to Riga. They walked along empty, echoing corridors, down a staircase and then along another corridor, and eventually came to a door which Colonel Putnis opened without knocking.
Wallander entered a large, warm but poorly lit room dominated by an oval conference table covered in a green felt cloth. There were twelve chairs at the table, and a jug of water and some glasses in the centre. A man was waiting deep in the shadows, and he turned and approached as Wallander came in.
'Welcome to Riga,' the man said. 'My name's Juris Murniers.'
'Colonel Murniers and I have joint responsibility for solving the murder of Major Liepa,' Putnis said.
Wallander sensed straight away that there was tension between the two men. Something in Putnis's tone of voice gave the game away. There was also something hidden in the brief exchange.
Colonel Murniers was in his 50s, with closely cropped, grey hair. His face was pale and bloated, as if he was diabetic. He was short, and Wallander observed that he moved that’around without the slightest sound. Another cat-creature. Two colonels, two cats, both in grey uniforms.
Wallander and Putnis hung up their overcoats and sat at the table. The waiting time is over, Wallander thought. What happened to Major Liepa? Now I'm going to find out. Murniers did the talking. Wallander noticed he had positioned himself so that his face was almost all in shadow, and when he spoke in fluent, well-formulated English, his voice seemed to come from an endless darkness. Colonel Putnis sat staring straight ahead, as if he couldn't really be bothered to listen.
'It's very mysterious,' Murniers said. 'The very day Major Liepa returned from Stockholm, he gave his report to Colonel Putnis and me. We sat in this room and discussed the case. He was going to be responsible for continuing the investigation here in Latvia. We broke up at about 5 p.m., and we later learnt that Major Liepa went straight home to his wife. They live in a house behind the cathedral. She has said that he seemed perfectly normal, although of course he was pleased to be home. They had dinner, and he told her about his experiences in Sweden. Incidentally, you seem to have made a very good impression on him, Inspector Wallander. Shortly before 11 p.m. the phone rang – Major Liepa was just getting ready for bed. His wife didn't know who called, but the major got dressed again and told her that he would have to go back to police headquarters straight away. There was nothing unusual about that, although she may have been disappointed that he had been called out the same night he'd got back from abroad. He didn't give any reason for his having to go on duty.'
Murniers fell silent and reached for the water jug. Wallander glanced at Putnis, who was staring straight ahead.
'After that, everything is very confused,' Murniers continued. 'Early the next morning some dockers found Major Liepa's body at Daugavgriva – that's at the far end of the big harbour here in Riga. The major was lying on the wharf, dead. We were able to establish that he'd had the back of his skull smashed in with a heavy implement, perhaps an iron bar or a wooden club. The post-mortem revealed that he had been murdered an hour or two hours at the most after leaving home. That's really all we know. We have no witnesses who saw him leaving home, nor out at the harbour. It's all very mysterious. It's very rare for a police officer to be killed in this country. Least of all one of Major Liepa's rank. Naturally, we're very keen for the murderer to be found as soon as possible.'
That was all Murniers had to say, and he sank back into the shadows.
'So in fact, nobody had telephoned and summoned him here,' Wallander said.
'No,' Putnis said quickly. 'We've looked into that. The duty officer, a Captain Kozlov, has confirmed that no one was in contact with Major Liepa that evening.'
'That leaves only two possibilities, then,' Wallander said.
Putnis nodded. 'Either he lied to his wife, or he was tricked.'
'In the latter case, he must have recognised the voice,' Wallander said. 'Either that, or whoever rang expressed himself in a way that didn't arouse suspicion.'
'We have also come to those conclusions,' Putnis said.
'Of course, we can't exclude the possibility that there is a connection between his work in Sweden and his murder,' Murniers said from the shadows. 'We can't exclude anything, and that's why we've asked for assistance from the Swedish police. From you, Inspector Wallander. We are grateful for any thoughts, any ideas you might have that can help us. You will receive all the assistance you require.' Murniers got to his feet.
'I suggest we leave it at that for tonight,' he said. 'I imagine you're tired after your journey.'
Wallander didn't feel the slightest bit tired. He'd been prepared to work all night if necessary, but as Putnis had also stood up, he had to accept that the meeting was closed.
Murniers pressed a bell fixed to the edge of the table, and almost immediately the door opened and a young police officer in uniform appeared.
'This is Sergeant Zids,' Murniers said. 'He speaks excellent English, and will be your chauffeur while you are in Riga.'
Zids clicked his heels and saluted, but Wallander couldn't bring himself to do more than nod in return. As neither Putnis nor Murniers had invited him to dinner, he realised that he would have the evening to himself. He followed Zids out into the courtyard, and after the well-heated conference room the dry cold struck him with full force. Zids opened the back door of a black car for him, and Wallander clambered in.
'It's cold,' Wallander said as they drove out through the archway.
'Yes, Colonel,' Sergeant Zids said. 'It is very cold in Riga just now.'
Colonel, thought Wallander. He can't imagine that the Swedish police officer could have a lower rank than Putnis and Murniers. The thought amused him, but at the same time he could see that there was nothing so easy to get used to as privileges. Your own car, your own driver, plenty of attention.
Sergeant Zids drove fast through the empty streets.
Wallander didn't feel tired at all, and the thought of the chilly hotel room scared him.
'I'm hungry,' he said to the sergeant. 'Take me to a good restaurant that isn't too expensive.'
'The dining room at the Latvia Hotel is best,' Zids said.
'I've already been there,' Wallander said.
'There's no other restaurant in Riga where the food is as good,' Zids said, braking sharply as a tram came clattering round a corner.
'There must be more than one good restaurant in a city with a million inhabitants,' Wallander said.
'The food isn't good,' the sergeant said, 'but it is at the Latvia Hotel.'
That's obviously where I'm supposed to go, Wallander thought, settling back in his seat. Maybe he's been ordered not to let me loose in the town? In certain circumstances having your own driver can mean the opposite of freedom.
Zids pulled up at the hotel entrance, and before Wallander had managed to reach for the door handle, the sergeant had opened it for him.
'What time would you like me to collect you tomorrow morning, colonel?' he asked.
'Eight o'clock will be fine,' Wallander replied.
The foyer was even more deserted now. He could hear music somewhere in the background. He collected his key from the receptionist and asked if the dining room was open. The man, who had heavy eyelids and pale features reminiscent of Colonel Murniers, nodded. Wallander asked where the music was coming from.
'We have a nightclub,' the receptionist said glumly.
As Wallander left reception, he thought he recognised the man who'd been drinking tea in the dining room earlier: now he was sitting in a worn leather sofa, reading a newspaper. Wallander was certain it was the same man.
I'm being watched, he thought. Just like the worst of those Cold War novels, there's a man in a grey suit pretending to be invisible. What on earth do Putnis and Murniers think I'm going to do?
The dining room was almost as empty as it had been earlier in the evening. A group of men in dark suits were sitting round a long table at the far end of the room, speaking in low voices. To his surprise, Wallander was shown to the same table as before. He had vegetable soup, and a chop that was tough and overdone, but the Latvian beer was good. He was feeling restless so didn't bother about coffee, and instead paid his bill and went in search of the hotel's nightclub. The man was still on the sofa.
Wallander had the impression of walking through a labyrinth. Various half-flights of stairs that seemed to lead nowhere brought him back to the dining room. He tried to follow the sound of the music, and eventually came upon an illuminated sign at the end of a dark corridor. A man said something Wallander didn't understand and opened the door for him, and he found himself in a dimly lit bar. In sharp contrast to the dining room, the bar was jam-packed.
