CHAPTER 18

He sensed danger the moment he woke. It was nearly 7 a.m. He lay quite still in the darkness, listening. Eventually, he realised the danger was not a threat outside the door or somewhere in the room, but inside himself. It was a warning that he still hadn't turned over every stone to discover what was lying underneath it.

The pain seemed to have eased a little. Carefully, he tried to move his fingers although he still couldn't bear to look at his hand. The pain returned immediately. He wouldn't be able to last many hours more before seeing a doctor.

Wallander was exhausted. Before he'd dozed off, some hours earlier, he had felt defeated. The colonels' power was too great, and his own ability to handle the situation had been continually curtailed. Now, he could see that he was also being defeated by exhaustion. He didn't trust his own judgement, and he knew this was due to a lack of sleep over a long period.

He tried to analyse the nagging feeling he had experienced on waking. What had he overlooked? Where, in all his thoughts and his constant efforts to establish connections, had he drawn the wrong conclusions, or perhaps not thought things through properly? What had he still not managed to see? He couldn't ignore his instinct. Just now, in his dazed condition, it was his only chance of getting his bearings.

What had he still not managed to see? He sat up in bed carefully, still not having answered the question. He looked in disgust at his swollen hand for the first time, and filled the basin with cold water. He first dipped his face into it, then his injured hand. After a few minutes he went over to the window and opened the blind. There was a very strong smell of coal. Misty dawn was just breaking over the church towers of the city. He stayed at the window and watched all the people hurrying along the pavements, but he was still unable to answer his own question: what had he failed to see?

Then he left the room, paid, and allowed himself to be swallowed up by the city. It was as he walked through one of the city's many parks – he couldn't remember what it was called – that he noticed how many dogs there were in Riga. It wasn't just the invisible pack that was pursuing him. There were lots of other dogs, real ones, the kind people play with and take for walks. He paused to watch a pair of dogs involved in a violent fight. One was an Alsatian, the other a mongrel. The two owners were shouting at their dogs as they tried to separate them, and then began to shout at each other as well. The owner of the Alsatian was an elderly man, but the mongrel belonged to a woman in her 30s. Wallander had the feeling that what he was witnessing was symbolic of the opposing forces in Latvia. The dogs were fighting and the people as well, and there were no outcomes that could be predicted in advance.

He arrived at the central department store just as they were opening at 10 a.m. The blue folder was burning hot inside his shirt: his instinct told him he ought to get rid of it, to find a temporary hiding place.

While he'd been wandering around the streets that morning, he had monitored every movement behind and in front of him, and he was now certain that the colonels had encircled him again. There were more shadows than ever now, and the grim thought that a storm was brewing struck him. He stopped just inside the entrance and pretended to read an information board, but in fact he was observing a left luggage counter where customers could leave bags and parcels. The counter was L-shaped. He had remembered it all correctly. He went over to the bureau de change, handed over a Swedish note and received a bundle of Latvian notes in exchange. Then he went up to the floor where they sold records. He picked out two LPs of Verdi, and noted that the records were just about the same size as the file. When he paid and had the records put in a carrier bag, he saw the closest of the shadows pretending to study a shelf with jazz records. He then went back to the left luggage counter and waited for a few seconds until there were several people waiting to be served. He walked quickly to the farthest corner of the counter, pulled out the file and placed it between the records. He acted quickly, even though he could only use one hand properly. He handed in the carrier bag, was given a tag with a number, and walked away. The various shadows were dotted around near the entrance doors, but even so he felt pretty sure they hadn't noticed him putting the file into the carrier. Of course, there was a risk that they would search the bag, but he thought it was unlikely since they had watched him buy the two records.

He looked at his watch: only 10 minutes to go until Baiba was due at their meeting place. He was still uneasy, but he felt more secure now for having got rid of the file. He went upstairs to the furniture department. Although it was still early, there were lots of customers gazing dreamily or in resignation at suites and bedroom furniture. Wallander strolled slowly towards the area displaying kitchen equipment. He didn't want to arrive too soon, but wanted to get to the meeting place at the exact time they had planned, and so he filled the time by wandering around and looking at various light fittings. They had agreed to meet among the ovens and refrigerators, all of which were made in the Soviet Union.

He saw her straight away. She was examining a cooker, and he noticed that it only had three hotplates. He could tell immediately that something was wrong. Something had happened to Baiba, something he had suspected the moment he woke up that morning. His uneasiness bristled and sharpened all his senses.

She noticed him at the same moment. She smiled, but he could see the fear in her eyes. Wallander walked towards her, not bothering to establish what positions the shadows had taken up. Just for the moment his whole attention was concentrated on finding out what had happened. He stood beside her, and they both stared at a dazzling white refrigerator.

"What's happened?" he asked. "Just tell me the important bits, we haven't much time."

"Nothing's happened," she said. "It was just that I couldn't leave the university as they had it under observation."

Why is she lying, he wondered frantically. Why is she trying to lie so convincingly that I won't notice?

"Did you get the file?" she asked.

He hesitated over whether he ought to tell the truth, but then he decided he was fed up with all the lies.

"Yes, I got the file," he said. "Mikelis was reliable."

She gave him a quick look.

"Give me it," she said. "I know where we can hide it."

It was clear to Wallander that this was not Baiba speaking. It was her fear that was asking for the file, the threat she was exposed to.

"What's happened?" he asked again, this time more firmly, and perhaps with a note of anger. "Nothing," she insisted.

"Don't lie," he said, unable to prevent his voice from rising. "I'll give you the file. What will happen if you don't get it?"

He could see she was at the end of her tether. Don't collapse just yet, he thought in desperation. We're still one step ahead of them as long as they are not sure whether or not I've got the major's testimony.

"Upitis will die," she whispered.

"Who has threatened you with that?"

She shook her head dismissively.

"I have to know," he said. "It won't have any effect on Upitis if you tell me."

She looked at him in horror. He took hold of her arm and shook her.

"Who?" he said. "Who was it?"

"Sergeant Zids."

He let her go. Her reply had made him furious. Would he never get to know which of the colonels was at the core of the conspiracy?

He noticed the shadows closing in on them. They now seemed to have decided that he had the major's testimony. Without pausing to think he grabbed hold of Baiba and dragged her with him in a race for the stairs. Upitis won't be the first to die, he thought. It'll be us, unless we can get away.