"And it was snowing hard?" "Yes."

He's coming to the point now, Wallander thought feverishly. What does he want me to say without my realising I've said it?

"What brand of whisky were you drinking?"

"JB, I think."

"Major Liepa was very moderate when it came to strong liquor. Mind you, he did occasionally like to relax over a drink."

"Really?"

"He was moderate in all respects."

"I think I was probably more affected by the drink than he was. If that's what you want to know."

"Nevertheless, you seem to have a clear memory of the evening."

"We listened to music. Sat there with glasses in our hands. Chatted. Sat quietly. Why shouldn't I remember that?"

"No doubt you continued discussing the bodies in the life-raft?"

"Not as far as I remember. Major Liepa probably did most of the talking, about Latvia. It was only then that I discovered he was married, by the way."

Wallander noticed a sudden change in atmosphere. Upitis was observing him intently, and the driver changed his position on his chair almost imperceptibly. Wallander was so sure his intuition was reliable that he had no doubt they had just passed the point in the conversation that Upitis had been working towards all the time. But what was it, exactly? In his mind's eye he could see the major sitting on his sofa, resting the glass of whisky on one knee, listening to the music. There must have been something more to it, something that justified the creation of Mr Eckers as a secret identity for a Swedish police officer.

"You presented Major Liepa with a book as he was leaving, is that right?"

"I bought him a book of photographs of Skåne. Not very imaginative, perhaps, but I couldn't think of anything better."

"Major Liepa much appreciated the gift." "How do you know?" "His wife told me."

Now we're on the way out, thought Wallander. These questions are just to distract attention from the real point of the conversation.

"Have you had dealings with police officers from the Eastern bloc before?"

"We were once visited by a Polish detective. That's all."

Upitis pushed his notebook to one side. He hadn't made a single note so far, but Wallander was certain Upitis had found out what he wanted to know. What was it, he wondered. What am I telling him without realising it?

Wallander took a sip of tea, which was by now icy cold. Now it's my turn. Now I must stand this conversation on its head.

"Why was the major killed?" he asked.

"Major Liepa was very worried about the way things were going in this country," Upitis replied hesitantly. "We often talked about it, wondering what could be done."

"Was that why he was killed?"

"Why else would anyone want to murder him?"

"That's not an answer. It's a different question."

"We are afraid it's the truth."

"Who would have any reason to kill him?"

"Remember what I said earlier. About people who are afraid of freedom."

"Who sharpen their knives under the cover of night?"

Upitis nodded slowly. Wallander tried to think, to take in everything he'd heard.

"If I understand correctly, you're members of an organisation," he said.

"Rather a loosely connected circle of people. An organisation is far too easy to track down and crush."

"What are you trying to achieve?"

Upitis seemed to hesitate. Wallander waited.

"We are free human beings, Mr Wallander, in the midst of this unfreedom. We are free in the sense that we're able to analyse what's going on all around us in Latvia. Perhaps one should add that most of us are intellectuals. Journalists, academics, poets. Perhaps we form the core of what can become the political movement that could save our country from ruin. If chaos breaks out. If the Soviet Union launches an invasion. If a civil war cannot be avoided."

"Major Liepa was one of you?"

"Yes."

"A leader?"

"We don't have any leaders, Mr Wallander, but Major Liepa was an important member of our circle. Given his position, he had an excellent overview. We think he was betrayed."

"Betrayed?"

"The police force in this country is entirely under the control of the occupying power. Major Liepa was an exception. He was playing a double game with his colleagues. He ran great risks."

Wallander thought for a moment. He recalled something one of the colonels had said. We are very good at keeping an eye on one another.

"Are you suggesting someone in the police force might be behind the murder?"

"We can't be sure, of course, but we suspect that is the case. There's no other satisfactory explanation."

"Who can it have been?"

"That's what we hope you can help us to find out."

It struck Wallander that here at last was the first sign that a solution to the jigsaw puzzle might be at hand. He thought about the suspiciously inadequate examination of the place where the major's body had been found. He thought about the way he had been followed from the moment he set foot in Riga. Suddenly, he saw there was a pattern behind all the diversions that had been following each other thick and fast.

"One of the colonels?" he said. "Putnis or Murniers?"

Upitis replied without hesitation. It would occur to Wallander later that there was a ring of triumph in his voice.

"We suspect Colonel Murniers." "Why?"

"We have our reasons." "What reasons?"

"Colonel Murniers has distinguished himself as the loyal Soviet citizen he is in many ways."

"Is he a Russian?" Wallander asked in astonishment.

"Murniers came to Latvia during the war. His father was in the Red Army. He joined the police in 1957, when he was young. Very young and very promising."

"So you're saying he has killed one of his own subordinates?"

"There's no other explanation, but we cannot know whether Murniers committed the murder himself."

"Why was Major Liepa murdered the night he got back from Sweden?"

"Major Liepa was an uncommunicative man," Upitis said. "He didn't waste words. That's a habit you acquire in this country. Although I was a close friend of his, he never said anything more to me than he had to. You learn not to burden your friends with too many confidences. Nevertheless, he did occasionally indicate he was onto something.".

"What?"

"We don't know."

"You must have some idea, surely?" Upitis shook his head. He suddenly looked very tired. The driver was motionless on his chair.

"How do you know you can trust me?" Wallander asked. "We don't but we have to take the risk. We imagine a

Swedish police officer is not interested in getting too involved in the terrible chaos that is the norm in our country."

Dead right, Wallander thought. I don't like being followed, I don't want to be driven off at night to secret meetings in hunting lodges. What I want most of all is to go back home.

"I must see Baiba Liepa," he said.

Upitis nodded.

"We'll phone you and ask for Mr Eckers," he said. "Maybe as soon as tomorrow."

"I can ask for her to be brought in for questioning."

Upitis shook his head. "Too many people would be listening," he said. "We'll arrange a meeting."

That was the end of the discussion. Upitis seemed to be lost in thought. Wallander glanced into the shadows: the faint beam of light was no longer to be seen.

"Did you find out what you wanted to know?" he asked.

Upitis smiled, without replying.

"During the evening when Major Liepa was round at my place, drinking whisky and listening to Turandot, he said nothing that could have had a bearing on his murder. You could have asked me straight out."

"There are no short cuts in this country of ours," Upitis said. "The roundabout route is most often the only accessible one, and the safest."

He put his notebook away and got to his feet. The driver jumped up from his chair.