The Dogs of Riga

"I'm here," Wallander said.

Colonel Putnis arrived 15 minutes later. He had with him a young police officer carrying a tray with two cups of coffee. Putnis had bags under his eyes.

"You look tired, Colonel Putnis."

"The air in the interrogation room is always bad."

"Maybe you smoke too much?"

Putnis shrugged. "I'm sure you're right," he said. "I've heard that Swedish police officers seldom smoke. I find it hard to contemplate an existence without cigarettes."

Major Liepa, thought Wallander. Had he managed to describe that peculiar police station in Sweden where no smoking was allowed except in designated areas?

Putnis had taken out a packet of cigarettes.

"Do you mind?" he asked.

"Please go ahead. I don't smoke myself, but I'm not irritated by cigarette smoke."

Wallander tried the coffee. It had a bitter aftertaste and was very strong. Putnis sat deep in thought, watching the smoke floating up to the ceiling.

"Why are you keeping watch on me?" Wallander asked him.

Putnis stared questioningly. "I beg your pardon?"

He knows how to put on an act, thought Wallander, and could feel his indignation flood back.

"Why are you keeping watch on me? I've know that you're having me followed; but why do you consider it necessary to hide a microphone in my alarm clock?"

Putnis studied him thoughtfully.

"The microphone in your alarm clock can only be due to an unfortunate misunderstanding," he said. "Some of my subordinates can be over-enthusiastic at times. The plainclothes police officers who are keeping an eye on you are there for your own safety."

"Why? What could happen to me?"

"We don't want anything to happen to you. Until we know why Major Liepa was murdered, we are being extra-careful."

"I can look after myself," Wallander said dismissively. "I'd be grateful if you'd refrain from planting any more microphones. If I find another one, I shall return to Sweden immediately."

"I apologise," Putnis said. "I shall ensure that whoever was responsible receives a severe reprimand."

"But you are the one who issued the orders, surely?"

"Not for the microphone," Putnis insisted. "That must have been one of my captains taking a regrettable initiative."

"The microphone was very small," Wallander said. "Very advanced. I take it somebody will have been sitting in a neighbouring room, listening?"

Putnis nodded.

"Of course," he said.

"I thought the Cold War was over," Wallander said.

"When one historical period is replaced by another, there is always a group of people left over from the old society," Putnis said philosophically. "I'm afraid that's true even of police officers."

"Will you allow me to ask some questions not directly linked to the investigation?" Wallander asked.

Putnis's weary smile returned. "Of course," he said, "but I'm not sure if I will be able to give you satisfactory answers."

It occurred to Wallander that Putnis's exaggerated politeness was out of step with the impression he had of police officers in the Eastern bloc countries. When he had first met Putnis he had been reminded of a big cat. A smiling beast of prey. A polite, smiling beast of prey.

"I don't mind admitting that I haven't much idea of what's happening in Latvia," he began, "but I do know what happened here last autumn. Tanks in the streets, people lying dead in the gutter. The dreaded advance of the Russian 'Black Berets'. I've seen the remains of the barricades in the streets. I've seen bullet holes in house walls. There is a widespread desire to break away from the Soviet Union, to finally put an end to the occupation. That determination is coming up against opposition."

"There are different ways of looking at that opposition" Putnis said hesitantly.

"Where do the police stand in this situation?"

Putnis stared at him in surprise. "We keep order, of course," he replied.

"How does one keep tanks in order?"

"What I mean is that we make sure people keep calm. Ensure that nobody gets hurt u

"But surely the tanks must be regarded as the cause of the disorder?"

Putnis carefully stubbed out his cigarette before replying. "You and I are both police officers," he said. "We have the same elevated goal: to combat crime and ensure that people feel safe. But we work in different circumstances, and that affects the way in which we go about our business."

"You said there are different ways of looking at things. I suppose there are different views inside the police force as well?"

"I know that in the West, the police are regarded as apolitical civil servants. The police force has to be neutral towards whatever government happens to be in power. In principle the same applies in our country as well."

"But there is only one party here, isn't there?"

"Not now any more. Certain new political organisations have emerged in recent years."

Wallander could see that Putnis was skilfully avoiding answering any of his questions. He decided to take the bull by the horns.

"What do you think yourself?" he asked.

"What about?"

"About independence. Breaking free." "A colonel in the Latvian police force has no business commenting on that question. Certainly not to a stranger."

"I hardly think there are any hidden microphones in here," Wallander insisted. "Your reply will go no further. Besides, I’ll be back in Sweden shortly. I'm hardly going to get on a soap box in the town square and a

Putnis eyed him up and down for some time before replying.

"I trust you, Inspector Wallander, of course. Allow me to say that I sympathise with what is happening in this country – and in our neighbouring countries, and the Soviet Union; but I'm afraid not all of my colleagues share that view."

Colonel Murniers, for instance, Wallander thought. But he won't admit as much, of course.

Colonel Putnis got to his feet. "That was a thought-provoking conversation," he said. "But now I have to confront an unpleasant person in an interrogation room. The reason I called in on you was to say that my wife Ausma wonders if it will be convenient for you to have di

"That would be splendid," Wallander said.

"Colonel Murniers would like you to be in touch with him this morning. He thought you and he could discuss the areas the investigation should be concentrating on. Obviously, I'll let you know if my interrogation achieves a breakthrough."

Putnis left the room. Wallander read through the notes he'd made the night before, when he'd got back from the hunting lodge in the forest. We suspect Colonel Murniers, Upitis had said. We think Major Liepa was betrayed. There's no other explanation.

He stood at the window, gazing out over the rooftops.

He'd never been involved in an investigation quite like this one. People leading lives he had absolutely no conception of occupied the territory he found himself in. How should he proceed? Perhaps he might just as well go home? And yet, he couldn't deny that he was curious. He wanted to know why the short-sighted little major had been murdered. Where were the co

"It's me!" he yelled into the mouthpiece, "Wallander. I can hear you."

"Kurt!" Björk shouted. "Is that you? I can hardly hear you. I'm only on the other side of the Baltic – why is the line so awful? Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you. You don't need to shout."