The Dogs Of Riga Part 3

"Make it tomorrow, then," his father said, and hung up.

Wallander wrote a note on a piece of paper and fastened it to the telephone. He'd better not forget tomorrow.

He rang Svedberg: still no reply. Martinsson answered, though - he'd just come back to his office. Wallander went out into the corridor to meet him.

"Do you know what I've discovered today?" Martinsson asked. "That it's more or less impossible to describe what a life-raft looks like. All different models made by different manufacturers look the same. Only experts can tell them apart. So I went to Malmo and I've been visiting the various importers."

They had gone to the canteen to fetch some coffee. Martinsson got some biscuits, and they went to Wallander's office.

"So, now you know all about life-rafts," Wallander said. "Quite a bit, but I don't know where this one comes from."

"It's odd that there isn't any logo or a notice of country of manufacture," Wallander said. "Life-saving equipment is generally covered in all kinds of notes and instructions."

"I agree. So did the importers in Malmo. But there is the possibility of a solution: the coastguard. Captain osterdahl, a retired officer who has devoted his whole life to working on the Customs boats -15 years in Arkosund, 10 years in the Gryt archipelago. After that he moved to Simrishamn, and was based there until he retired. Over the years he drew up his own register of different types of vessel, including rubber boats and life-rafts."

"Who told you this?"

"I struck it lucky when I called the coastguard. The man who answered had worked on one of the Customs boats that osterdahl skippered."

"Good," said Wallander. "Maybe he can help us."

"If he can't, then n.o.body can," Martinsson said philosophically. "He lives out at Sandhammaren. I thought I'd drive out and fetch him so that he can take a look at the boat. Have there been any developments?"

Wallander told him Morth's conclusions while he listened attentively.

"So we may have to co-operate with the Russian police," he said when Wallander had finished. "Can you speak Russian?"

"Not a word. Mind you, it might mean that we can drop the whole business."

"No harm in hoping."

Martinsson suddenly became thoughtful.

"That's the way I feel sometimes, in fact," he said after a while. "That I wish we could just drop certain criminal cases. Because they're so awful. Too b.l.o.o.d.y and unreal.

When I was at police college, we didn't learn how to cope with tortured corpses abandoned in life-rafts. It's as if developments in crime have left me behind. And I'm only 30."

In recent years Kurt Wallander had often felt the same way as Martinsson. It had become more difficult to be a police officer. They were living at a time characterised by a sort of criminality that n.o.body had experienced before. It was a myth that a lot of police officers left the force in order to become security guards or work for private firms for financial reasons. The truth was that most police officers that left the force did so on grounds of insecurity.

"Maybe we ought to go and see Bjork and request advanced training in how to deal with tortured humans," Martinsson said.

Wallander knew that there was nothing cynical in what Martinsson was saying, just the insecurity he himself often felt.

"Every generation of police officers seems to say the same thing," he said. "We're no exception."

"I can't remember Rydberg ever complaining, can you?"

"Rydberg was an exception. But I'd like to ask you something before you go. The man who phoned. There was nothing to suggest he might be a foreigner, was there?"

Martinsson had no doubt.

"Nothing at all. He came from around here. Full stop." "Has anything else struck you about that conversation?" "No."

Martinsson stood up.

"I'll be off to Sandhammaren now, to look for Captain osterdahl," he said.

"The raft's in the bas.e.m.e.nt," Wallander said. "Good luck. By the way, have you any idea where Svedberg is?"

"I haven't a clue. I don't know what he's up to. Contacting the meteorological office, perhaps."

Wallander drove to the town centre for lunch. He thought of the unreal incident of the night before, and ordered a salad.

He was back at the station shortly before the press conference was due to begin. He had made a few notes on a piece of paper, and called in on Bjork.

"I hate press conferences," Bjork said. "That's why I'D never become national police commissioner. Not that I would anyway."

They walked together to the room where the reporters were waiting. Wallander recalled the ma.s.s of journalists who came when they were dealing with the double murder at Lenarp. Now there were only three people sitting there. He recognised two of them: one was a lady on the Ystad Recorder Ystad Recorder who wrote precise and lucid reports; the other was a man from the local office of who wrote precise and lucid reports; the other was a man from the local office of Labour News Labour News, whom he'd only met once or twice before. The third person was a man with a crew-cut and gla.s.ses. Wallander had never seen him before. whom he'd only met once or twice before. The third person was a man with a crew-cut and gla.s.ses. Wallander had never seen him before.

"Where's the South Sweden Daily South Sweden Daily News News?" Bjork whispered in his ear. "And the Skne Daily News Skne Daily News. Not to mention local radio?" Not to mention local radio?"

"No idea," Wallander said. "Let's get started."

Bjork stepped up onto the dais in one corner of the room. His speaking style was rather hesitant and distant, and Wallander hoped he wouldn't go on any longer than necessary.

Then it was his turn.

"Two dead men have been washed ash.o.r.e at Mossby Strand in a life-raft," he said. "We haven't been able to identify the bodies. As far as we know there has been no accident that could be linked with the life-raft, nor do we have any reports of anybody being lost at sea. That means we need a.s.sistance from the public. And from you."

He didn't mention the anonymous phone call.

"We'd like to ask anybody who might have relevant information to contact the police. That's all."

Bjork returned to the platform.

"We'll try to answer any questions you might have," he said.

The friendly lady from the Ystad Recorder Ystad Recorder asked whether there wasn't an unusually high number of incidents of violence in Skne, where everything used to be so peaceful. asked whether there wasn't an unusually high number of incidents of violence in Skne, where everything used to be so peaceful.

Wallander snorted to himself at the question. Peaceful, he thought. It's never been especially peaceful around here.

Bjork said that there really hadn't been a significant increase in violent crimes reported, and the lady from the Ystad Recorder Ystad Recorder seemed satisfied with his answer. The local correspondent from seemed satisfied with his answer. The local correspondent from Labour News Labour News had no questions, and Bjork was just about to close the conference when the young man in gla.s.ses raised his hand. had no questions, and Bjork was just about to close the conference when the young man in gla.s.ses raised his hand.

"I've got a question," he said. "Why haven't you said that the men in the raft had been murdered?"

Wallander looked quickly at Bjork.

"At this stage we cannot be certain how the two men died," Bjork said.

"Come on, that's not true. Everybody knows they were shot through the heart."

"Next question," Bjork said, and Wallander could see he had broken into a sweat.

"Next question?" the reporter said angrily. "Why should I ask another question when you haven't answered my first one?"

"You've had the only answer I can give you at present," Bjork said.

"This is absurd," said the reporter. "But I will ask another question. Why don't you say you suspect that the two murdered men are Russian citizens? Why do you call a press conference when you either don't answer questions or don't reveal the facts?"

How the h.e.l.l did he find out about all that? Wallander thought to himself. On the other hand, he didn't understand why Bjork wasn't coming clean. The journalist was quite right. Why should they conceal facts that were patently obvious?

"As Inspector Wallander just pointed out, we haven't yet been able to identify the two men," Bjork said. "That's precisely why we are appealing to the general public. We hope the press will make a splash of this so that people know we are looking for information."

The young reporter stuffed his notebook demonstratively into his jacket pocket.

"Thank you for coming," Bjork said.

At the exit Wallander cornered the lady from the Ystad Recorder Ystad Recorder.

"Who was that reporter?" he asked. "I've no idea. I've never seen him before. Was what he said true?"

Wallander didn't answer, and the lady from the Ystad Recorder Ystad Recorder was sufficiently polite not to press him. was sufficiently polite not to press him.

"Why didn't you come clean?" Wallander asked when he had caught up with Bjork in the corridor.

"These d.a.m.ned reporters," Bjork growled. "How did he find all that out? Who's responsible for the leaks?"

"It could be anybody," said Wallander said. "It could even be me."

Bjork stopped dead in his tracks and stared at him, but didn't comment.

"The foreign ministry have asked us to lie low," he said instead.

"Why?" Wallander asked.

"You'll have to ask them that," Bjork said. "I'm hoping to get some more instructions this afternoon."

Wallander returned to his office. He was starting to get fed up with the whole business. He sat down and unlocked one of his desk drawers. It contained a photocopy of an advertis.e.m.e.nt for a job. The Trelleborg Rubber Company was looking for a new head of security. With the ad was the application letter Wallander had written the week before. He was trying to decide whether to send it in. If police work became a sort of game, with information being either leaked or held back for no good reason, he no longer wanted to be involved. Police work was more than this as far as he was concerned. He couldn't operate in an environment in which his job wasn't constantly underpinned by rational and moral principles that would never be questioned.

His train of thought was interrupted by Svedberg, who nudged the door open with his foot and marched in.

"Where the h.e.l.l have you been?" Wallander asked.

Svedberg stared at him in astonishment.

"I left a note on your desk," he said. "Haven't you seen it?"

The note had fallen on the floor. Wallander picked it up. Svedberg had told him he could be contacted at the meteorological office at Sturup.

"I thought we could take a short cut," Svedberg said. "I know one of the men at Sturup Airport. We go bird watching together at Falsterbo. He helped me to try and work out where the raft might have come from."

"I thought the meteorological office in Norrkoping was doing that."

"I thought this way would be quicker."

He took some rolls of paper out of his pocket and spread them on the table. Wallander could see diagrams and columns of numbers.

"We calculated on the a.s.sumption that the raft had been drifting for five days " Svedberg said. "The wind directions have been pretty constant in recent weeks, so we were able to be quite accurate. Mind you, it won't help us much."

"Meaning?"

"That the life-raft probably drifted quite a long way." "Meaning?"

"It could have come from countries as far apart as Denmark and Estonia."

Wallander stared at Svedberg in disbelief.

"Is that really possible?"

"Yes. You can ask Johnny yourself."

"Good work," Wallander said. "Go and tell Bjork. He can pa.s.s the information on to the foreign ministry. Then maybe we can get rid of the whole affair."

"Get rid of?"

Wallander told him what had happened earlier in the day. He could see that Svedberg was disappointed.

"I don't like dropping something I've started," Svedberg said.

"Nothing is certain. I'm just putting you in the picture."

Svedberg went off to see Bjork, and Wallander went back to his job application. All the time, the raft with the murdered men was bobbing up and down in his mind.

Morth's post-mortem report was delivered at 4 p.m. He was still awaiting the results from the laboratory tests, but he estimated that the men had been dead for approximately seven days. They had probably been exposed to salt water for about the same length of time. One of the men was about 28, the other slightly older. Both had been in good health. They had been subjected to extreme torture. East European dentists had treated their teeth. Wallander put the report aside and looked out of the window. It was dark already, and he was hungry.

Bjork called to say that the foreign ministry would get back to him in the morning with further instructions.

"In that case, I'm off home," Wallander said.

"Do that," Bjork said. "I wonder who that journalist was?"

They found out the next day. Placards for the Express Express were full of the sensational discovery of dead bodies on the Scanian coast. The front-page story revealed that the murdered men were almost certainly Soviet citizens, and that the foreign ministry had been brought in. The Ystad police had been ordered to hush up the whole affair, and the newspaper wanted to know why. were full of the sensational discovery of dead bodies on the Scanian coast. The front-page story revealed that the murdered men were almost certainly Soviet citizens, and that the foreign ministry had been brought in. The Ystad police had been ordered to hush up the whole affair, and the newspaper wanted to know why.

But it was 3 p.m. the following afternoon before Wallander saw the placards. By that time, a lot more water had flowed under the bridge.