down by feelings of melancholy that, luckily, he had no trouble in keeping to himself. He no doubt belonged to the good cooks of this world. He wasn't one of the dreamers. A police officer could hardly be preoccupied with dreams, he had to stick his nose into the dirt rather than point it heavenwards. But he knew that he had begun to fall in love with her, and that was the real cause of his melancholy. He would be forced to retain this sadness in his heart as he concluded the strangest and most dangerous mission he had ever undertaken. It hurt him deeply. When she told him his car would be waiting for him in Stockholm when he got back there, he barely reacted. He had started feeling sorry for himself.

She made a bed up for him on the sofa. He could hear her calm breathing from the bedroom. He couldn't sleep, despite his exhaustion. He kept getting up, walking across the cold floorboards and looking down on to the deserted street where the major had been murdered. The shadows were no longer there, they had been buried alongside Putnis. All that was left was the gaping void, repulsive and painful.

The day before he left they went to visit the unmarked grave where Colonel Putnis had buried Inese and her friends. They wept openly. Wallander sobbed like an abandoned child, and he felt as if he had seen for the first time what an awful world he lived in. Baiba had taken some flowers, some frail-looking roses, frozen stiff, and she laid them on the heap of soil.

Wallander had given her the copy of the major's testimony, but she didn't read it while he was still there.

The morning he flew home it was snowing in Riga.

Murniers came to fetch him himself. Baiba embraced Wallander in the doorway, they clung to each other as if they had just survived a shipwreck, and then he left.

Wallander walked up the steps to the aeroplane.

"Have a good journey," Murniers shouted after him.

He's also glad to see the back of me, Wallander thought. He's not going to miss me.

The plane made a wide turn to the left over Riga, then the pilot headed over the Gulf of Finland. Wallander was asleep before they even reached cruising level, his head resting on his chest.

That same evening he landed in Stockholm. A voice over the public address system asked him to report to the information desk. He was handed an envelope containing his passport and car keys. The car was parked next to the taxi rank, and to his surprise Wallander noted that it had been cleaned. It was warm inside. Somebody had been sitting there, waiting for him. He drove home to Ystad that same night and was back in his flat in Mariagatan just before dawn.