by David Young
Stumbling through the drifting snow, it was hard going – reminiscent of climbing slopes in Oberhof after a skiing fall to try to locate a missing ski. Here, she was simply walking through a town. But it was a town transformed by the weather. Usually on a case, she might take the precaution of checking if she was being followed. Here she didn’t bother. Why did she need to know if the Stasi were following her? She was on her way to meet one of their senior officers.
She finally reached the seafront, and tramped through the almost virgin snow in the direction of the bar. To her right, even in the darkness, she could see the Ostsee was completely frozen – it wasn’t just the channel between Rügen and the mainland that had become a giant ice sheet. The wind howling in off the ice blew snow off the trees into her face so she had difficulty seeing where she was going. The cold penetrated her to the core.
At last, she saw what she thought was the bar, a weak light illuminating a single figure sitting at a table inside. The silhouette was unmistakably that of the Stasi colonel. Usually, Jäger went out of his way to meet in places where their conversations couldn’t be overheard. Here, he evidently thought the weather was providing enough of a secrecy blanket on its own. Just one set of footprints led up to the door – and they had already almost been covered over by the drifting snow. Instead of a thriving bar in a coastal town, it was more like an isolated ski bar up a mountain. At that moment, Müller felt incredibly alone. She longed for Jannika and Johannes, and half-wished she hadn’t fallen for Reiniger’s blackmail. She would much rather be at the apartment in Strausberger Platz. But that was the problem, as Reiniger had taken great joy in spelling out. If she didn’t do this job, there would no longer be an apartment in Strausberger Platz. And it wasn’t fair to turf Helga and the twins from their home – whatever Müller’s own feelings.
*
‘I’ve never known weather like it, Karin, have you? To think we were out and about in that play area just a few days ago.’
Müller nodded. She knew the Stasi colonel wasn’t here to chat about the weather. And she wasn’t in the mood for small talk.
In the bar it was at least warm thanks to a fire crackling and spitting out smoke in the corner. The smell of burning lignite suffused the air. It was almost choking, but a welcome change from the bitter freshness outside. Müller took off her coat and gloves, sat down, and rubbed her hands together to try to get some warmth into the ends of her fingers. Her feet felt numb with cold, and when she spoke, she struggled to get her lips to move. ‘Why did you want to see me so quickly, Comrade Oberst? I’ve hardly had chance to get started on this case.’
‘All in good time, Karin. And please call me Klaus. Surely we’ve known each other long enough to drop the formalities?’ What Jäger said was true, but she didn’t want him to get the mistaken impression that he was suddenly her friend, or that she trusted him. He wasn’t, and she didn’t. ‘What can I get you to drink?’ He gestured with his eyes to the bottle and two small glasses on the table. ‘I recommend the schnapps to warm you up.’
Müller nodded again, even though Jäger had already started pouring into the second glass, as though his question was redundant. As always, she was having to do as he suggested – she wasn’t even permitted to order her own drink.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I can see that you want to get down to business.’
‘If we could, yes. I’m tired, and I’m not sure how I’m going to get back to Bergen. Or indeed where we’re staying tonight.’
‘Don’t worry about that. I’d already checked with Reiniger and Drescher. That’s why I suggested we meet here, but yes, I should have made that clear. You and the other two have been booked into a union rest home here in Binz. It’s just round the corner. It makes sense as this is the nearest town to where the woman’s body was found. And by now, you no doubt know who she is.’
Müller frowned. So Jäger knew too. She wondered how much he knew.
‘That’s another reason for basing ourselves here. It’s near the Jugendwerkhof too. That’s one of the reasons why Reiniger insisted you should take charge of this case – your intimate knowledge of the reform school because of the previous case involving Irma. How is she, by the way?’
The question was unexpected, and Müller realised immediately it was meant to unsettle her. She played a straight bat – she had nothing to hide.
‘I’ve never spoken to her since the end of the other case. Did you expect otherwise?’
Jäger curled his lips downwards. ‘Well, she might be a useful contact for you. She keeps her ear to the ground. She’s provided some very useful information.’
‘She works for you?’ Müller couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. Or the note of disgust.
‘Of course. I told you at the time there would have to be certain compromises if we were to prevent her being sent back to Jugendwerkhof Prora Ost.’
‘Compromise? You call that a compromise?’
Jäger slapped his hand down hard on the table, shaking the schnapps glasses and bottle. Then he seemed to swallow back his anger. Perhaps he’s remembered, thought Müller with a hint of satisfaction. Remembered that from now on – ever since I discovered what I know about his past – he’s the one who has to tread with care.
After gathering himself, he seemed to enunciate each word carefully, as though he’d already rehearsed what he wanted to say. ‘Giving service to the Republic is not something to be sneered at, Karin. I’m sure that wasn’t your intention. We all need to do our duty.’
Müller waited for Jäger to say more. As she did, his words echoed around her head. The reason for basing ourselves here. She hadn’t misheard him, she was sure. It appeared that Jäger himself was going to be intimately involved in this inquiry. It was feeling horribly like a reprise of four years earlier.
‘So from what you saw and learnt at the mortuary, you can see this isn’t a straightforward case of a middle-aged woman freezing to death.’
‘No,’ replied Müller. ‘I didn’t expect it would be.’
‘What did you make of our young Dr Tritten? Do you think she can be trusted?’
Müller had assumed Jäger knew about Tritten’s theory. He wouldn’t be here otherwise, and if she had used an open phone line in ringing Keibelstraße to try to alert Müller – and she had no choice but to use one – then the Stasi would have almost certainly listened in.
‘I don’t know enough about her to say whether she can be trusted or not. And I’m not sure quite what you’re driving at. If you’re asking me whether she seemed to be telling the truth about her findings, and how they conflicted with those of Dr Siegel . . . well, yes, I think she was being honest.’ Müller was aware Jäger might – in asking his question – have been fishing for information. But she suspected he probably already knew more than her.
This time it was Jäger’s turn to nod, thoughtfully. It set his shoulder-length, sandy hair bouncing on his head. Müller had to stifle a laugh. The Stasi colonel needed a haircut. He might still look like that famous West German newsreader – but the newsreader himself was now looking distinctly old-fashioned. Müller wasn’t a fan of the punk music that so often these days was blaring out on the Western TV programmes she wasn’t supposed to watch. But she was aware times had changed. The Republic – and its servants like Jäger – would have to change with them, or risk getting left behind.
When the Stasi colonel continued, Müller realised he did know more than she did. ‘Yet,’ he said, wringing his hands, ‘she was dishonest in excising a section of Frau Richter’s brain and sending it to her friend in the toxicology lab.’
‘That’s true,’ said Müller, hoping that by implying that Jäger was telling her nothing she didn’t already know, he might go on to tell her yet more. ‘But I’m not entirely sure the poison concerned would have had the effects she claims.’
‘Succinylcholine? I can assure you it does.’
‘From personal experience?’ She could feel Jäger bristling, and wondered
if she’d overstepped the mark.
‘Let’s just say it’s not unknown to my department, as you can imagine, and can be useful in certain circumstances.’
‘But do you think the levels of the metabolites detected by her friend in the lab were sufficient to render Richter so paralysed that she couldn’t save herself?’ Again, Müller was winging it. Pretending she knew more than she did to winkle more information out of Jäger. But she was on fairly safe ground. From previous autopsies and conversations with pathologists, she knew it was the metabolites of the primary agent of death – the chemicals that poisons were broken down into by the body’s natural reactions – that the toxicology lab would have been searching for.
‘The level of succinic acid? Yes, it was sufficient, I can assure you.’ Jäger was looking at her slightly quizzically, as though he’d just realised he’d given away information that she wasn’t party to. It wasn’t important, thought Müller, but it was nice to beat him at his own game. She allowed herself a little smirk, and made sure he saw it.
‘Not a very pleasant way to go.’
‘On the contrary,’ Jäger demurred. ‘It is – allegedly, according to those who’ve been saved at the last minute – one of the more peaceful ways to die. By that I mean hypothermia itself, of course. Those who are saved at the last moment often talk of feeling utter peace . . . no panic at all. Just slipping away into a deep sleep.’ He laughed. ‘I’m not recommending it, though, I assure you.’
‘But slipping into a hypothermic state while paralysed? Wanting to struggle to save yourself, but being unable to? That would be mental torture, surely, whatever the physical feelings?’
‘Hmm,’ said Jäger, stroking his chin. She hoped she hadn’t given him any sadistic ideas to incorporate into the Stasi manual.
‘So why, Comrade Oberst—’ she gave him the honorific deliberately, just to defy the fact that he’d asked her not to ‘—why are we pretending we don’t know who the woman is? And why are we pretending she died a natural death?’
Jäger sighed. ‘I would have thought that is obvious, Karin. And it’s why I asked you to meet me. Citizens here have enough to worry about with the weather at the moment. Power still hasn’t been restored. The island is cut off by road and rail. It’s a serious, a dangerous situation. We don’t want more panic by suggesting a murderer is on the loose. So I don’t want any leaks. From you, Tilsner or Schmidt – or anyone else connected with the inquiry. You need to make that crystal clear to them. To our good Dr Tritten too. Siegel is an old hand – I have no worries on that score.’
‘So he knew all along?’
‘Of course he knew, Karin. He’s not an idiot. That’s why I asked whether Tritten can be trusted. Lean on her and make sure she understands she has to keep her mouth shut, as should her contact in the toxicology lab. No leaks. From anyone. Otherwise there will be consequences.’
‘So do you mind telling me what’s going on?’
Jäger’s face creased into a severe frown. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Who’s responsible?’
‘I have no idea at all, Karin. That’s why you, Tilsner and Schmidt are here. To find out. And to find out without creating a huge hullabaloo. Make sure that happens – both parts of it. Without fail.’
10
Müller was relieved that Jäger – at least in terms of her accommodation arrangements – was true to his word. Her lodgings, in effect a hotel even though it wasn’t described as such, were around the corner from the bar. Her room looked out over the esplanade just as the bar had, although here it was merely a paved footpath – not a road. Perhaps a promenade was a better description, and beyond – she already knew – the frozen sea.
She kicked off her boots as soon as she was in the room, and flopped on the bed. But she knew she couldn’t relax. Soon, she would need to meet with Tilsner and Schmidt. Hopefully their debrief could be combined with an evening meal in a quiet, non-overlooked part of the restaurant. But she also needed to contact her family in the Hauptstadt. Jannika and Johannes for the past eighteen months had been used to her being part of their lives every day. It was what she wanted, and she was devastated to have had to give it up.
Lying on the bed, she used the room telephone to dial Berlin. Such a thing – a private telephone handset for each room – would be unheard of in many parts of the Republic. Guests in most union holiday homes, or in smaller pensions still in private hands, would normally have to use communal telephones in the reception area to speak to their loved ones. She was in a privileged position, and she knew why. Rügen was a favourite holiday ground of the great and good of the Party. That would be true here in Binz. Even more so on the islet of Vilm, in the lee of the main island, which was reputed to be the holiday destination of the biggest of the Republic’s bigwigs – Honecker and his ilk.
When she rang the apartment, someone picked up but said nothing for a moment. All she could hear was breathing. Then the voice of Helga in the background. ‘Jannika, what are you doing? You shouldn’t pick up the telephone.’
‘Hello, Schatzi. It’s Mutti.’
‘Mutti! Mutti! Oma, it’s Mutti!’ shouted Jannika, so loudly that Müller had to move the plastic handset away from her ear. Although Helga was strictly speaking the twins’ great-grandmother, they still called her ‘Oma’ – granny. It was less complicated that way.
‘Are you being a good girl for Oma?’
‘Yes, Mutti. I’m a good girl.’ Müller knew that wasn’t true, but in general Jannika fitted the stereotype and was certainly better behaved than her brother, though both had wilful streaks when they wanted.
‘What about your brother?’
‘He’s naughty. Oma smack him.’ Müller heard Helga in the background ordering Jannika to stop telling fibs.
‘Can I talk to him?’ asked Müller.
‘No. Johannes sent to bed. Very bad boy. Talk to Oma?’
‘Yes please, Jannika.’
‘Oma. Speak to Mutti. Now!’
Müller could imagine her daughter standing on the chair at the side of the telephone table, imperiously ordering Helga and Johannes around.
‘Bye, Schatzi. Love you,’ she said down the phone line. But Jannika had already gone, bored with the telephone game. All her mother could hear was static.
The line crackled again, and Helga was speaking.
‘That daughter of yours likes making up stories. She’ll probably write novels when she grows up. Johannes has actually been very well behaved for once and, no, I haven’t had to spank him.’
Müller laughed. ‘They’ve been OK, then?’
‘As good as gold. Mind you, I think it helps that they’ve got all their Christmas presents to play with. The novelty still hasn’t worn off.’
Imagining her son and daughter playing with their toys sent a sudden feeling of loss surging through Müller. She stifled a sob. ‘I miss them, Helga, and you.’
‘I know you do, Karin. But I’m sure your decision was correct. After all, that police university was out in Potsdam. It would have been a terribly long journey each day. You’d have hardly seen anything of them. At least with your regular job you’ll be in Berlin a lot of the time and your office is there.’
‘What about Johannes, can I have a quick word with him?’
‘I’ll see if I can drag him away from his Sandmännchen cosmonaut. All his friends are jealous of it.’
Müller laughed to herself. Her son’s favourite Christmas toy had been given to him by a ruthless Stasi colonel. What did that signify? At the very least, that Jäger had even managed to infiltrate her family with his shady dealings.
*
Müller, Tilsner and Schmidt hunted out a quiet corner of the restaurant with high-backed bench seats so that – with luck – they could discuss the case over supper without being overheard. With the power cuts on Rügen, both men’s faces were transformed into ghoul-like masks by the flickering candles – the only source of light.
‘I’ve just had a mee
ting with you-know-who,’ she said to Tilsner.
‘Reiniger?’
Müller shook her head. ‘No, worse than that. Jäger.’
‘A meeting with Jäger? So he’s here on Rügen?’
‘Exactly.’
Tilsner exhaled slowly, stretching the buttons on his shirt so his vest underneath showed through – its whiteness almost glowing in the prevailing semi-darkness. Müller couldn’t help noticing again how his stomach seemed bigger. The toned detective succumbing at last to middle-aged spread. ‘Why? Every time he’s closely involved in a case it’s the sort of inquiry we’d be better steering clear of. I’m sure this is no different. What did he have to say? And more to the point, what about your secret rendezvous with the pretty doctor?’
He was never going to change, so Müller let his ‘pretty doctor’ comment pass. ‘Jonas will be interested in what they both had to say.’ She turned to their forensic scientist, who’d been sitting quietly demolishing the contents of the bread basket.
‘That was meant to be shared between all of us, Jonas,’ admonished Tilsner.
‘Ah.’ The Kriminaltechniker’s embarrassment was obvious even in the dim light. ‘Sorry, Comrades. I thought that was just for me. This freezing weather is enough to make anyone famished.’
‘Never mind that, Jonas,’ said Müller. ‘Have you ever heard of succinylcholine?’
