Stasi Child (2 page)

The two detectives were still barely on speaking terms as they parked the Wartburg in Ackerstrasse, the street that bisected the two neighbouring graveyards of St Elisabeth’s and Sophien parishes – both abutted by the anti-fascist barrier to the northeast. Tilsner nodded towards the entrance of the former, and Müller followed him through the gate, with its metal arch overhead. The cemetery, with dark headstones and monuments jutting up from a blanket of white, had a tranquillity at odds with the rest of the city. Green-winged angels guarded some of the graves, their once shining bronze turned verdigris after too many Berlin winters.

They walked to the area of the cemetery where the body lay. Stasi officers and border guards surrounded the girl’s lifeless form, which was shrouded by a canvas cover. A man in a raincoat – who had been down on his knees, hidden by the headstone of a grave – raised himself to his full height. Under the coat, Müller could see a civilian suit, but from his bearing she guessed this was the Stasi officer mentioned in Tilsner’s phone call. The man turned and smiled. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with fashionable sideburns and sandy hair worn slightly long. He could have passed for one of the West German newsreaders that her husband Gottfried was so fond of watching, despite her protests.

She didn’t recognise the man, but evidently he knew her.

‘Comrade
Oberleutnant
. Thank you for joining us.
Oberstleutnant
Klaus Jäger. I’m glad we were able to finally get hold of you.’ He took her gloved hand in his and gave it a firm squeeze, before doing the same as he introduced himself to Tilsner. There appeared to be genuine warmth in the greeting. ‘Please come with me a moment, both of you, and I will fill you in on some of the details.’ He placed his hand lightly on her back and guided her and Tilsner towards a snow-topped wooden gazebo, where mourners no doubt sat in quiet contemplation of their departed loved ones. Müller attempted to look over her shoulder at the body, but Jäger didn’t seem interested in showing it to them just yet.

They sat in a row on a bench, sheltered under one side of the hexagonal structure, Jäger flanked by the two
Kripo
officers. Müller could smell his aftershave: it seemed to her an expensive, western fragrance. Her own perfume, she suspected, was pure Blue Strangler, forty degrees proof. She hoped he couldn’t smell it.

Jäger gestured towards the taped-off area, where official photographers and forensic officers were busy at work. ‘Nasty business. A girl. Mid-teens, we think.’

‘Murdered?’ asked Müller.

Jäger nodded slowly. ‘We think so.’

‘Murdered how, Comrade
Oberstleutnant
?’ asked Tilsner. ‘And why do you need the help of the People’s Police criminal division if the Ministry for State Security is already investigating it?’

‘Yes, why
is
State Security involved?’ added Müller, before the Stasi officer had time to answer her deputy. ‘Surely,
Oberstleutnant
Jäger, as the site is so near the Anti-Fascist Protection Barrier, this is a job for the border force?’ She looked out beyond the activity around the body, towards the first wall of the barrier. There was rumoured to be a minefield on the other side, before a second wall – the whole thing stretching for kilometre after kilometre around the western sector. The stems of searchlights sought the heavens, spaced out every fifty metres or so like overgrown sunflowers. In the daylight, with the snow-covered graveyard in the foreground, it looked relatively benign to Müller, despite the occasional bark of patrol dogs. At night, it took on a very different character. But if its defences deterred
Republikflüchtlinge
– those who would risk an escape attempt to reach the West rather than stay and build a fairer Germany – well then, that was just fine by her.

Initially Jäger failed to fill the silence, but then gave a gentle laugh. ‘That’s a lot of questions, and I can’t answer them all. What I can tell you is that you have been instructed by your superior officer,
Oberst
Reiniger, to assist me, at my request. And although, officially, I will be in charge, to all intents and purposes you will be the investigating officers. It may be a difficult case – you will have gathered that already – but it will be your case. Up to a point. I do not want the Ministry for State Security’s involvement widely known.’ Jäger pulled both his raincoat sleeves up slightly, as though readying himself for work. ‘What I can tell you is the reason that we are involved. The girl was apparently shot from the West – possibly by western guards – while escaping
into
the East.’ The Stasi lieutenant colonel paused and looked directly into Müller’s eyes. ‘It is – I admit – an unusual scenario.’

Müller was aware of Tilsner, next to her, whistling through his teeth at this news. In shock, or disbelief?

‘So she managed to scale one four-metre high wall,’ asked Müller, ‘cross the control strip, evade the dogs and the Republic’s border guards, and then scale another four-metre wall – while being shot at from the West?’ She hoped her incredulity hadn’t become all-out sarcasm.

‘That is the official – and preliminary – Ministry for State Security account of events. I have enlisted the help of yourselves, the
Kriminalpolizei
, to discover the identity of the girl, and to find evidence to support this account.’ Jäger again held Müller’s gaze, with a seriousness that made her give a small shudder. ‘Should you find evidence to the contrary, I would suggest you keep such evidence tightly controlled. And bring it straight to me.’ Müller nodded slowly. ‘
Unterleutnant
Tilsner?’ he asked, turning to her deputy. ‘You too understand what I am saying?’

‘Of course, Comrade
Oberstleutnant
. We will maintain absolute discretion. You can be sure of it.’

Sighing, as though already wearied by the case, Jäger rose to his feet and beckoned them forward. ‘I’d better show you the body. I warn you, though: it’s not a pleasant sight. For reasons that will become obvious in a moment, identification will prove very difficult.’

Müller grimaced as she and Tilsner began to follow the Stasi officer. She didn’t enjoy examining dead bodies at the best of times. That of a young girl – where identification would prove ‘very difficult’ – sounded particularly distasteful.

Ice and frozen snow crunched and popped underfoot as they followed the cemetery path back to the scene of the body, Müller stamping hard with each stride to work some blood and warmth into her feet. She lagged behind the other two, a sense of foreboding settling over her. Something here was awry.

The handful of officers from the various ministries parted to let the three of them get in close. Jäger gave a nod, and one of the men pulled the shroud away.

Müller looked at the body: a girl, face down in the snow. One leg apparently lacerated – by the barrier’s barbed wire? – the other at a crazy angle to the rest of her body. Wounds in her back, evidenced by a blood-besmirched white T-shirt, partially showing through a top covering of torn, black material, which looked as though it had once been some sort of cape. She didn’t appear to have been dressed for the winter weather. The regular pattern of the injuries suggested automatic gunfire, and the body was facing away from the protection barrier, towards the Hauptstadt. At least that fitted with the official account. She looked back towards the Wall, the searchlights, watchtower and the buildings of the capitalist West on the other side, adorned with their garish advertisements. From where exactly had she been shot? How had she managed to struggle so far?

‘
Verdammt!
’ exclaimed Tilsner suddenly, from his vantage point behind the girl’s head. Müller watched Jäger raise his eyebrows, but there was no formal admonishment. ‘There’s no way we’ll be able to identify that. The face is a complete mess.’

This time Jäger did intervene. ‘
Her
face please,
Unterleutnant
. She wasn’t some inanimate object. And someone, somewhere, will be missing her. But yes, unpleasant. The cemetery gardener discovered her at dawn, but a stray dog had apparently got there first.’

Müller moved around to Tilsner’s position, and saw what had provoked his reaction. Skin torn away from her chin to her eye socket. In its place was raw flesh, like a cheap cut of meat on a butcher’s slab. The side of her mouth was open, but no teeth – just bloody, mangled gums. An animal couldn’t have done that, could it? The sight – and the thought – was too much. Müller suddenly found herself retching, and quickly moved behind a gravestone, bending out of sight as the remains of last night’s meal and vodka made a return journey out of her mouth. To try to hide her embarrassment, she started faking a cough, kicking snow with her boot to cover the evidence.

‘Are you quite alright, Comrade Müller?’ asked Jäger.

She nodded, avoiding Tilsner’s gaze. Steeling herself, Müller looked back towards the body. It was then that she saw the girl’s hand, splayed out in the snow. A teenager’s hand, with pure, unlined skin. But what startled the detective were the black nails at the end of each digit. It was clearly supposed to resemble nail polish, but the coating had a matt, streaky appearance. Müller knelt down. Up close, she could tell the nails had been inked in, like a schoolchild might with a felt-tip pen. It was a sharp reminder of how young she was. Mid- or early teens. Someone’s daughter. The same age as her own daughter would have been, if . . . She stopped the thought. Her throat tightened again, her eyes moistened. She met Jäger’s gaze. Throwing up had been bad enough, but she wasn’t going to cry – not in front of a senior officer from the Ministry for State Security.

It took the arrival of People’s Police forensic scientist Jonas Schmidt to lighten the mood. He was half-running – which was about as fast as he could manage – and panting, his flabby body threatening to burst out of his white overalls, with a brown kit bag swinging over his shoulder. Müller’s stomach spasmed as the
Kriminaltechniker
stuffed the remains of a sausage sandwich into his mouth, wiping the grease from his face with the back of his hand.

‘Many apologies if I’m late, Comrade
Oberleutnant
,’ he spluttered through the food. ‘I came as quickly as I could.’

Still not trusting herself to speak after her examination of the girl’s body, Müller simply nodded, leaving Jäger to make his own introduction. As he did so, Schmidt made a strange little bow towards the Stasi officer.

‘I hope we might be able to use the Ministry’s own forensic laboratories, should the need arise, Comrade
Oberstleutnant
. Your facilities are so much better than those of the People’s Police. Will there be any State Security forensic officers working with me?’

‘No, Comrade Schmidt. This is now a police investigation. You will report to
Oberleutnant
Müller as usual. We have already photographed the body, but there are some other photos we need you to take.’ Jäger looked up at the ever-darkening sky. ‘And we’d better do it quickly, before it starts snowing again. First, let’s go over to the platform.’ Jäger gestured with his head towards a small temporary scaffold with a ladder alongside, which had been built next to the Wall – presumably by the border guards earlier that morning as part of the initial examination of the incident. They followed him towards it, careful to stay on the gritted tarmac of the pathway, stretching like a ribbon of liquorice through the otherwise pristine whiteness of the cemetery. Müller smiled to herself. Jäger might say this was a police investigation, but the way he was acting, only one person was in charge.

Jäger, Müller and Tilsner climbed to the top of the platform, followed a few moments later by Schmidt, now even more out of breath.

‘Well . . . this is a view . . . you . . . don’t often see,’ he said between gasps. ‘Not without risk of . . . getting shot.’ Müller threw Schmidt a withering look, but Jäger merely smiled.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘The border guards know we’re here. We have clearance. No one will be shooting anyone. At least not today. But last night –’ Jäger stopped mid-sentence, and Müller followed his gaze to a building that looked like a rundown warehouse, on the western side of the barrier. ‘Up there.’ He pointed. ‘Fourth floor. See the broken window?’ Müller nodded. ‘That’s where the gunmen are said to have been shooting from.’ She noted the slight equivocation in his words. He doesn’t believe it either, she thought.

‘Was it witnessed by our border guards?’ asked Tilsner.

Jäger gave a small shake of his head. ‘No. It’s from the calculations of line of sight. And the blood patterns in the snow. Look there.’ The Stasi officer pointed to the centre of the anti-fascist barrier’s defences – between the inner and outer wall. ‘You can see her footprints.’ He gestured between the line of the two walls.

‘How did she know that she wouldn’t get blown up by a mine?’ asked Müller, shivering as the wind whipped the top of the platform.

‘I don’t think you would give a lot of thought to that if you were being shot at and running for your life,’ said Jäger. ‘In any case, the strip isn’t mined – that’s all just an unsubstantiated rumour.’ Despite the cold, Müller felt a blush warm her face.

‘And the bullets? Or bullet marks?’ asked Schmidt. ‘Will I be able to get permission to go inside between the two walls to check there, Comrade
Oberstleutnant
? Is that why you needed me?’

Jäger snorted. ‘No, Comrade
Kriminaltechniker
, it’s not, and no, you cannot go inside the restricted zone.’ He turned and gestured with his hand towards the side of the cemetery path. ‘Your work is here. There are footprints, presumably hers, on this side of the Wall. Bloodstains as well.’ Then he lowered his voice, although there was no one else on the platform, and the officers near the body were too far away to hear in any case. Müller wondered why. ‘There are some tyre tracks too. Make sure you take photographs of those. Check them against any vehicle the church gardener uses.’

Müller was about to ask why, but then met Jäger’s gaze, and received a look that made it very clear he didn’t want to be asked.

When they got back down to ground level, Schmidt started busying himself with a Praktica camera, snapping shots of both the footprints and the tyre tracks. Müller and Tilsner wandered around the various graves together, as though the long-buried dead might give them inspiration about the girl’s killing. Jäger meanwhile had returned to the scene of the body.