The Dogs of Riga

He pressed the bell; Sergeant Zids appeared in the doorway. Wallander asked him to start by showing him the town. He felt he needed to give his brain an airing before getting to grips with the fate of Major Liepa.

Sergeant Zids seemed to relish the task of showing off his city to the visitor. He described the streets and parks they passed at length, and Wallander could see how proud he was. They drove down Aspasias Boulevard, with the river on the left, and the sergeant pulled up by the kerb to show Wallander the tall monument to freedom. Wallander tried to work out what the gigantic obelisk represented, and recalled Upitis saying that one could long for freedom, but also be scared of it. Some disreputable-looking men were squatting at the foot of the monument, shabbily dressed, shivering with cold.

Wallander watched one of them pick up a cigarette end from the street. Riga is full of contrasts, he thought. Everything I see, and think I'm begi

When the sergeant stopped at a red light Wallander watched the endless stream of people flowing down the pavements. Were they happy? Were they any different from people back home? He couldn't judge.

"Verman's Park," Sergeant Zids said. "There are a couple of cinemas over there, the Spartak and the Riga. That's the Esplanade to the left. Now we're turning into Valdemar Street. When we've crossed the bridge over the municipal canal, you'll see the Dramatic Theatre on your right. Now we're turning left again, into nth November Quay. Shall we keep going, Colonel Wallander?"

"No, that'll be enough," Wallander said, not feeling in the least like a colonel. "You can help me buy some souvenirs later on, but now I'd like you to stop somewhere near Major Liepa's house."

"Skarnu Street," Sergeant Zids told him, "in the heart of the oldest part of Riga."

He parked behind a lorry that was belching out exhaust fumes while the driver unloaded some sacks of potatoes. Wallander hesitated for a moment over whether or not to take the sergeant along with him. Without him he wouldn't be able to ask any questions, but even so, he felt a need to be alone with his observations and thoughts.

"That's Major Liepa's house," Sergeant Zids said, pointing at a building crammed between two tower blocks that appeared to be holding it up.

"Did his flat overlook the street?" asked Wallander.

"Yes, on the second floor, those four windows to the left."

"Wait here," Wallander told him.

It was the middle of the day, but the street was quiet. Wallander walked slowly to the house Major Liepa had emerged from when he went out for that last, solitary walk. He remembered Rydberg saying that a police officer had to be an actor, to approach the unknown by trying to get inside it, under the skin of a criminal or a victim, imagining their thoughts and reactions. Wallander went up to the entrance door and opened it. It was dark on the staircase and there was an acrid smell of urine. He let go of the door and it closed with no more than a slight click.

He could not trace where the insight came from, but as he stood peering up the dim stairs, something suddenly became clear to him. It was as if a little gleam of light had spread out and he could remember everything he'd seen flashing before his eyes. There was something beforehand, he thought. When Major Liepa came to Sweden a lot had already happened. The life-raft Mrs Forsell had come upon at Mossby Strand was only a small part of a chain of events that Major Liepa was tracking. That was what Upitis had wanted to know. Had Major Liepa revealed any of his suspicions, had he said anything about what he knew or suspected of a crime back in his homeland? Wallander could now see quite clearly that he'd missed a line of thought he ought to have caught onto sooner. If Upitis was right and Major Liepa had been betrayed by one of his colleagues, possibly Colonel Murniers, wasn't it possible that others besides

Upitis might be asking the same question? How much does this Swedish police officer actually know? Is it possible that Major Liepa has passed on to Wallander some of what he knows or suspects?

It had occurred to him that the fear he had experienced several times since arriving in Riga had been a warning signal. Perhaps he ought to be more on his guard than he had hitherto realised? There was no doubt whoever was behind the murders of the men in the life-raft and Major Liepa would have no hesitation in killing again.

He crossed over the street and looked up at the windows. Baiba Liepa must know, he thought. But why didn't she go to the hunting lodge herself? Is she being watched? Is that why I've become Mr Eckers? Why did I agree to talk to Upitis? Who is Upitis? Who was it listening in the doorway beyond the dim light of that paraffin lamp?

Getting under the skin, he thought – now Rydberg would have started his solitary role-playing game.

Major Liepa returns from Sweden. He delivers his report to Colonel Putnis and Colonel Murniers, then goes home. Something he said while accounting for his activities in Sweden resulted in somebody pronouncing an immediate death sentence. He goes home, has di

No car ever turned up, Wallander thought. He waits for a few moments, of course. He doesn't suspect there's anything wrong. After a while it occurs to him the car may have broken down, so he decides to walk. Wallander took his map of Riga from his pocket, and started walking. Sergeant Zids was sitting in the car, watching him. Who is he reporting to, Wallander wondered. Colonel Murniers?

The voice on the phone calling him out in the middle of the night must have inspired confidence, he thought. Major Liepa can't have suspected anything. On the other hand, he must have had reason to be extremely suspicious about everybody. Who was there whom he could trust? The answer was obvious. Baiba Liepa, his wife.

It was clear to Wallander that he wasn't going to get anywhere by wandering around with a map in his hand. The people – there must have been more than just one of them – who had set up the major would have pla

When he returned to the car, it struck Wallander that it was odd there was no written report of the major's trip to Sweden. Wallander had seen for himself how the major had been making notes during his time in Ystad. On several occasions he'd commented on how important it was to write detailed reports.