by David Young
Müller wasn’t sure whether it would be better to save the moment for later. She didn’t want either joy or disappointment to register on her face – she didn’t want Jäger to have anything on her. Thanks to what she’d found out about his past, their relationship had performed a volte face, with her – for once – holding the trump cards. That was how she wanted to keep it. Curiosity got the better of her, however, and she started to tear at the paper with her gloved hands. The noise alerted the twins. They rushed over and Jäger handed each of them their own carefully wrapped gift.
‘Who’s this man, Mutti?’ demanded Jannika. Johannes, meanwhile, had already torn into his package: a soft Sandmännchen doll, dressed as a cosmonaut, presumably in honour of the Republic’s own real-life space hero, Sigmund Jähn.
‘I’m a friend,’ said Jäger.
Müller wasn’t prepared to let that assertion pass without being corrected. ‘He’s someone I used to work with, darling.’
‘Where?’ asked Jannika.
‘Never you mind, Miss Nosey-Parker,’ said Müller, tweaking her daughter’s nose. But one thing she was sure of, Jäger was no friend of hers – Christmas presents or not. ‘Why don’t you open the present he’s brought you? Johannes is already playing with his.’ Her son had wrapped the Sandmännchen’s legs round his rocket and was attempting to launch him onto another planet – the sandpit. The toy doll predictably fell off midflight.
Müller turned her attention to her own gift. From the shape and obviously liquid contents she guessed it was some sort of perfume. It was. Chanel No. 5. The exact brand Jäger had instructed her to buy from the Kaufhaus des Westens in West Berlin on her cross-border mission nearly four years earlier. In fact, Müller wouldn’t put it past him to be recycling the same bottle. It looked identical.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Karin, but even I wouldn’t stoop that low. I purchased it myself this side of the Anti-Fascist Protection Barrier – in an Intershop.’
Müller sprayed a little on the back of her wrist. She half-wondered if it would immediately turn to ice, given the bitter cold. But even with her rudimentary knowledge of physics, she knew the alcohol within the mixture would prevent that – never mind her own skin temperature. She briefly inhaled the scent and its telltale melange of flowers, citrus fruits and soap.
‘Thank you,’ she said. She meant it, but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t hesitate to use her knowledge about Jäger’s past to her own advantage should she need to. She knew that. He knew that. It didn’t need to be spelled out.
There seemed little more to say. Jäger hitched up his trouser legs, and started to get up.
As he did so, he mentioned one more thing. Müller sensed this was his real message.
‘I heard you’d applied for a job at the People’s Police college,’ he said in a flat tone.
It wasn’t a surprise that the Stasi knew her every movement. An agent would probably vet all applications. In any case, there had been plenty of evidence of surveillance of her – covert and ostentatiously overt. The Barkas camper van parked outside the Strausberger Platz apartment block for months on end with its twitching curtains and all too obvious cameras. The listening device she’d discovered stitched into the apartment wall after Johannes had unwittingly thrown a toy at just the right spot in a fit of temper.
But Jäger’s next utterance still had the power to make her blood run cold. On the surface it was so benign. Underneath, there flowed rivers of meaning.
They were his parting words, delivered with his trademark supercilious smirk.
‘I wish you the best of luck with it.’
3
People’s Police HQ, Keibelstraße, East Berlin
Müller felt a fluttering inside her chest as she entered her old place of work near Alexanderplatz. She knew the austere brick-built building had the ability to evoke even stronger feelings amongst many who entered its walls. It wasn’t simply an administrative headquarters for the police. Its reputation as a fearsome remand centre almost rivalled that of the Stasi prisons at Hohenschönhausen and Bautzen. But Müller’s own sense of nervousness was irrational. She no longer worked here. Unless she broke the law, the agency within had no power over her. Her former boss, Oberst Reiniger, had simply called her in to discuss her application to put her old policing skills to work, teaching at the People’s Police university.
Before she went up to his offices, she diverted to the ground floor women’s toilets to check her make-up. The face that looked back at her would – in most people’s eyes – still be judged an attractive one. The prominent cheekbones she now knew were probably inherited from her father’s Russian side of the family. But it was a face that looked older, more careworn, than when she and Tilsner had started out in the Mitte Murder Commission, in that temporary office under Marx-Engels-Platz S-Bahn station. The dark circles round her eyes were more obvious these days. She used a dab of concealer to blend them in with the lighter skin tone on the rest of her face. As she did, she noticed her finger tremble slightly. Why? Was it Jäger’s Weihnachtsmann visit to bring those presents that had unnerved her? Probably not so much the visit, as his mentioning her job application. She needed the money. She didn’t want her old adversary putting any spokes in the wheel. As she looked at the image of her face, framed by dirty blond hair, she told herself she had nothing to fear. She could harm Jäger more than he could harm her, thanks to her intimate knowledge of his past history. With a couple of deep breaths, she almost literally pulled herself together – shaking her shoulders and stretching to try to ease the tension – and set off to see Reiniger.
*
‘Ah, Karin, so pleased you could make it.’ Her portly former boss was dressed in full uniform, as was his custom. Tilsner and Müller always felt it was to show off the three gold stars and entwined silver braid on his shoulder epaulettes, should anyone not realise he was a full colonel. Plenty of other officers of the same rank would be in plain clothes. ‘Coffee?’ he asked from his desk, sitting under the ubiquitous photograph of Erich Honecker, complete with his trademark horn-rimmed spectacles.
‘That would be lovely, Comrade Oberst.’ As a civilian, Müller had no need to use the ‘Comrade, this . . . Comrade, that’ style of honorifics that lent official meetings in the Republic such a stilted air. She did it all the same, out of force of habit.
Reiniger turned to his secretary. ‘Truda – could you fetch us two coffees, please? I’m sure you remember how Karin takes hers.’
‘Of course, Comrade Oberst.’ The matronly woman shuffled off to do her boss’s bidding. Müller briefly thought how incongruous it was that the People’s Police had gone out of its way to promote her a few years earlier – making her the first ever female head of a murder squad, the youngest of either gender too – yet the role of secretary was without exception filled by females. Equality in the Republic only went so far. Women were expected to work, just like their male counterparts. They fulfilled what in the West might be considered ‘manly’ jobs: she’d even seen a recent documentary about female crane operators in Rostock’s docks. But once they got home, they were still expected to do the housework and cooking while their menfolk put their feet up or went out drinking in the nearest bar.
‘So,’ said Reiniger, shuffling a few papers on his desk. ‘You made a formal request for me to provide a reference about your work with the Kriminalpolizei in connection with this application for a job at the police college.’
‘That’s right, Comrade Oberst.’
‘Hmm.’ Reiniger leant his arms on his desk, clasping his hands together. ‘And you’re applying as a civilian, rather than as a serving police officer.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She wasn’t sure what Reiniger’s point was.
‘There is unfortunately, Karin, a slight problem.’
Müller gave no response other than a frown.
‘You see, you still are a serving police officer.’
Müller creased her face in confusion. ‘With respect, C
omrade Oberst, I’m not. I resigned more than a year ago.’
Reiniger turned down the corners of his mouth, and shrugged his shoulders.
‘Well, yes . . . and no. It’s true that you handed me a letter of resignation.’
‘Exactly.’
‘It’s also true that that is indeed the first step towards your leaving the People’s Police.’ Reiniger had leant back in his chair, and was rocking to and fro, his clasped hands around his ample stomach.
‘The first step?’ Müller couldn’t understand what her former boss was driving at.
‘Yes. It needs to be followed by your superior officer accepting that resignation. And . . . ’ Reiniger seemed to have paused for effect. Müller knew what he was about to say, but prompted him nonetheless.
‘And what?’
‘And I didn’t. I couldn’t be sure that you were in the right frame of mind to make that decision. You had just completed a particularly stressful case – found out some uncomfortable truths about those you were working with, and – in particular – some of their superiors. It was understandable that you were disillusioned with your job.’
Müller glanced at the portrait of Comrade Honecker above Reiniger’s head. The Republic he presided over had plenty of faults – she’d gradually had her eyes opened to those, and that last case had been the biggest eye-opener. But she still believed in Socialism – she still believed in the greater good for the greater number. To achieve that, you needed systems, you needed some form of control, of policing. For her, the Stasi’s methods were often too underhand and deceptive to say the least. But – by and large – the People’s Police was an institution she looked up to and had been proud to be a part of. Until that last case tipped her over the edge. Nonetheless, she wanted to give something back – which was why she’d applied for the teaching job.
‘I wasn’t just disillusioned. I made a decision to leave, and I expect you to respect that.’
‘Well, you know I respect you, Karin. You wouldn’t have risen so far if I didn’t.’ Müller was well aware that wasn’t the full story. Jäger had had a hand in choosing her for some of her cases, possibly even in deciding on her promotions. He’d already admitted that had been a deliberate tactic by the Stasi – to over-promote someone green and malleable. ‘But I genuinely believe your decision was made in the heat of the moment, and that you were not in the right state of mind to make it. I therefore chose not to accept your resignation, as is my right, and instead placed you on extended leave. Paid leave.’
Müller knitted her brow. ‘Paid leave? I haven’t been paid.’
‘You have. You just haven’t been receiving it. It’s been accruing pending your return to work. However, should you choose not to return to work here, and instead continue with this application to teach at the college, I would have to rescind my original decision and backdate the acceptance of your resignation. The money that has been accrued would simply go back into People’s Police funds. Do you want to know how much you stand to gain . . . or to lose? It’s your choice.’
Müller drew in a long breath, then exhaled equally slowly. ‘This sounds horribly like blackmail, Comrade Oberst.’
‘Then, of course, there’s the question of that very lovely apartment I secured for you on Strausberger Platz. As you know, that is reserved for People’s Police officers of the rank of major and above. You, your children, and your grandmother have been living there for the past year or so because of my decision. Should I have to rescind it, you would have to find new accommodation immediately.’
She liked Reiniger overall. He’d generally been supportive of her, like a kindly uncle – though Tilsner had found him pompous and bumbling. His deviousness here, though, seemed to come straight out of the Ministry for State Security handbook.
When Müller didn’t say anything for a few moments, Reiniger continued. ‘You haven’t said whether you want to know the amount involved, but I’m going to tell you anyway. It’s a little over thirty thousand marks.’
Thirty thousand marks? It seemed scarcely believable. Though if she did the maths, it made sense. It was simply her former monthly salary, multiplied by the number of months she’d been away from the job. She should be racing round the other side of the desk and hugging Reiniger. But the corollary would be almost too much to bear.
‘So you’re saying for me to get this money, I would have to come back to my old job?’
‘Exactly.’ Reiniger’s face was plastered with a satisfied smile.
‘The same role.’
‘Yes. As head of the Serious Crimes Department.’
‘Who would I be assigned to work with? Could I choose my own team?’ Even by asking the questions, Müller knew that Reiniger would realise he was on the point of winning this little battle.
‘No. You will be working with Kriminaltechniker Jonas Schmidt again, of course.’
‘And who would be my police captain?’
‘Hauptmann Werner Tilsner. Who else?’
‘I already told you more than a year ago, Comrade Oberst. I absolutely refuse to work with former Nazis.’
Reiniger sighed. ‘For God’s sake, Karin! That was more than thirty years ago. He was just a boy during the war. Virtually all boys of his age were members of the Hitler Youth.’
‘But . . . ’
‘No buts, Karin. Those are my terms. I need a decision by the end of today. If you agree, you have an assignment beginning tomorrow – all three of you. You can have a few hours to think it over. You need the money, we both know that, otherwise you wouldn’t be applying for a teaching job. But you know the old adage, and it still holds true for you. Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach. As for Nazis, why not talk to your grandmother about your own family history? You might get a few surprises.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Müller could feel her anger stirring. It felt like a personal attack. But Reiniger was already rising from his desk, then ushering her out of the office, just as Truda returned with the coffees. Hers, it seemed, would remain undrunk.
‘Do as I say, Comrade Major.’ The sudden use of her rank and the Genossin honorific, accompanied by a more serious tone, felt like a threat. ‘Talk to your grandmother and give me your decision by 5 p.m. today. Bear in mind, that should you decide to continue with the teaching application, you may not be successful however glowing my reference. A little friendly warning – others may be taking an interest in your future. But I think you know that already.’
*
Müller knew what her decision would be, even before she had the suggested chat with Helga. They needed the money, and the larger apartment. If they had to move, there was no guarantee Helga would be able to live with them – which would immediately present childcare problems even if she succeeded with the teaching application. She would never fully trust or respect Tilsner again, but what Reiniger said about almost all boys of a certain age being part of the Hitler Youth had the ring of truth.
When she finally did confront Helga, her grandmother had a revelation of her own.
‘I was never a Party member, but your grandfather was. I told you he died fighting for the Wehrmacht on the Eastern front in the Soviet Union. That was true. But like a lot of his fellow soldiers, he was a Nazi Party member. It didn’t mean he believed in everything they did. He absolutely didn’t. More than once he told me – in private of course – that he thought Hitler was a fantasist who’d lead us all to ruination. Which he did in the end. But at one time, everyone got caught up in things. You had to live through it to understand it. Members of the Hitler Youth? They share some of the guilt of course. But they were just boys. Boys whose minds had been perverted.’
Müller didn’t necessarily accept all that. In the case of Tilsner, it wasn’t just his membership of the Hitler Youth which was the problem – it was what he’d actually taken part in as a member of that organisation. But she realised she would be letting her grandmother and the twins down if she didn’t take a pragma
tic approach. That meant returning to work, and collecting all that money she hadn’t earned. It might buy them a new washing machine, or one of the new fridge-freezers she’d seen advertised. Once it was safely deposited, once this new case – whatever it was they were being assigned to – was out of the way, then she could reconsider her position and insist on her resignation if that was what she still wanted.
4
East German nightly television news
29 December 1978
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.
A battle has begun in the north of the Republic against plunging temperatures, ice and snow, in what’s being called the DDR’s ‘catastrophe winter’ – the worst conditions since the severe winter of 1962/63.
The island of Rügen has been completely cut off from the rest of the country and most homes there are without power.
Brave troops from the People’s Army – including paratroops stationed in Prora on the Ostsee coast – are helping to deliver supplies of food.
These pictures taken from an army helicopter show troops on skis trying to reach a passenger train stuck in snow drifts of up to six metres high between Bergen auf Rügen and Binz. To give you some idea of what that means, it’s as high as a two-storey house.
The weather changed dramatically and catastrophically on the evening of 28 December when – after a relatively mild Christmas period – the mercury in thermometers plunged by up to fifteen degrees Celsius.
The government of the workers’ and peasants’ state has been meeting in emergency session. The head of the State Council, Comrade Erich Honecker, has announced a state of emergency, saying that all resources possible will be directed towards rescue and relief efforts.
The situation is also severe in other parts of Europe, including the northern BRD, Denmark and Scotland.
A government spokesman has urged citizens throughout the Ostsee coast region and Bezirk Rostock to stay indoors wherever possible.
A middle-aged female citizen who ignored this advice and ventured out alone in unsuitable clothing has unfortunately been found dead through exposure to the cold near Binz.
