Stasi Child (8 page)

Approaching the entrance to the church, Gottfried stopped again for a moment. He tilted his head back slowly, letting his eyes pan upwards, admiring the building’s red-brick solidity and the green patina of its copper steeple, disappearing through the smog haze into the moonlit sky. It appeared to have survived the war’s bombs and bullets better than the old woman he’d almost bumped into.

As he walked up the steps to the church’s front door, some fractional movement or flash in the corner of his eye made him turn and peer up at one of the windows in an apartment block across the road. There was a man in the shadows, holding something. Watching from the second floor. His face looked remarkably like that bastard Tilsner, Karin’s deputy. The man moved away from the window. Gottfried wondered for just an instant whether he should run across the road to the apartment and confront him. But then he shook his head, turned and entered the church. It almost certainly
wasn’t
Tilsner, just someone who looked a little like him from a distance.
I need to pull myself out of this – I’m becoming obsessed
.

9

Day Six.

Plänterwald, East Berlin.

Müller pulled the collar of her overcoat up around her ears, and then wrapped one lapel inside the other to try to keep out the cold. The brisk walk from Plänterwald S-bahn station had temporarily increased her internal body heat, but now – waiting by the unmanned ticket office of the Kulturpark – the icy morning air seemed to be eating into her bones. Although Jäger had said he wanted to meet somewhere quiet, she hadn’t quite expected it would be the Republic’s only amusement park: closed for the winter, empty and covered in snow. The day, time and venue had been in a typewritten sealed note on Ministry for State Security official paper, delivered to her in person at Marx-Engels-Platz by a motorcycle messenger. That was strange enough in itself, but disturbingly Jäger had also asked her to make sure she wasn’t followed. On the S-bahn, she’d thought for a moment that a man in builders’ overalls had been doing just that. He’d got on at Marx-Engels-Platz, in the same carriage, and although she’d tried not to look at him, she got the impression that he was occasionally checking on her. But Müller was the only passenger to alight at Plänterwald, and she chided herself for her paranoia.

She hitched up her coat sleeve and glanced at her watch. Five past ten: he was five minutes late already. She pulled the sleeve back, dug her hands deep into her coat pockets and then turned, scanning the approaches to the park. No one – not a soul. Not even the sound of birdsong to disturb the near silence.

Then a clang of metal, from where she hadn’t expected, the entrance to the park itself, and there was Jäger, in casual clothes but carrying a briefcase, accompanied by a man she didn’t recognise, wearing the uniform of the VEB – the state-owned enterprise that ran the park.

‘Sorry I’m a little late,
Oberleutnant
. The caretaker, Comrade Köhler here, isn’t used to visitors at this time of year, and I had to go and track him down. He’s going to take us somewhere private for our meeting.’ Müller gave a small nod, as the caretaker gestured to her and Jäger to follow him through the turnstiles.

As they entered the park, Jäger’s eyes met hers. ‘You look frozen stiff, Comrade
Oberleutnant
.’ He patted the front of his sheepskin jacket. ‘This is what you need for weather like this.’ Then he pinched the sleeve of Müller’s grey-green overcoat, rubbing it between his finger and thumb. ‘Not a People’s Police overcoat.’

Müller laughed. ‘I wish I could afford one, Comrade
Oberstleutnant
. I expect the salary of police first lieutenant is slightly lower that that of a Ministry for State Security lieutenant colonel.’

Jäger smiled a knowing smile. Not everything was equal in this socialist state of workers and peasants, thought Müller, but it was still a fairer world than on the other side of the anti-fascist barrier. She could tell that from Gottfried’s infernal western news programmes and their never-ending reports of strikes and workers’ disaffection.

The snow here, on the outskirts of the Hauptstadt, hadn’t melted into a muddy morass of sludge like that next to the Eisenbergs’ apartment block in Friedrichshain. With colder temperatures overnight, their footsteps crunched along the path, making enough noise almost for a whole column of People’s Army soldiers, even though there were just the three of them.

As they turned a corner, Jäger pointed to the swan boats lined up on the banks of the lake, out of action for the winter. ‘Have you been here at the height of the season,
Oberleutnant
Müller? My children love it.’

‘I don’t have children,
Oberstleutnant
. And no, I haven’t.’ The admission was accompanied by a sharp stab of regret, and then the sudden memory of the murdered girl, lying dead in St Elisabeth’s cemetery. That girl wouldn’t be coming to sample the rides of the Kulturpark anytime soon either.

They lapsed into silence for the rest of their walk behind the caretaker, Jäger appearing embarrassed by the exchange. Müller saw they were heading towards the park’s iconic Ferris wheel. When they reached it, the caretaker took a set of keys from his pocket and opened the control room.

‘We’re going to get a free ride,’ said Jäger. ‘I hope you’ve a good head for heights.’ Müller nodded. She wasn’t going to admit that she hadn’t. ‘Not to mention a sterner stomach than the other day at the cemetery.’ Although his teasing was gentle, Müller felt her cheeks flush at the reminder.

The electric motor hummed into action as Köhler started up the mechanism, the groaning grind of un-oiled metal slowly replacing the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. Müller counted six cabins go past, before Jäger held up his hand for Köhler to bring the ride to a stop. The cabin selected by Jäger swung gently on its hinges as he opened the safety bar and stood to one side to let her in. They sat down opposite one another; Müller felt her stomach lurch as Köhler released the brake. As the giant wheel slowly began to turn, Müller watched the Stasi officer run his fingers along each edge of the cabin, then peer under each bench seat.

Jäger raised his head to look straight into her eyes. ‘This is my usual meeting spot for quiet talks,’ he explained, ‘and so our agents have checked it over already. But you can never be too careful, and what we have to discuss is quite . . . sensitive, shall we say.’

Müller nodded, hunching down into her coat as the cabin climbed and the temperature dropped. She risked a glance out at the city, and instantly felt queasy. She shouldn’t. She was a mountain girl. Well, if the hills of the Thuringian Forest could really be called mountains. The mountain girl who’d never had a head for heights. Who’d been a promising winter sports athlete at school, until . . .

She stopped the thought. Tried to pull herself together, and focus on Jäger, who seemed oblivious to her fear.

‘The full autopsy report has some interesting findings, things I didn’t want to discuss in front of Tilsner and Schmidt – at least not until I’ve gone over them with you.’ He drew out a folder from his briefcase, and then rose to join Müller on her bench. The cabin rocked with the sudden movement, and Müller kept her eyes to the floor to avoid reminding herself how high they were. She knew that under her gloves her knuckles would be turning white as she gripped the end of the wooden seat ever tighter. They seemed to have reached the apex of the wheel now. Its forward motion had stopped, and the cabin settled into a gentle swing from the wind and the residual energy of Jäger’s decision to play musical chairs several hundred feet above ground. Was he deliberately trying to unnerve her?

Jäger had clearly noticed her look of terror. ‘Are you alright, Comrade
Oberleutnant
? Perhaps this location wasn’t such a good idea. I must admit, I usually come here in the summer months. I didn’t realise it would be so windy.’

Müller breathed in deeply. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she lied, her stomach feeling as though it was about to drop out of the bottom of her body.

The Stasi lieutenant colonel nodded, and opened the folder. ‘The pathologist, Professor Feuerstein, has come to some startling and slightly awkward conclusions.’ He turned a couple of pages. Müller found herself once more wanting to avert her eyes from the photograph of the girl’s mutilated face, but that was the page Jäger had settled on. ‘You see the smooth, almost shiny, melted appearance of the skin here, right at the side of where much of the face has been torn away?’ Müller squinted at the photo, and to the section Jäger was tracing with his finger. ‘It’s the result of coming into contact with a strong acid. In this case sulphuric acid, from a car battery.’

Müller frowned. ‘She’d been in some sort of accident, then? Or are you saying this was done deliberately?’

‘Feuerstein doesn’t comment on that. To be honest, he doesn’t have to. He believes the skin came into contact with the acid post mortem.’

‘So, deliberate? To hide her identity after she’d been killed?’

‘Almost certainly, I would think.’ Jäger nodded.

‘And what about the injuries to the rest of her face? Were they caused by a dog, as you were saying at the cemetery?’

Jäger shook his head, and gave a slow sigh. ‘No. You can probably guess. Her face was deliberately ripped apart, after acid was thrown onto it. And her teeth were pulled out, one by one, with iron pliers.’ Müller gave a small gasp and raised her hand to her mouth. ‘Feuerstein found rust residue on her gums.’

‘That poor girl. So whoever it was tortured her first?’

Jäger again moved his head slowly from side to side. ‘No. The teeth were again pulled out post mortem.’

‘Someone has gone to great lengths to prevent identification of the body.’

‘Exactly,’ said Jäger. ‘And that is going to make your job exceedingly difficult. Because that is exactly what you, Tilsner and Schmidt need to do. Find out who this girl was. That’s what I want you concentrate on. And we need to be careful not to publicly challenge the official version of how she met her demise.’

‘But clearly, Comrade
Oberstleutnant
, you cannot still believe that she was shot by western guards as she was trying to escape to the East?’

Jäger said nothing for a moment, so that all that filled the silence was the screeching of the cabin, as it gently swayed backwards and forwards. Like the screams of a girl, thought Müller.

‘That is still the official account of her death,’ Jäger said finally, a flat note in his voice. He reached into his inside pocket and drew out an envelope, ‘This authority for your missing person’s search may help you.’ He pulled out the sheet of paper and showed it to Müller.

She frowned. ‘I don’t need the approval of the Ministry for State Security for a missing person’s search.’ And why, if Jäger didn’t want them to be tracking down the girl’s killer or killers, was he so keen that the body should be identified at all? Surely the Stasi would be better off drawing a line under everything?

‘That’s true,’ admitted Jäger. ‘But look at the signature.’ Müller saw it had been signed by Erich Mielke, just as the authorisation had been at the autopsy. ‘It may prove useful to have this in certain circumstances,
Oberleutnant
Müller. It will also serve as a reminder . . . about the limits of your permitted inquiry.’

‘And those limits are?’

‘To concern yourselves with the missing person, the girl. Rather than the perpetrators. Though I dare say –’

‘What,
Oberstleutnant
?’ prompted Müller.

Again the Stasi lieutenant colonel paused, as though for effect. ‘I dare say that in searching for the girl, the evidence you uncover may be useful to me. Should we at any stage wish to challenge the official account.’ He turned and stared directly into her eyes. ‘But that will be for me – and me alone – to decide.’

Müller found herself shivering, as much from the implied threats as from the cold. Now she had become used to the rocking motion of the cabin, she risked a longer view of the Berlin skyline, stretching for kilometre after kilometre but dominated by the television tower in Alexanderplatz, looking from this distance a little like a hypodermic needle. The
Fernsehturm
: symbol of the Republic’s progress. Yes, it was a small country but it was focused on the future, making its mark, not inward-looking and money-obsessed, or reliant on manufacturing cuckoo clocks for tourists like some western states.

She turned back towards Jäger, who was still leafing through the autopsy report, and risked another question. ‘But presumably my team is at liberty to pursue any and every lead that might help us to identify the girl?’

Jäger slapped the autopsy report on his lap, and glowered at her.

‘I don’t want to have to repeat myself, Karin. There’s a good reason why I, as a senior officer in the Ministry for State Security, have been assigned this case.’

‘Can you tell me what that reason is?’

There was a flash of anger in his expression, which he quickly attempted to hide.

‘No. Not at present. It’s enough for you to know that it’s a sensitive inquiry, and for you and your team to respect the limits that I’ve outlined.’

Müller turned away again, and fixed her gaze on the dizzying vista of Berlin, far below. She swallowed.

‘Did you want to hear what Tilsner and I have discovered so far?’

Jäger raised his head, and then shrugged. ‘Is it the fact that the vehicle tracks in the graveyard were from Swedish tyres, or that her supposed footprints were so badly faked that whoever did it couldn’t tell his left from his right?’

Müller felt her face burn from a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Was he toying with them? ‘It appears that you’re already aware of all the discrepancies, Comrade
Oberstleutnant
. Are you sure you need the help of the People’s Police? Tilsner wants us to request to be taken off the case.’

The Stasi officer held his hands up. ‘Sorry. That was unfair of me. You are vital to this inquiry. I chose you personally. I need a competent
Kriminalpolizei
team to gather and record evidence, and do that independently of the Ministry for State Security. So please, do not think your efforts will be in vain.’