The Dogs Of Riga Part 7

"I know exactly what I promised. I have one more question, though. What are you frightened of? Why did we have to meet in the middle of the night?"

"I'm not frightened," the man said, as he put the chart away. "And if I was, that would be my business."

Wallander tried to think of any other questions he should ask before it was too late.

Neither of them noticed the slight movement of the boat. It was a gentle dip, so gentle it was no wonder that it pa.s.sed unnoticed, like a faint swell that only just reached land.

Wallander climbed up from the engine room, and shone his torch quickly over the walls of the wheelhouse. He couldn't see anything that would make it easy to identify the boat again later.

"Where can I get in touch with you if I need to?" he asked when they were back on the quay.

"You can't," the man said. "And in any case, you won't need to. There's nothing more I can tell you."

Wallander counted his paces as he walked along the quay. When he put his foot down for the 73rd time he felt the gravel of the harbour square. The man had been swallowed up by the shadows: he'd taken his torch and disappeared without another word. Wallander sat in his car without switching on the engine. For a moment he thought he saw a shadow moving in the darkness, but then decided he'd imagined it. It dawned on him that he was meant to drive away first. When he came out onto the main road he slowed down, but no headlights appeared in his rear-view mirror.

It was 2.45 a.m. when he reached home. He sat at his kitchen table and noted down the details of the conversation he had had in the fis.h.i.+ng boat. The Baltic states, he thought. Can the life-raft really have drifted all that way? He went to the living room and found his tattered school atlas in a cupboard among piles of old magazines and opera programmes. Southern Sweden and the Baltic Sea. The Baltic states seemed quite close and yet far away at the same time. I know nothing about the sea, he thought, about currents and winds. Perhaps the man was right? And why would he have told me something he knew was untrue? Once again, he thought of the man's fear, and the other crew member, the unknown man, of whom he was so afraid.

It was 4 a.m. by the time he went back to bed. He lay awake for a long time before he managed to fall asleep.

He awoke with a start. The clock on his bedside table said 7.46 a.m. He cursed, jumped out of bed and dressed. He stuffed his toothbrush and toothpaste in his jacket pocket, and parked outside the station just before 8 a.m. In reception, Ebba beckoned to him.

"Bjork wants to see you," she said. "You look a sight! Did you oversleep?"

"And how," Wallander said, darting into the lavatory to brush his teeth. At the same time he tried to gather his thoughts in preparation for the meeting. How on earth was he to deal with his nocturnal excursion to a fis.h.i.+ng boat in Brantevik harbour?

When he got to Bjork's office, there was n.o.body there. He made his way to the largest of the station's conference rooms, and knocked on the door, feeling like a schoolboy turning up late for cla.s.ses.

There were six people sitting round the oval table, and they all stared at him.

"I'm a few minutes late, I'm afraid," he said, sitting down on the nearest empty chair. Bjork was looking at him sternly, but Martinsson and Svedberg grinned and looked as if they wondered where he'd been. He thought Svedberg might even be sneering at him. Birgitta Torn was on Bjork's left, inscrutable as ever. Next to her were two other people who Wallander didn't know. He stood up and went to greet them. Both men were in their 50s, surprisingly alike, well-built and with friendly faces. The first one introduced himself as Sture Ronnlund, the other was Bertil Loven.

"I'm from serious crime," Loven said. "Sture's from narcotics."

"Kurt is our most experienced officer," Bjork said. "Please help yourselves to coffee."

When everybody had fetched a cup, Bjork started the meeting.

"Needless to say, we're grateful for all the help we can get," he began. "None of you can have failed to notice the stir caused in the media by the discovery of these bodies. That is why we need to conduct this investigation with extra vigour and commitment. Birgitta Torn has joined us primarily as an observer and to be of a.s.sistance when it comes to making contacts with countries where Interpol has no influence, but that doesn't prevent us from taking advantage of her expertise."

Then it was Wallander's turn. Everybody had copies of the case doc.u.ments, so he didn't bother to go into detail, but simply summarised what had happened. He spent some time on the results of the forensic examination. When he'd finished, Loven asked for clarification on a few points. That was all. Bjork looked round the room.

"Well," he said, "what next?"

Wallander could feel himself getting annoyed at the way Bjork was deferring to the woman from the foreign ministry and the two Stockholm detectives. He couldn't resist firing a shot across their bows, and indicated to Bjork that he wanted to speak.

"Too much of this is unclear," he said, "and I don't just mean the case itself. I don't understand why the foreign ministry has considered it necessary to send Birgitta Torn to Ystad. I can't believe the ministry simply wants to help us in establis.h.i.+ng contacts with the Russian police. It seems to me that the foreign ministry has decided to keep an eye on our investigation, and if so, I'd like to know just what is going to be watched. And most of all, of course, why the ministry has reached such a decision. For obvious reasons I can't help feeling that Stockholm knows something we don't. Or perhaps it isn't the foreign ministry that has reached this conclusion - maybe it's somebody else?"

There was a deathly silence when Wallander had finished. Bjork was staring at him in horror.

Finally Birgitta Torn spoke.

"There's no reason to doubt the explanation we've given for our coming to Ystad," she said. "The unstable situation in Eastern Europe requires us to keep a very close eye on developments there."

"We don't even know for sure that the men are from an Eastern bloc country," Wallander said, interrupting her. "Or do you know something we don't? In that case, I'd like to be put in the picture."

"I think perhaps we should calm down a bit," Bjork said.

"I want an answer to my questions," Wallander said. "I'm not going to be fobbed off with waffle about the unstable political situation."

The inscrutable mask was suddenly gone from Birgitta Tom's face. She glared at Wallander, her expression indicating an increasing contempt and a wish to keep him at bay. Hmm, I'm awkward, Wallander thought, one of those ever-so-troublesome peasants.

"The situation is as I've described it," Torn said. "If you had any sense, you would realise there was no need to go on like this."

Wallander shook his head, and turned to Loven and Ronnlund.

"What about your instructions?" he asked. "Stockholm doesn't usually send out people unless there's been a formal request for a.s.sistance, and we haven't made such a request, so far as I know. Or have we?"

Bjork shook his head.

"OK, so Stockholm has decided this on its own initiative. I'd like to know why, if we're going to be working together. I'm a.s.suming the ability of our force to conduct its business efficiently hasn't been impugned before we've even started."

Lovn was shuffling uneasily, but it was Ronnlund who answered. Wallander detected a note of sympathy in his voice.

"The commissioner thought you might need a bit of help," he said. "Our remit is to place ourselves at your disposal. That's all. You're in charge of the investigation, and if we can be of a.s.sistance, so much the better. Neither Bertil nor I have any doubts about your ability to conduct this case on your own, and for myself, I think you've acted speedily and decisively over the last few days."

Wallander nodded in appreciation. Martinsson was grinning, and Svedberg was picking thoughtfully at his teeth with a splinter he'd broken from the conference table.

"Well, perhaps we can consider where to go from here," Bjork said.

"Indeed," Wallander said. "I have a few theories I'd like to test out on you, but first I'd like to tell you about a little adventure I had during the night."

He felt calm again. He'd pitted himself against Birgitta Torn and not been vanquished. He'd find out what she was really doing here soon enough. Ronnlund's support had made him feel better. He told them about his telephone call and his visit to the fis.h.i.+ng boat in Brantevik. He stressed that the man had been certain the life-raft could have drifted from as far as one of the Baltic states. Bjork was inspired to take unexpected initiatives, and asked reception to arrange for charts of the whole area to be sent up immediately. Wallander imagined Ebba collaring the next officer that sauntered through reception, instructing him to produce the maps without delay. He poured himself another cup of coffee, and started to explain his theories.

"The evidence points to the men having been murdered on board a s.h.i.+p," he said. "You would expect the bodies to have been disposed of in the ocean, but I suspect that the killers wanted the bodies to be found. I find it difficult to explain why that should be so, not least because it must have been very uncertain where and when the life-raft would wash ash.o.r.e. Anyway, the men were shot at close range after being tortured. People are tortured as punishment, or to extract information. The next thing to bear in mind is that both men were under the influence of drugs, amphetamines to be precise. Somehow or other, drugs are involved in this case. I have the distinct impression these men were not short of money - their clothes make that clear. By Eastern European standards they must have been pretty well off if they could afford to buy the shoes and clothes they were wearing. I'd never be able to afford their clothes."

Loven burst out laughing at his final remark, but Birgitta Torn continued staring doggedly down at the table.

"We know quite a lot, even if we can't fit the bits of the jigsaw together to produce a picture that gives us the sequence of events and the reason the men were murdered. There's one thing we need to establish immediately: who were these men? That's what we must concentrate on. And we must also get a ballistic report on the bullets that killed them without delay. I want a check on all missing or wanted persons in Sweden and Denmark. Fingerprints, photos and descriptions of the men must be sent immediately to Interpol. Maybe we'll find something in our criminal records. And we need to contact the police in the Soviet Union and the Baltic states, a.s.suming that hasn't happened already. Perhaps Birgitta Torn can fill us in on this?"

"That will happen later today," she said. "We'll be contacting the international division of the Moscow police."

"The police in Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania must be contacted as well."

"That will happen via Moscow."

Wallander looked questioningly at her, then turned to Bjork. "Didn't we have a visit from the Lithuanian police last autumn?"

"What Birgitta Torn says is no doubt correct," Bjork said. "The Baltic states have their own national police forces, but it's still the Soviet police that makes the formal decisions."

"I wonder," Wallander said. "Still, I dare say that the foreign ministry knows more about this than I do."

"Yes," Torn said, "no doubt we do."

Bjork brought the meeting to a close, and immediately disappeared with Birgitta Torn. A press conference had been arranged for 2 p.m. Wallander stayed behind in the conference room and went over the various tasks with the others. Svedberg fetched the plastic bag containing the bullets, and Loven undertook to make sure that the ballistic examination happened quickly. The others split the enormous job of going through the lists of missing and wanted persons. Martinsson had contacts in the Copenhagen police, and undertook to get in touch with them.

"You don't need to bother about the press conference," Wallander said. "That'll be a headache for Bjork and myself."

"Are they as unpleasant here as they are in Stockholm?" Ronnlund asked.

"I don't know what press conferences are like in Stockholm," Wallander told him, "but they're not exactly fun here."

The rest of the day was spent sending descriptions of the dead men to all police districts in Sweden and the Scandinavian countries, and working their way through various records and registers. It was soon clear that the men's fingerprints weren't in the Swedish or Danish records, but Interpol would take longer to give an answer. Wallander and Loven weren't sure whether the East German police records had been incorporated into Interpol. Had their criminal records been transferred to a central database covering the whole of unified Germany? Come to that, had there actually been any normal criminal records in the GDR? Had there been a distinction between the vast archives of the security services and criminal records? Loven agreed to find the answers to these questions, while Wallander prepared himself for the press conference.

When he and Bjork met before the briefing was due to begin, Wallander noticed that his boss was very quiet. Why doesn't he say anything, he wondered. Did he think I was rude to that elegant lady from the foreign ministry?

A large number of journalists and television reporters gathered in the room where the press conference was going to take place. Wallander looked for the young reporter from the Express Express, but couldn't see him. but couldn't see him.

Bjork started proceedings, as usual, launching an unexpected attack on the "incomprehensibly irresponsible" reports published by the press. Wallander's thoughts wandered to his night-time meeting with the frightened man at Brantevik harbour. When it was his turn to speak, he began by repeating his appeal for the public to contact the police if they had any information that might be relevant. A reporter asked if there had been any response so far, and Wallander said there had not. The press conference was surprisingly low key, and Bjork expressed his satisfaction as they left the room.

"What's the lady from the foreign ministry doing?" Wallander asked as they walked down the corridor.

"She's on the phone nearly all the time," Bjork said. "No doubt you think we ought to bug her calls."

"It wouldn't be a bad idea," Wallander muttered.

The day pa.s.sed without significant developments. It was a question of being patient, of seeing whether any fish would swim into the nets they'd put out.

Shortly before 6 p.m. Martinsson popped his head round Wallander's door and asked if he'd like to come round for dinner at his place that evening. He'd already invited Loven and Ronnlund, who seemed to be feeling homesick.

"Svedberg's busy," he said. "Birgitta Torn told me she was going to Malmo tonight. What about you?"

"Sorry, I can't," Wallander said. "I've got an appointment, I'm afraid."

It was partly true. He hadn't absolutely made up his mind whether to drive again to Brantevik and take a closer look at the fis.h.i.+ng boat.

At 6.30 p.m. he phoned his father as usual, and was instructed to buy a new pack of cards and bring it with him the next time he came. As soon as he'd hung up, he left the station. The wind had dropped, and the sky was clear. He stopped on the way home to buy some food. By 8.30 p.m., when he'd finished eating and was waiting for the coffee to brew, he still hadn't made up his mind. No doubt it could wait until tomorrow. Besides, he was exhausted from the previous night's exertions.

He sat for ages at his kitchen table over his coffee, trying to imagine Rydberg opposite him, discussing the day's events. He went through what had happened step by step with his invisible visitor. It was three days since the life-raft had beached at Mossby Strand. They weren't going to get any further until they established who the dead men were, but even if they did that, the riddle might remain unsolved.

He put his cup in the sink. He noticed a drooping plant on his windowsill, and watered it before going to the living room and choosing a Maria Callas recording of La La Traviata Traviata. He had made up his mind to postpone the visit to the fis.h.i.+ng boat. He had made up his mind to postpone the visit to the fis.h.i.+ng boat.

Later that evening he tried to ring his daughter at her college near Stockholm, but n.o.body answered. At 10.30 p.m. he went to bed and fell asleep almost at once.

The following day, the fourth day of the investigation, just before 2 p.m., what everybody had been expecting finally came to pa.s.s. Birgitta Torn went to Wallander's office with a telex. The police in Riga had informed the Swedish foreign ministry, via their superiors in Moscow, that it was likely that the men were Latvian citizens. In order to facilitate further investigations, Major Litvinov of the Moscow police suggested that his Swedish colleagues might like to establish direct contact with the serious crimes unit in Riga.

"So, they do exist after all," Wallander said. "The Latvian police, I mean."

"Who said they didn't?" she answered. "If you'd got in touch with Riga directly, though, there could have been diplomatic repercussions. I'm not sure we'd have received a response at all. I take it you are aware that the situation in Latvia is rather tense."

Wallander knew that. It was barely a month since the Soviet elite troops had attacked the Ministry of the Interior in central Riga and killed many innocent people. Wallander had seen newspaper pictures of barricades made of stone blocks and iron poles. All the same, he wasn't quite clear what was going on. As usual, he felt he didn't know enough about what was happening around him.

"What do we do now, then?" he asked tentatively.

"We establish contact with the police in Riga. The main thing is to make sure we really are dealing with the people indicated in the telex."

Wallander read the message again. The man in the fis.h.i.+ng boat had been right: the life-raft had indeed drifted the whole way from the Baltic coast.

"We still don't know who they were," he said.

But he did know three hours later. A call from Riga had been announced, and the investigation team gathered in the conference room. Bjork was so on edge that he spilled coffee down his jacket.

"Is there anybody here who speaks Latvian?" Wallander asked. "I don't."

"The call will be in English," Birgitta Torn said. "We asked for this."

"You take it," Bjork said to Wallander.

"My English isn't all that good."

"No doubt his won't be either," Ronnlund said. "What was his name? Major Litvinov? It'll even itself out, I reckon."

"Major Litvinov is stationed in Moscow," Birgitta Torn pointed out. "We'll be talking to the police in Riga, in Latvia."

The call came at 5.19 p.m. The line was surprisingly clear. A man introduced himself as Major Liepa from the Riga police. Wallander made notes as he listened, occasionally answering a question. Major Liepa spoke very bad English, and Wallander was not at all confident that he understood everything he said. Nevertheless, when the call was over he felt he had the most important information jotted down in his notebook.

Two names, two ident.i.ties: Janis Leja and Juris Kalns.

"Riga had their fingerprints," Wallander said. "According to Major Liepa there was no doubt that the bodies we found are these two."

"Excellent," Bjork said. "What sort of men were they?"

Wallander read from his notes.

"Notorious criminals," he said.

"Did he have any idea why they might have been murdered?" Bjork asked.

"No, but he didn't seem particularly surprised. If I understood him, he said that he'll be sending over some doc.u.mentation. He also wondered if we were interested in inviting over any Latvian police officers to a.s.sist with the investigation."

"That would be an excellent idea" Bjork said. "The quicker we can get this case out of the way, the better."

"The foreign ministry will support any such move, of course," Birgitta Torn said.

So it was agreed. The next day Major Liepa sent a telex announcing that he personally would be flying to Arlanda the following afternoon, and would get the first connection to Sturup.

"A major," Wallander said. "What does that mean?"

"I've no idea," Martinsson said. "I generally feel like a corporal in this business myself."