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.
Colonel Putnis was on the terrace to welcome them. He had discarded his police uniform in favour of a well-cut suit that reminded Wallander of the clothes worn by the dead men in the life-raft. Standing by his side was his wife, a woman much younger than her husband. Wallander guessed she was not yet 30. When they were introduced it emerged that she spoke excellent English, and Wallander strode into the handsome mansion with that special kind of well-being one only gets on completing a long and strenuous journey. Colonel Putnis, crystal whisky glass in hand, showed him round the house, and the colonel made no attempt to conceal his pride. Wallander could see that the rooms were furnished with pieces imported from the West, giving the house a luxurious, yet restrained air.
No doubt I'd have been just like this couple if I lived in a country where everything seems nearly to be on the point of running out or breaking down, he thought. But the house must have cost a great deal of money, and he was surprised that a police colonel could earn as much. Bribes, he thought. Bribes and corruption. But then he quashed the thought immediately. He didn't know Colonel Putnis and his wife Ausma. Perhaps there were still such things as family fortunes in Latvia, despite the fact that those in government had had nearly 50 years in which to change all the financial norms? What did he know about it? Nothing.
They dined by the light of a tall candelabra. Wallander gathered from the conversation that Ausma also worked for the police, but in a different sector. He had the impression that her work was top secret, and it occurred to him that she might belong to the local section of the Latvian KGB. She asked him a lot of questions about Sweden, and the wine encouraged him to be expansive, despite his efforts to control himself.
After dinner Ausma disappeared into the kitchen to make coffee. Putnis served cognac in a living room where attractive leather armchairs stood in various groups. Wallander would never be able to afford furniture like that no matter how long he worked, and the thought made him aggressive. He felt a vague personal responsibility. It was as if – by not protesting – he would have contributed to the bribes that made Colonel Putnis's home affordable.
'Latvia is a land of enormous contrasts,' he said, stumbling over the English words. 'Isn't Sweden as well?'
'Of course – but not as obviously as here. It would be unthinkable for a Swedish police officer to live in a house like yours.'
Colonel Putnis stretched out his hands as if to excuse himself.
'My wife and I are not rich,' he said, 'but we have lived frugally for many years. I'm 55 now, and would like to live in comfort in my old age. Is there anything wrong with that?'
'I'm not talking about rights and wrongs,' Wallander said, 'I'm talking about differences. When I met Major Liepa, it was the first time I'd come across anybody from one of the Baltic states. I had the impression he came from a country with much poverty.'
'There are a lot of poor people here, I'm not denying that.'
'I'd like to know how things really stand.'
Colonel Putnis's gaze was penetrating. 'I don't think I understand your question.'
'With regard to bribes. Corruption. Links between criminal organisations and politicians. I'd like to know the answer to something Major Liepa said when he came round to my flat in Sweden. Something he said when he was about as drunk as I am now.'
Colonel Putnis observed him with a smile. 'Of course,' he said. 'Of course I shall explain if I can – but first I need to know what Major Liepa actually said.'
Wallander repeated the invented quotation he'd presented to Colonel Murniers a few hours earlier.
'Irregularities do occur, even in the Latvian police force,'
Putnis said. 'Many police officers receive low wages, and the temptation to accept bribes can be great. At the same time, though, I have to say that Major Liepa had a tendency to exaggerate the prevailing circumstances. His honesty and industry were admirable, of course, but occasionally he may have been guilty of confusing facts with emotional misconceptions.'
'You mean he was exaggerating?'
'Unfortunately I think he was.'
