The Dogs of Riga

Sergeant Zids demonstrated his usual efficiency by returning after half an hour with a bundle of dusty files. Six hours later Sergeant Zids was hoarse and complaining of a headache. Wallander had allowed neither Zids nor himself a lunch break: they had gone through the files one by one, and Sergeant Zids had translated, explained, answered Wallander's questions, then gone on translating. Now they had come to the last page of the last report in the last file, and Wallander had to face his disappointment. He knew that during the last year of his life Major Liepa had arrested a rapist, a robber who had been terrorising one of Riga's suburbs for ages, solved two cases of postal forgery, and cracked three murders of which two had taken place in families where the murderer and the victim had known each other. He had found no trace of what Baiba Liepa had maintained was her husband's real task. There was no doubt that Major Liepa had been a conscientious and at times even pedantic investigator, but that was all Wallander had been able to glean from the day's work. As he sent Zids off to return the files, it occurred to him that the only remarkable thing about them was what wasn't there. Major Liepa must have saved his data from the covert investigation somewhere, Wallander was certain of it. He couldn't have carried it all in his head. He had no doubt there was a risk of being caught out, so how could he seriously contemplate conducting an investigation aimed at the future without leaving a testimony somewhere or other? He could have been run over by a bus, and there would be no record. There must be a written record somewhere, and somebody must know where it was. Did Baiba Liepa know? Or Upitis? Was there some other person in the major's background, somebody the major had even kept secret from his wife? "Every secret we confide in another person can be a burden to them," Baiba Liepa had said, and those were certainly her husband's words.

Sergeant Zids came back from the archives. "Did Major Liepa have any family apart from his wife?" Wallander asked him.

"I don't know," he replied, "but no doubt Mrs Liepa will."

Wallander didn't want to ask Baiba Liepa that question just yet. He thought that from now on, he had no alternative but to follow what seemed to be the normal procedure here, and not to pass on any u

"There must be a personal dossier on Major Liepa," he said. "I'd like to see it."

"I don't have access to that," Sergeant Zids said. "Only a few people can access the personal archives."

Wallander pointed to the telephone. "Call somebody who does have that access," he said. "Tell them that the Swedish police officer wants to see Major Liepa's personal dossier."

Sergeant Zids finally managed to contact Colonel Murniers, who promised that Major Liepa's dossier would be produced immediately. Three quarters of an hour later it was on Wallander's desk. It was in a red file, and the first thing he saw on opening it was the major's face. It was an old photograph, and he was surprised to see that the major's appearance had hardly changed in over ten years.

"Translate!" he told Zids.

The sergeant shook his head. "I don't have the authority to see the contents of red files," he said.

"If you're allowed to collect the file, surely you're allowed to translate the contents for me?"

Sergeant Zids shook his head sadly. "I don't have the authority," he said.

"I'm giving you the authority. All you need to do is to tell me if Major Liepa had any other family besides his wife. Then I'll order you to forget everything."

Reluctantly, Sergeant Zids sat down and leafed through the papers. Wallander had the impression that Zids was handling the papers with as much distaste as if they had been dead bodies.

Major Liepa had a father. According to the dossier he had the same first name as his son, Karlis, and was a retired postmaster with an address in Ventspils. Wallander recalled the brochure the red-lipped lady at the hotel had shown him: it contained details of an excursion to the coast and the town of Ventspils. Major Liepa's father was 74, and a widower. Wallander studied the major's face one more time, and pushed the file to one side. At that moment Murniers entered the room. Sergeant Zids hurriedly got to his feet and tried to put as much distance as possible between himself and the red file.

"Have you found anything interesting?" Murniers asked. "Anything we've overlooked?"

"Nothing. I was just going to send the dossier back to the archive."

The sergeant took the file and left the room.

"How is the interrogation of the man you've arrested?" Wallander asked.

"We'll break him," Murniers said coldly. "I'm sure we've got the right man, even if Colonel Putnis seems to have his doubts."

I also have my doubts, Wallander thought. Maybe I can talk to Putnis about it when we meet tonight? Try to find out what grounds we have for our doubts?

He decided there and then that it was the time to set off on a lonely march out of his confusion. There was no reason any longer to keep his thoughts to himself. In the realm of lies, perhaps the half-truth is king, he told himself. Why stick to the facts when all about one the truth is being twisted every which way?

that’ "I've been very puzzled by something Major Liepa said to me during his stay in Sweden," he said. "It wasn't clear what he meant. He had drunk a good deal of whisky, but he seemed to be suggesting he was worried that some of his colleagues might not be totally reliable."

Murniers showed no sign of surprise at what Wallander said.

"He was a bit drunk, of course," Wallander went on, feeling a litde uneasy about slandering a dead colleague, "but I think he suspected that one of his superiors was in collusion with various criminal networks here in Latvia."

"An interesting claim, even if it did come from a drunk man," Murniers said thoughtfully. "If he used the word 'superiors', he could only have been referring to Colonel Putnis and myself."

"He didn't name any names," Wallander said.

"Did he give any reasons for his suspicions?"

"He spoke about drug smuggling. About new routes through Eastern Europe. He thought it would be impossible to exploit these trafficking routes without some highly-placed person protecting the activity."

"That's interesting" Murniers said. "I always regarded Major Liepa as an unusually rational person. A man with a very special conscience."

He's unconcerned, Wallander thought. Would that be possible if Major Liepa was right?

"What conclusions do you draw yourself?" Murniers asked.

"None at all. I just thought I'd mention it."

"You were right to," Murniers said. "Perhaps you should mention it to my colleague Colonel Putnis as well."

Murniers left. Wallander put on his jacket and found Sergeant Zids in the corridor. When he got back to the hotel he lay on the bed and slept for an hour. He forced himself to take a quick, cold shower and put on the dark blue suit he had brought with him from Sweden. Shortly after 7 p.m. he went down to the foyer where Sergeant Zids was leaning on the reception desk, waiting for him.

Colonel Putnis lived in the country, quite a way south of Riga. It occurred to Wallander during the journey that he was always being driven through Latvia at night. He was moving in the dark, and thinking in the dark. Sitting in the back of the car, he suddenly felt pangs of homesickness. He realised that what caused it was the vagueness of his mission. He stared out into the darkness, and decided he had better phone his father the next day. His father was bound to ask when he was coming home. Soon, he'd say. Very soon.

Sergeant Zids turned off the main road and drove through tall, iron gates. Colonel Putnis's driveway was the best-cared-for stretch of carriageway Wallander had encountered during his stay in Latvia. Sergeant Zids pulled up alongside a terrace lit by spotlights. Wallander had a strong sense of finding himself in a different land. When he got out of the car and everything round about him was no longer dark and decrepit, he had left Latvia behind.