He broke off. Baiba could see that he had hit upon a new train of thought.
'What is it?' she whispered.
'Just a minute,' he replied, 'I've got to think.'
Was it possible? He tested it from various angles, and tried to discard it as a pointless exercise. But he couldn't shake it off.
'I'm going to ask you a question,' he said slowly, 'and I want you to answer straight away, without thinking. Answer without hesitation. If you do start thinking, it's possible your answer might be wrong.'
She stared intently at him in the flickering candlelight.
'Is it possible that Karlis might have chosen the most unthinkable of all hiding places?' he asked. 'Inside police headquarters?'
He could see a glint come into her eye.
'Yes,' she said without hesitation. 'He might well have done.'
'Why?'
'Karlis was like that. It would fit with his character.'
'Where?'
'I don't know.'
'His own office is a possibility. Did he ever talk to you about the police headquarters?'
'He hated it. Like a prison. It was a prison.'
'Think hard, Baiba. Was there any room in particular he talked about? Somewhere that meant something special to him? That he hated more than any other room? Or somewhere he even liked?'
'The interrogation rooms made him feel sick.'
'It's not possible to hide anything there.'
'He hated the colonels' offices.'
'He couldn't have hidden anything there, either.'
She was thinking so hard that she closed her eyes. When she returned from her thoughts and reopened her eyes, she had found the answer.
'Karlis often used to talk about somewhere he called 'The Evil Room',' she said. 'He used to say that room contained all the documents describing the injustices that afflicted our country. That's where he's hidden his testimony of course – in the midst of the memories of all those who have suffered so agonisingly and so long. He's deposited his papers somewhere in the police headquarters archives.'
Wallander looked at her. There was no sign of her former exhaustion.
'Yes,' he said. 'I think you're right. He's chosen a hiding place hidden inside a hiding place. He's chosen the Chinese puzzle. But how has he coded his testimony so that only you would be able to find it?'
She suddenly started laughing and crying at the same time.
'I know,' she sobbed. 'Now I can see the way he did it. When we first met, he used to perform card tricks for me. As a young man he had dreamt of becoming an ornithologist, but he also dreamed of becoming a magician. I asked him to teach me some tricks. He refused. It became a sort of game between us. He did show me how to do one of his card tricks, the simplest of all. You split the pack up into two parts, one containing all the black cards and the other all the red cards. Then you ask somebody to pick a card, memorise it, and put it back into the pack. By switching the two halves, you make a red card appear among the black ones, and vice versa. He often used to say that the world was a grey sequence of misery, but I would light up his existence. That's why we always used to look for a red flower among all the blue ones or yellow ones, and we went out of our way to find a green house in among all the white ones. It was a sort of game we used to play in secret. That's what he must have been thinking of when he hid his testimony. I imagine the archives are full of files in different colours. Somewhere or other there'll be one that's different, different in colour or maybe even in size. That's where we'll find what we're looking for.'
'The police archives must be enormous,' Wallander said.
'Sometimes when he had to go away, he used to put the pack of cards on my pillow with the red card inserted among all the black ones,' she said. 'I've no doubt there is a file on me in the archives. That's where he'll have inserted his wild card.'
It was 5.30 a.m. They hadn't quite reached their destination, but at least they now thought they knew where it was. Wallander stretched out his hand and touched her arm.
'I'd like you to come back to Sweden with me,' he said in Swedish.
She stared uncomprehendingly at him.
'I said we'd better get some rest,' he explained. 'We've got to get away from here before dawn. We don't know where we should be heading, nor do we know how we're going to pull off the biggest trick of all – breaking into the police headquarters. That's why we've got to get some rest.'
There was a blanket in a cupboard, rolled up under an old mitre. Baiba spread it out on the floor. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, they clung tightly to each other to keep warm.
'Get some sleep,' he said. 'I just need to rest. I'll stay awake. I'll wake you up when we have to leave.'
He waited for a moment, but got no answer. She was asleep already.
CHAPTER 17
They left the church shortly before 7 a.m.
Wallander had to help Baiba, who was so exhausted she was barely conscious. It was still dark when they set off. While she was asleep on the floor beside him, he had lain awake and thought about what they should do. He knew he was obliged to have a plan ready. Baiba would hardly be able to help him any more: she had burnt her bridges, and was now as much of an outlaw as he was. From now on he was also her saviour, and it seemed to him as he lay there in the darkness that he was no longer capable of making any plans, he'd run out of ideas.
However, the thought that there might be a third possibility kept him going. He could see that it was extremely risky to rely on any such thing. He might be wrong, in which case they would never be able to evade the major's murderer. But by the time they left the church, he was convinced there was no alternative.
It was a cold morning. They stood completely still in the darkness outside the door. Baiba was clinging on to his arm. Wallander detected an almost inaudible sound in the darkness, as if somebody had changed position and accidentally scraped a foot against the frozen gravel. Here they come, he thought. The dogs will be released now. But nothing happened, everything remained very still, and he led Baiba towards the gate in the churchyard wall. They emerged into the street, and now Wallander was certain their pursuers were close at hand. He thought he could see a shadowy movement in a doorway, and heard a slight creaking noise as the gate opened behind them for a second time. The dogs one of the colonels has on his leash are not especially skilful, he thought ironically. Unless they want us to know they have their eye on us all the time.
Baiba had been brought to her senses again by the cold of the morning. They paused at a street corner, and Wallander knew he had to think of something.
'Do you know anybody who has a car we could borrow?' he asked.
She thought for a while, then shook her head.
His fear suddenly made him feel annoyed. Why was everything so difficult in this country? How would he be able to help her when nothing was normal, nothing was like he was used to?
Then he remembered the car he had stolen the previous day. The chances of it still being where he had left it were small, but it seemed to him that he had nothing to lose by going to find out. They came to a cafe that had opened early, and he hustled Baiba inside, thinking how that would confuse the pack of dogs behind them. They would have to split into two groups, and they must be constantly on their guard in case he and Baiba had already found the proof. That thought put Wallander in a much better mood. There was a possibility he hadn't thought of before. He might be able to lay false trails for their pursuers. He hurried along the street. First of all he must establish if the car was still there.
It was still where he had left it. Without a pause for thought he climbed in behind the wheel, noticing again the smell of fish, joined the electric cables, this time remembering to put the gear lever in neutral first. He pulled up outside the cafe***and left the engine running while he went in to fetch Baiba. She was sitting at a table over a cup
