The Dogs of Riga

"I would like to meet the major's widow," he said. "A conversation with her could be important for me as well. I assume you've spoken to her several times?"

"We've had a very detailed conversation with Baiba Liepa," Murniers said. "Of course we can arrange for you to meet her."

They drove along by the river in the grey light of the winter morning. Sergeant Zids was instructed to track down Baiba Liepa while Wallander and Colonel Murniers drove out to where the body had been found, the place Murniers also claimed was the scene of the murder.

"What's your theory?" Wallander asked as they lounged in the back seat of Murniers's car, which was bigger and plusher than the one Wallander had been allocated. "You must have one, you and Colonel Putnis."

"Drugs," Murniers answered without hesitation. "We know the big bosses in the drugs business surround themselves with bodyguards, men who are nearly always addicts themselves, prepared to do anything in order to get their daily fix. Maybe those bosses reckoned Major Liepa was getting a bit close for comfort?"

"Was he?"

"No. If that theory were correct, at least a dozen officers here in the Riga police force would have come before Major Liepa on a death list. The odd thing about this is that Major Liepa had never been involved in investigating drugs crimes before. It was pure coincidence that he seemed to be the most appropriate officer to send to Sweden."

"What kind of cases had Major Liepa been dealing with?"

Murniers gazed vacantly out of the car window. "He was a very skilled all-round detective. We had some robberies in Riga recently that involved murder as well: Major Liepa handled the case brilliantly and arrested those responsible. When other investigators, at least as experienced as he was, had run up against a brick wall, Major Liepa was often the officer we turned to."

They sat in silence as the police car stopped at some traffic lights. Wallander watched a group of people hunched against the cold at a bus stop, and had the distinct impression no bus would ever come and open its doors for them.

"Drugs," he said. "That's old hat for us in the West, but it's something new for you."

"Not completely new," Murniers said, "but we've never seen it before on the scale that is normal today. Opening up our borders has produced opportunities and a market on a completely different scale. I don't mind admitting that we've sometimes felt helpless. We'll need to develop co-operation with police forces in the West because a lot of the drugs that pass through Latvia are actually destined for Sweden. Hard currency is the bait. It's quite clear to us that Sweden is one of the markets that the gangs here in Latvia are most interested in. For obvious reasons. It's not far from Ventspils to the Swedish coast, and moreover, that coast is long and difficult to patrol. You could say that they've taken over classical smuggling routes – they used to transport barrels of vodka the same way."

"Tell me more," Wallander said. "Where are the drugs manufactured? Who's behind it all?"

"You must understand that we are living in an impoverished country," Murniers said. "Just as impoverished and decrepit as our neighbours. For many years we've been forced to live as if we were shut in a cage. We've only been able to observe the riches of the West from a distance. Now, all of a sudden, everything is obtainable. But there's one condition: you need money. For someone who's prepared to go to any lengths, who's totally lacking in scruples, the quickest way to get that money is through drugs. When you helped us to dismantle our walls and open the gates to the countries that had been shut away, you also opened up the sluices for all ma

Murniers leaned forward and said something to the driver, who immediately braked and came to a halt by the kerb.

Murniers pointed at the facade of the building opposite them.

"Bullet holes," he said. "About a year old."

Wallander leaned forward to look. The wall really was riddled with bullet holes.

"What is this building?" he asked.

"One of our ministries" Murniers said. "I'm showing you this to help you to understand. To understand why we still don't know what's going to happen. Will we get more freedom? Or will the freedom we have be restricted? Or disappear altogether? We still don't know. You have to understand, Inspector Wallander, that you are in a country where nothing is yet decided."

They drove on until they came to a vast area of dockland. Wallander tried to digest what Murniers had said. He'd started to sympathise with the pale man with the bloated features, to feel that everything he said involved Wallander as well – indeed, maybe involved him more than anybody else.

"We know there are laboratories making amphetamines and maybe other drugs like morphine and ephedrine," Murniers said. "We also suspect that Asian and South American cocaine cartels are trying to establish new networks in the former Eastern bloc. The idea is that they should replace the previous routes that went straight to Western Europe. Many of these have been closed down by the European police, but the cartels believe that in the virginal East European territories they might be able to evade keen-eyed police officers. Let's say they find us easier to corrupt and bribe."

"Officers like Major Liepa?"

"He would never have stooped to accepting a bribe." "I mean that he was a keen-eyed police officer." "If his eyes were too keen, if that's what sent him to his death, I trust Colonel Putnis will establish this shortly." "Who is this man that you've arrested?"

"Someone we've often come across in circumstances in which the two dead men were involved. A former butcher from Riga who has been one of the leaders of the organised crime we've been fighting against constantly. Remarkably enough, he's always managed to avoid going to prison – but maybe we can nail him this time."

The car slowed down and stopped by a wharf with piles of scrap iron and abandoned cranes. They got out of the car and walked to the water's edge.

"That's where Major Liepa was found."

Wallander looked round, trying to establish basic facts.

How had the murderers and the major got here? Why just here? It wasn't good enough to say that this part of the docks was remote. Wallarider inspected the remains of what had once been a crane. Please, Baiba Liepa had written. Murniers had lit a cigarette, and was stamping his feet rhythmically to keep warm.

Why doesn't he want to tell me about where the crime actually took place? Wallander thought. Why does Baiba Liepa want to meet me in secret? When somebody telephones and asks for Mr Eckers… What am I really doing here in Riga?

The anxiety he'd felt that morning had returned. He wondered whether it had to do with the fact that he was a stranger in an unknown country. The job of a police officer was to deal with circumstances of which oneself was a part. Here, he was an outsider. Perhaps he could penetrate this foreign environment in the guise of Mr Eckers? Kurt Wallander was a Swedish police officer, and he felt helpless in these alien circumstances. He went back to the car.

"I'd like to study your documentation," he said. "The post-mortem, forensic reports, photos."

"We shall have all the papers translated," Murniers said.

"It might be quicker if I have an interpreter," Wallander suggested. "Sergeant Zids speaks excellent English."

Murniers smiled wryly, and lit another cigarette.

"You are in a hurry," he said. "You're impatient. Of course Sergeant Zids can translate the reports for you."

When they got back to police headquarters, they'd gone behind a curtain and watched Colonel Putnis and the man he was interrogating through a two-way mirror. The interrogation room was cold and furnished with only a small wooden table and two chairs. Colonel Putnis had taken off his tunic. The man sitting opposite him was unshaven and looked exhausted. His answers to Putnis's questions were very slow.