The Dogs Of Riga Part 5

"I've finished," he said. "We can go now."

Wallander asked for the bill, and paid. I'll never get an answer, he thought. I'll never know why he was so against my joining the police.

They drove back to Loderup. The wind was getting up. His father took the canvases and paints into his studio.

"When are we going to have a game of cards?" he asked.

"I'll come round in a few days," Wallander replied.

He drove back to Ystad. He couldn't make up his mind whether he was angry or shocked. Maggots from dead bodies crawling out of his shirtsleeves? What on earth did he mean?

It was 12.45 p.m. when he returned to his office. By then he had decided to demand a proper answer from his father the next time he saw him. He resolved to put the conversation out of his mind in the meantime, forcing himself to be a police officer again. The first thing he had to do was to contact Bjork, but before he got round to dialling his number, the phone rang. He picked up the receiver.

"Wallander."

There was a scratching and sc.r.a.ping noise. He repeated his name.

"Are you the one who's dealing with that life-raft?"

Wallander didn't recognise the voice. It was a man speaking quickly and under pressure.

"Who am I speaking to?"

"That's irrelevant. This is about that life-raft."

Wallander reached for his notebook.

"Did you phone us the other day?"

"Phone you?" The man seemed genuinely surprised.

"It wasn't you who phoned and warned us that a life-raft would be washed ash.o.r.e somewhere not far from Ystad?"

There was a long silence. Wallander waited.

"Forget it," the man said, and hung up.

Wallander wrote down details of the conversation. He knew that he had made a mistake. The man had rung because he wanted to talk about the bodies in the life-raft, but when he heard there had already been a call he was surprised, perhaps frightened, and decided to hang up. It was obviously not the same man Martinsson had spoken to. So there was more than one person with information. Martinsson was right: whoever had seen something must have been on board a ship. They must have been crew, since n.o.body went out alone in a boat during the winter. But which ship? It could have been a ferry, or a fishing boat, or perhaps a freighter or one of the oil tankers that were forever traversing the Baltic.

Martinsson appeared in the doorway.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Wallander decided not to mention the phone call just yet. He'd tell his colleagues when he'd had time to think the whole thing through.

"I haven't spoken to Bjork," was all he said. "We can meet in half an hour." Martinsson disappeared, and he rang Bjork's number. "Bjork."

"Wallander. How's it going?"

"Come round and I'll fill you in."

Wallander was surprised by what Bjork had to say.

"We're going to have a visitor," Bjork told him. "The foreign ministry is going to send us someone who will a.s.sist us in our investigation."

"Someone from the foreign ministry? What will they know about a murder investigation?"

"I've no idea, but he'll be arriving this afternoon. I thought it would be as well if you picked him up. His flight is due at Sturup at 17.20."

"For G.o.d's sake!" Wallander said. "Is he coming to help us, or to keep an eye on us?"

"I've no idea," Bjork said again. "Besides, that's just the beginning. Guess who else has been in touch."

"The national police commissioner?"

Bjork gave a start. "How did you know that?"

"My guesses are sometimes right. What does he want?"

"To be kept in the picture. And to send us a couple of officers, one from serious crime and one from narcotics."

"Do they need to be met at the airport too?"

"No. They can look after themselves."

Wallander thought for a moment.

"This seems odd," he said. "Not least the official from the foreign ministry. Why is he coming? Have they been in touch with the Soviet police? And the Eastern bloc?"

"Everything is according to the book, or so the foreign ministry people tell me - whatever that means." Bjork flung out his arms. "I've been chief of police long enough to know how things are done in this country. Sometimes I'm the one who's kept in the dark. Other times it's the minister of justice. Mostly, though, it's the Swedish people who aren't told what's really going on."

Wallander was well aware of the many scandals involving justice in recent years, which had exposed the network of tunnels linking the bas.e.m.e.nts of state organisations. Tunnels linking ministries and inst.i.tutions. What had been thought to be mere suspicions, or accusations dismissed as the fantasies of the lunatic fringe, had now been confirmed. A large proportion of the real power was practised in dimly lit secret corridors, far beyond the control regarded as essential in a state governed by the rule of law.

There was a knock on the door, and Bjork shouted "Come in!" It was Svedberg, with an evening paper in his hand.

"I thought you might like to see this," he said.

Wallander gave a start when he saw the front page. Bold headlines announced the sensational discovery of bodies on the Scanian coast. Bjork jumped up from his chair and grabbed the newspaper, and they all read it over each other's shoulders. To his surprise, Wallander recognised his own anxious face in a blurred photograph. It must have been taken at the time of the Lenarp murder, he thought quickly.

"The investigation is being led by criminal inspector Knut Wallman."

Bjork flung the paper down. He had the red patch on his brow that foreshadowed a furious outburst. Svedberg sidled towards the door.

"It's all there," Bjork snarled. "Just as if it had been written by you, Wallander, or you, Svedberg. The paper knows the foreign ministry is involved, and that the national police commissioner is keeping an eye on developments. They even say that the life-raft was made in Yugoslavia, which is more than anyone has told me. Is this true?"

"It's true," Wallander said. "Martinsson told me this morning."

"This morning? For Christ's sake! When is this d.a.m.ned paper printed?"

Bjork was pacing up and down. Wallander and Svedberg looked at each other. When Bjork lost his temper he could go on and on forever.

Bjork grabbed hold of the newspaper again and read aloud," 'Soviet death patrols. The new Europe has exposed Sweden to crime with a political slant.' What do they mean by that? Can anybody explain? Wallander?"

"I've no idea. I reckon the best policy is to take no notice of what they say in the press."

"How can anybody take no notice? We'll be besieged by the media after this."

As if he had just uttered a prophecy, the phone rang. It was a Daily News Daily News reporter asking for a comment. Bjork put his hand over the receiver. reporter asking for a comment. Bjork put his hand over the receiver.

"We'd better call another press conference. Or shall we issue a statement? What's best? What do you think?"

"Both," Wallander answered. "But wait until tomorrow for the press conference. That man from the foreign ministry might have something to say."

Bjork informed the journalist and hung up without answering any questions. Svedberg left the room while Bjork and Wallander put together a short press release. When Wallander stood up to go, Bjork asked him to stay.

"We'll have to do something about these leaks," he said. "I've obviously been far too naive. I remember you complaining about it last year, when you were busy with that murder in Lenarp, but I dismissed it as an over-reaction. What can I do about it now?"

"I wonder whether it's possible to do anything," Wallander said. "That's a lesson I learnt last year. I think we're just going to have to put up with this sort of thing from now on."

"You know, it'll be a great relief to retire," Bjork said after a moment's thought. "I sometimes get the feeling the world is leaving me behind."

"We all feel like that," Wallander said. "I'll go and get that man from the foreign ministry. What's his name?"

"Torn."

"First name?"

"n.o.body mentioned one."

Wallander found Martinsson and Svedberg waiting for him in his office. Svedberg was describing Bjork's outburst. Wallander decided to keep the meeting brief. He told them about the telephone call and his conclusion that more than one person had seen the life-raft.

"Was he a local?" Martinsson asked.

Wallander nodded.

"We ought to be able to trace them in that case," Martinsson said. "We can eliminate oil tankers and freighters. What does that leave?"

"Fishing boats," Wallander said. "How many fishing boats are working off the south coast of Skne?"

"A great many," Martinsson said. "Mind you, it's February and quite a few will be laid up in harbour. Tracking them down will be a lot of work, but I think it can be done."

"We can decide on that tomorrow," Wallander said. "Things may have changed altogether by then."

He told them what he'd heard from Bjork. Martinsson reacted more or less as he'd done himself, but Svedberg simply shrugged.

"We're not going to get any further today," Wallander said, wrapping up the meeting. "I have to write a report on what's happened so far. You'd better do the same. Then we can see what we make of the people from serious crime and narcotics tomorrow. Not to mention Mr Torn from the foreign ministry."

Wallander was early to the airport. He had coffee with the immigration control officers, and listened to the usual complaints about working hours and wages. At 5.15 p.m. he took a seat on a bench outside the pa.s.senger lounge and stared half-heartedly at the ads on a television suspended from the ceiling. The Stockholm flight was announced, and Wallander realised that the man from the foreign ministry might be expecting to be met by a police officer in uniform. If I stand with my hands behind my back and sway backwards and forwards, he thought, perhaps that will do.

He studied the pa.s.sengers streaming past: none of them seemed to be looking about for someone. When the stragglers had gone by and the stream eventually dried up altogether, he realised he had missed his man. What do foreign ministry officials look like? he wondered. Like ordinary people, or like diplomats? But then, what does a diplomat look like?

"Kurt Wallander?" said a voice behind him.

He spun round and clapped eyes on a youngish woman.

"Yes," he said, "I'm Kurt Wallander."

The woman removed her glove and held out her hand. "Birgitta Torn," she said. "Foreign ministry. Perhaps you were expecting a man?"

"I was, actually," he said.

"There are still not all that many female career diplomats,"

Birgitta Torn said, "but that doesn't prevent a large proportion of the Swedish foreign ministry from being in the hands of women."

"Well," Wallander said. "Welcome to Skne."

As they waited at the baggage carousel, he watched her discreetly. She was not especially striking, but there was something about her eyes that caught his attention. When he picked up her case and turned to look at her, he could see what it was. She wore contact lenses. Mona had worn them during the last few years of their marriage.

They went out to the car. Wallander asked about the weather in Stockholm, and if she'd had a pleasant flight. She answered him, but he sensed that she was holding him at arm's length.

"I'm booked into a hotel called the Century," she told him as they drove to Ystad. "I'd like to go through all the investigation reports so far. I take it you've been advised that all the material should be placed at my disposal?"

"No," Wallander said. "n.o.body's said anything about that, but since none of it is secret, you can have it. There's a folder on the back seat."

"Good thinking," she said.

"When all's said and done, I have only one question," Wallander said. "Why are you here?"

"The unstable situation in the East means that the foreign ministry is monitoring all abnormal incidents. In addition to this, we can help with the formal inquiries that may have to be made in countries that are not members of Interpol."

She talks like a politician, thought Wallander. There's no room for doubt in what she says.

"Abnormal incidents," he said. "That's one way of putting it. If you like I can show you the life-raft at the police station."

"No, thank you," Torn said. "I don't want to interfere in police work, but it would be useful if we could arrange a meeting for tomorrow morning. I'd appreciate a briefing on where things stand."

"The best time would be 8 a.m.," said Wallander. "Maybe you don't know that we're being sent some extra men by the police commissioner? I a.s.sume they'll be here tomorrow.

"I had been informed," Torn answered.

The Century Hotel was in a street off the main square. Wallander parked outside and reached for the folder of reports. Then he took her suitcase out of the boot.

"Have you been to Ystad before?" he asked.

"I don't think so."

"Then perhaps I could suggest that the Ystad police should invite you to dinner."