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"This will take some time," Murniers said pensively, "but we'll get to the truth sooner or later."
"What truth?"
"Whether or not we're right."
They returned to the i
"Baiba Liepa will be brought here for an interrogation at 2 p.m. this afternoon," said Murniers.
Wallander was horrified. You have betrayed me, MrEckers. Why did you do that?
"What I had in mind was a conversation," Wallander said. "Not an interrogation."
"I shouldn't have used the word 'interrogation'," Murniers said. "Allow me to explain that she indicated she would be delighted to see you."
Murniers left, and two hours later Zids had translated all the documents in the file. Wallander had examined the blurred photographs of Liepa's body, and his feeling that something vital was missing was reinforced. Since he knew he could think more clearly when he was doing something else, he asked the sergeant to drive him to a shop where he could buy long Johns. The sergeant didn't appear surprised at his request. Wallander was struck by the absurdity of the whole situation as he marched into the outfitters selected by the sergeant: it was as if he were buying underpants with a police escort. Zids did the talking for him, and insisted that Wallander should try on the long Johns before paying for them. He bought two pairs, and they were duly wrapped up in brown paper and tied with string. When they emerged into the street, he suggested they should have lunch.
"Not at the Latvia Hotel, though," he said. "Anywhere else, but not there."
Sergeant Zids turned off the main street and drove into the old town. It seemed to Wallander that he was entering a new labyrinth he would never be able to find his way out of alone.
They stopped at the Sigulda restaurant. Wallander had an omelette, and the sergeant a bowl of soup. The atmosphere was stifling and heavy with cigarette smoke. The place was full when they arrived, and Wallander had noted that the sergeant had demanded a table.
"This would have been impossible in Sweden," he said as they were eating. "I mean, a police officer marching into a crowded restaurant and demanding a table."
"It's different here," Sergeant Zids said, unconcerned. "People prefer to keep well in with the police."
Wallander could feel himself getting a
"I don't want to jump any queues in future," he said.
The sergeant stared at him in astonishment.
"Then we won't get any food," he said.
"The dining room at the Latvia Hotel is always empty," Wallander replied curtly.
They were back at police headquarters just before 2 p.m. During the meal Wallander had sat there without speaking, trying to establish in his mind just what was wrong with the report Zids had translated. He had concluded that what worried him was the very perfection of the whole thing – it was as if it had been written in such a way as to make questions u
Murniers wasn't in his office and Colonel Putnis was still busy with his interrogation. The sergeant went to fetch Baiba Liepa, leaving Wallander alone in his office. He wondered if it was bugged, if someone was observing him through a two-way mirror. As if to assert his i
"Does Major Liepa's widow speak English?" he asked the sergeant. Zids nodded.
"Then you can leave us alone."
He had tried to prepare himself. I must remember that everything I say and do can be monitored. We can't even put our fingers over our lips, let alone write notes. But Baiba Liepa has to understand that Mr Eckers still exists.
She was dressed in a dark overcoat and a fur hat. Unlike earlier in the day, she was wearing glasses. She took off her hat, and shook out her dark hair.
"Please sit down, Mrs Liepa," Wallander said. She immediately smiled, a quick smile, as if he'd sent her a secret signal with a torch. He noted that she accepted it with no trace of surprise, but rather as if she'd expected nothing different. He knew he had to put to her all the questions he already had answers to. Perhaps she could send him a message through her responses, some insight into what was being held back for the eyes of Mr Eckers only?
He expressed his sympathy – formally, but sincerely even so. Then he asked the questions that were natural in the circumstances, bearing in mind all the time that some unknown person would be monitoring them.
"How long were you married to Major Liepa?"
"For eight years."
"If I understand correctly, you didn't have any children."
"We wanted to wait. I have my career."
"What is your career, Mrs Liepa?"
"I'm an engineer. But these last few years I've spent most of my time translating scientific papers. Some of them for our technical university."
How did you fix serving me breakfast? he wondered. Who is your contact at the Latvia Hotel? The thought distracted him. He asked his next question.
"And you thought you couldn't combine that with having children?"
He regretted asking that question straight away. That was a private matter, irrelevant. He apologised by not waiting for an answer, but just pressing on.
"Mrs Liepa," he said. "You must have thought, worried, wondered about what really happened to your husband. I've had the interrogations you had with the police translated. You say you don't know anything, don't understand anything, have no idea about anything. I'm sure that's the case. Nobody wants your husband's murderer to be caught and punished more than you do. Nevertheless, I'd like you to think back one more time, to the day when your husband got back from Sweden. There might be something you overlooked because of the shock of hearing that your husband had been murdered."
Her reply gave him the first coded signal for him to interpret.
"No," she said. "I haven't forgotten anything. Nothing at all." Herr Eckers, I wasn't shocked by something unexpected. What happened was what we'd feared.
"Maybe a bit earlier, then," Wallander said. He would have to tread very carefully now, so as not to make it too difficult for her.
"My husband didn't speak about his work," she said. "He would never break the oath of silence he'd taken when he became a police officer. I was married to a man whose morals were of a very high standard."
Absolutely, Wallander thought. It was the very high standard of his morals that killed him. "I had exactly the same impression of Major Liepa," he said, "despite the fact that we only met for a couple of days in Sweden."
Did she understand now that he was on her side? That he'd asked her to come and see him for that very reason? So that he could lay out a smokescreen of questions that didn't mean anything?
He repeated his request for her to search again through her recollections. They batted questions and answers to and fro for a while until Wallander reckoned it was time to stop. He rang a bell, assuming that Sergeant Zids would be listening for it, then stood up and shook her by the hand.
How did you know I'd come to Riga, he wondered. Somebody must have told you. Somebody who wanted us to meet. But why? What is it you think a police officer from an insignificant little Swedish town will be able to do to help you?