Hidden Depths (8 page)

Kissing, they sealed their declaration of love.

‘Come on Felix,' Martha said. ‘Let's go to your Oma's house.'

In grandmother Gertrude's house that night, Felix and Martha became lovers. Their lovemaking was soft and gentle, caressing and exploring each other's bodies, discovering the intimate details and preferences that only lovers can share. It wasn't the first time for either of them but it was a life-changing moment for them both, and they slept in each other's arms that night. Returning to the cottage to sleep simply for the sake of appeasing Klaus, Ingrid and her own parents felt unacceptable to Martha.

They returned to the cottage for breakfast, hand in hand, and it was instantly obvious to a concerned Klaus and Ingrid what had occurred the night before. Axel, however, was delighted to see them.

‘Fe-wix,' Axel squealed and ran into his Onkel's arms.

‘Hello, little man,' Felix said, covering the boy with kisses.

‘Can we play?' asked Axel.

‘Later, I promise,' Felix told his nephew.

Axel wandered off to play with his toys in another corner of the room.

Ingrid shook her head. ‘What will Jens and Angele say? They'll feel we've let them down, not looking after their daughter.'

‘We're in love,' Felix announced proudly.

‘I'll deal with my parents, don't worry,' Martha said confidently.

‘Just because you kept our sleeping arrangements apart doesn't mean you could have stopped anything happening,' Felix told them.

‘That's true,' Klaus observed. ‘I just hope it doesn't interfere with Martha's schooling.'

‘It won't,' Martha reassured them. ‘And before you ask, I'm on the Pill.'

Martha's parents weren't surprised at her news. They'd seen it coming and hoped she wouldn't get too hurt if it all went wrong, as was so often the case in teenage love affairs. Martha's first boyfriend had broken her heart last year when she was a much less self-assured girl of 16 and if she did get hurt they'd be there to pick up the pieces again. Jens and Angele genuinely liked Felix and felt he was a good lad at heart, but given his background they worried whether he could cope with the demands of a relationship at his young age – or with their daughter, for that matter. Only time would tell.

Summer and romantic trysts for Felix came to an abrupt end at the golf club. A few months after the German Masters golf tournament was played in Stuttgart, the golf clubs in the Berlin area were touting for the honour to hold next year's tournament. At his Onkel's club, their annual open tournament began and was one of their biggest events of the year. Various personalities in golf turned up, including the winner of the German Masters, 1992, England's Barry Lane.

The club hired extra staff for security purposes, not only to protect the professional golf players but to keep the crowds off the greens and fairways, safely behind ropes. Bernd had arranged for the event to be televised, striking a lucrative deal with a satellite television company and opening the tournament in his official capacity of Mayor. Felix was keen not to be seen in front of the omnipresent television cameras. He was happier behind the scenes, working, repairing the divots with the ground staff.

But on the opening day of the tournament, the world he'd built for himself that had seemed safe and full of promise was irrevocably torn asunder. Felix recognised one of the hired security stewards at the staff briefing. It was Horst Gwisdek, one of the Musketeers at Torgau.

Chapter Eleven
: Horst

H
ORST
G
WISDEK WAS THE
eldest of three boys, brought up by an authoritarian mother in a Berlin suburb in East Germany. After she had caught Horst's father in bed with a 14-year-old boy she had divorced him, denying him any future access to his sons in exchange for her silence and not informing the authorities.

Frau Gwisdek worked all the hours under the sun to support her three children. Horst was the eldest and a surrogate father at the age of nine, helping look after the younger children. His overworked mother often came home tired and irritable. She regularly took her frustration out on her eldest son, belittling his efforts and beating him indiscriminately for a perceived or trivial mistake. The young Horst saw brief glimpses of her love but it made for a fractious relationship when he became an adult. By then all he felt for her was bitterness, whereas she had mellowed, but he couldn't forgive her. A strong man now, he towered over his mother and harbouring deep resentment, took a final, satisfactory retribution, hitting her so hard that he fractured her cheekbone causing her eyeball to come out of its socket. Smiling smugly, he then left the house, never to see his mother or his brothers again.

The Russian Army was serving in Afghanistan in the 1980s and this appealed to Horst. Here, with the protective cloak of a uniform to hide his actions, he found he enjoyed torturing imprisoned men, especially the teenage militants who were captured and alongside his fellow soldiers, crossed sexual boundaries. After five years, Horst left the army and ended up as head of security at Torgau's youth prison. Gradually, he made friends with the other Musketeers whom he soon discovered shared his proclivities for sexually abusing young boys. They formed a tight bond and if anyone working at Torgau outside their paedophile unit dared to oppose them, Horst used his considerable and formidable strength to deliver his message: ‘cross me if you dare'.

When Torgau was closed down, the authorities began dealing with complaints from the survivors of abuse. As yet, none of the children Horst had abused spoke out against him or his fellow Musketeers and he remained at large in the community to continue his life as a paedophile. He kept in regular touch with a paedophile ring of comrades, especially the two Musketeers, but lived a solitary life in Leipzig in rented accommodation that he changed frequently, never developing personal relationships with other adults of either sex. He preferred a life of hiring boy prostitutes to share with the Musketeers during their opportune moments when they went out ‘hunting' in Horst's motor home. On these trips they would kidnap a young, unsuspecting kid, often a young male aged between 12 and 15, off the streets of some distant city. After days and nights of abuse too vile to document, they would dump the abused child, barely alive, onto the streets and disappear into the night.

Horst was now a burly man in his 40s, working as a freelance security guard. He was happiest mingling with celebrities at prestigious events and jumped at the chance to work at the Motzen Mayor golf club tournament in September 1992.

After the first day's play, when all the crowds had dispersed, Horst was enjoying a drink in the clubhouse lounge, filled with the players, their wives and children. A blond Adonis caught his eye. It was Felix, dressed in staff overalls, chatting to the Mayor. He began thinking this lad was a little bit older than his usual hors d'oeuvres of teenage boys but gave him a second look and his curiosity grew.

Horst went to the bar. ‘Who's that young, lad with the Mayor?'

The barman, Carsten Berger, looked across the crowded lounge. ‘Oh, that's Felix.'

‘He's very matey with the Mayor. Doesn't the Mayor own this club?'

‘Yeah, Mayor Felker and his brother Klaus. Felix is their nephew.'

Horst remarked. ‘Nice to keep all that money in the family, the brothers have quite a lucrative business here. Lucky lad that Felix Felker.'

‘Felix isn't a Felker. His name is Waltz,' contradicted Carsten.

Horst's suspicions were confirmed. So, Felix had somehow escaped from Torgau and wasn't dead as they had all been told. How had they allowed that to slip past them? And Felix was now in a fortuitous position. How the fates of fortunes change, thought Horst, knowing there was no alternative but to take action.

It was twilight when Felix emerged from the party that was still underway in the clubhouse. Horst watched him unlock his Schwalbe and flashed his car headlights. Intrigued and sensing no danger, Felix crossed the car park and as he neared, Horst emerged from the car to stand in front of him.

Felix felt his pulse race. He'd almost thrown up when he saw Horst earlier but the hectic day's schedule had taken his mind off his anxiety. What was he to do now he'd been recognised? Felix knew the next few hours would be critical and mustered all his strength to show his Torgau abuser he was unafraid and no longer intimidated.

The two men faced one another with icy stares.

‘Felix Waltz, we meet again. I thought you were last spotted drowning in the River Elbe,' Horst said, breaking the silence.

‘I jumped a sinking ship.'

Horst smiled smugly. ‘You got lucky and rode with the current, ending up here.'

‘I deserved my luck,' Felix told him.

Horst scratched his chin. ‘I think we should talk.'

‘I agree, but not here.'

‘Well, you're on home territory young man, the balls are in your court.'

‘I know a place where we won't be disturbed, about half an hour from here. Do you know Muggelsee?' Felix asked.

Horst nodded. ‘Sounds good to me.'

‘Follow me and I'll park by the lake,' Felix instructed.

Horst followed Felix to the banks of Muggelsee, avoiding the main jetty in Kopenick. Here, a large ferry on the River Spree linked residents and commuters directly to Berlin. There were four other jetties on the water, at the north, south, east and western sections of the lake where smaller ferries passed, and visitors and residents could hop on and off around the lake. Felix knew his way around this area now from visiting Martha and like the locals, he also knew the murky depths of the water.

It was dark and quietly eerie on the lake, which was devoid of people when Felix parked his Schwalbe and joined Horst in his car at the south jetty. The car headlights stayed on and lit up the water. It felt strange to be in close proximity to someone whom he despised and was repulsed by, smelling Horst's still familiar pungent after shave which he had always scrubbed away ferociously once the Musketeer had finished with him. It made Felix feel nauseous to breathe the same air as Horst.

‘Well, here we are,' Horst began. ‘The Mayor's nephew, no less.'

‘I can see you're impressed.' Felix's tone was sarcastic. ‘Don't be expecting an invite to the
Burgermeister's
for dinner.'

‘Think you're better than me now, do you?' said Horst.

‘I'm from a good family. I should never have ended up at Torgau.'

‘So I see. The Stasi made mistakes too,' Horst replied.

‘And you?' Felix challenged him. ‘Are you from a good family?'

Horst's answer was composed. ‘Families can lift you up or drag you down. I have no family, no dependents, I'm a loner and I like it that way. You've grown up since we last met, how long has it been? Two or three years, I think.'

‘I recognised you,' Felix said, stony-faced. ‘How could I forget your ugly face?'

‘Oh, Felix, don't be so cruel to a former lover.'

Felix shook his head. ‘That's not what we were.'

They both felt their hackles rise. It was going to be a strategic game of chess with the outcome unknown and undecided.

‘And your sister?' Horst enquired.

‘She died.' It was a form of weakness to show empathy, Horst reminded himself. ‘Did she die in childbirth?' he enquired, with a certain vitriolic relish.

‘Something like that,' Felix replied, the rage inside him beginning to swell.

‘Well, you came back from the dead. Question is, what are we going to do now?'

‘Let the police decide,' Felix declared.

‘No way! There'll be no Nuremberg trial for me. I'm not going to turn myself over to the police or face a life on the run.'

Felix was adamant. ‘You're a paedophile. Talk yourself out of that.'

‘It was only sex. We both enjoyed it.'

Felix wanted to hit him but held himself back. ‘You're a sick bastard. You abused my sister and me and I'm not going to let you get away with it.'

Horst tried to remain calm but was getting hot, so he wound down the car window. He couldn't lose this battle, he wasn't going to be outwitted by this Torgau kid.

‘I can see you're not afraid any more.'

‘No!' said Felix emphatically. ‘Maybe it's you who's afraid?'

Horst scratched his chin. ‘If you tell the police and it goes to trial, you realise you'll be in the dock too, giving evidence. You'll have to say in front of everyone what I made you do, how you and your sister were shared by the Musketeers.'

‘If it means stopping you abusing other kids, I'd do it.'

‘Oh, Felix, don't be naïve,' Horst smirked. He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a red diary and waved it about. ‘In here is a list of all my colleagues at Torgau and lots of other men with my, let's say, proclivities. The list is endless… It would only take one call from me and they'd very quickly be up your arse again… literally.'

Felix was so angry he was at bursting point. ‘All for one and one for all. Wasn't that your motto, what you used to say?'

‘Felix, you're a little too old for my liking but if you involve the police, your nephew – Axel, isn't it? I saw him at the golf club, such a sweet little boy – will be kidnapped by one of my “friends” in my little red book. And that's a promise.'

Their game of psychological chess had reached its climax. The next move for either side was checkmate.

Felix reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a gun. Horst was visibly taken aback.

‘See this? It's a rapid fire pistol, similar to the one used by Ralf Schumann when he won the Olympic gold medal for Germany in Barcelona last month. When I recognised you at the club today, I had the feeling our paths would cross and went home for the gun.'

For the first time, Horst felt fear. ‘Felix. Don't be silly, we both know you're not going to use it.'

‘You don't know me, or what I'm capable of. You're right about the trial, though. I'd find it hard, telling my family and the court how you fucked with me, and I'll never forgive you for taking my sister from me.'

Horst lunged at Felix and the gun. Taken by surprise, they struggled, hitting, punching, pulling and tugging as their veins pumped with adrenalin before Felix took control and hit Horst on the head with it, time after time, stunning him and giving Felix a few seconds to run to his Schwalbe. There was no one in sight and in his rucksack was his boat knife and some anchor rope which he took back to the car.

Binding Horst's hands to the steering wheel, he tied the Musketeer's legs together.

Horst stirred from his daze. ‘Untie me, you bastard!'

‘Fuck off!' Felix snarled.

Horst tried to wriggle free. ‘Stupid Torgau boy. I'll fucking kill you!' he screamed.

Felix laughed. ‘Don't you like being the underdog to the Torgau boy?'

He
was in control now, it was
his
choice whether to call the police or take retribution of his own. He debated the pros and cons. Allowing justice to take its course would all be so complicated and the outcome wasn't a foregone conclusion – Horst would manipulate and lie through his teeth. The decision was made for him when he saw Horst's red diary on the passenger seat. There was only one thing he had to do and that was protect Axel.

‘You'll regret this, Waltz.'

‘Shut up!' Felix bellowed in Horst's face.

Horst struggled to free himself and began screaming. ‘Help! Someone help me!'

‘Shall I burn your ears?' said Felix. ‘When I look at my ears in the mirror I'm reminded of you!' He grabbed Horst's ears and made a few wild swipes, cutting indiscriminately with his boat knife. Horst's lobes split at the bottom and blood spurted out as he screamed.

Felix smirked. ‘Now we'll both have scarred ears. One for all and all for one!'

‘Help! Someone help me!' Horst yelled.

‘No one can hear you. You'll be a
weggesperrt
, forgotten… No one will care or miss a fucking paedophile,' Felix shouted.

His beloved Susi flashed into his mind. He remembered what she'd said just before she jumped to her death, how she'd spoken about the shame of the identity of Axel's father and how it had destroyed her. Felix now had an opportunity to find out who the father was and in a moment of lucidity, hacked off a hefty chunk of Horst's short hair, wrapping the cuttings in a tissue and putting it in his rucksack, knowing DNA testing would confirm parentage.

‘Let me go!' Horst pleaded.

Felix looked at the pathetic, bloodstained ‘Musketeer' and decided to give him one last chance. ‘Tell me you're sorry that you ruined my sister's life – and mine.'

‘I'm sorry,' Horst said, too quickly to convince Felix.

‘Liar!' Felix screamed and grabbing Horst's hair, he rammed his bloody head repeatedly against the steering wheel until he lost unconsciousness.

There was no turning back now. Felix sat on the grass next to the car to catch his breath. Noises from the surrounding woodlands amplified all around him and he imagined something was lurking in the shadows but it was only the natural sounds of the night carried by the breeze. He was alone and no one could hear or see him, and the deed was only half done. He picked up Horst's diary, then searched Horst's floppy body for personal belongings, finding a mobile phone and a wallet. He put all these items into his rucksack by the Schwalbe.