A Darker State

by David Young

  Tilsner raised his eyebrows. Müller could tell he was sceptical. It was all too easy just to blame the foreigner. It had echoes of their investigation in Ha-Neu, when locals had been all too ready to point the finger at Vietnamese guest workers for the baby abductions. ‘So,’ said Tilsner, wearily, after a few seconds of silence. ‘You’re saying we should be looking for a disgruntled Yugoslav player who was thrown out of work by Stahl’s enforced relegation?’

  ‘Well, the whisper is that Dominik was murdered, isn’t it?’

  Tilsner shrugged.

  ‘And that the method was stuffing a sock down his windpipe, yes?’

  Müller frowned. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘It’s true, then.’ The man smiled. ‘If I were you, and I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but I’d get that sock checked and tested. It’s rumoured to be a method of murder favoured in the Balkans.’

  Tilsner snorted. Müller threw him an angry glance. But she was also angry with herself. She didn’t believe for one second that ‘death by sock’ was a favoured Balkan murder method. That was just the Hütte bar-talk rumour mill going into overdrive. Now it had been raised though, she’d have to check it out. Schmidt wouldn’t be around to do it, so it would have to be his opposite number in either Hütte itself, or in Frankfurt. But what she had asked Schmidt to do was forensic tests on the sock. To try to identify its origin and whether there was anything that pointed to its owner.

  The two detectives left Krug to his beer and exited the bar. A colder wind outside signalled that autumn was just around the corner. They had a short autumn in these eastern parts, followed by a bitter, long winter. Müller pulled the collar of her raincoat up under her chin.

  ‘Well, that was slightly underwhelming,’ said Tilsner, before they got into the Lada.

  ‘Agreed. Tittle-tattle, rumour. Nothing much of substance. I thought he actually had something useful for us when he passed that note at the football ground.’

  ‘I suppose his assertion that Dominik wouldn’t have been in a position to whistle-blow about the illegal payments is of some use.’

  Müller nodded. ‘But it’s still only that. An assertion.’

  They’d already opened their respective car doors and were about to duck inside when Tilsner hissed at her. ‘Look out. Here comes trouble. He’s been watching us again.’

  Walking across the main road from his own car, parked directly opposite the bar – which Müller and Tilsner should have noticed earlier – was the young, blond-haired man they both assumed was a Stasi officer. This time he didn’t seem content with just observing and making his presence known. He approached Müller with a piece of paper in one hand, his other outstretched in greeting.

  ‘Comrade Major Müller,’ he said, shaking the hand that Müller had felt obliged to extend in return. ‘I’m Hauptmann Walter Diederich, of the local Ministry for State Security here in Bezirk Frankfurt. We haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting, although I think I’ve seen you out and about. I hope your inquiry is proving productive. Did Krug give you anything helpful? I wouldn’t believe everything he says.’

  ‘It was a useful meeting,’ said Müller, giving the man a thin smile.

  ‘Good, good. Well, look.’ He passed her the piece of paper, which she now saw was an envelope. ‘Here’s an invitation to come and meet us at our offices in Frankfurt this afternoon, if it’s convenient for you. And do bring Comrade Hauptmann Tilsner with you. He’ll be very welcome too.’ He gestured to the envelope. ‘All the directions are in there, but it’s easy enough to find. Two o’clock, if that suits you both.’

  20

  Stasi regional office, Frankfurt an der Oder

  They parked the Lada in a side street outside the fenced-off Stasi compound and then approached the entry gate. The guard examined their Kripo IDs and then showed them to a side room attached to the gatehouse. Through the internal window they saw him pick up the phone.

  A couple of minutes later, an unsmiling plain-clothes officer walked into the room and asked them to follow him.

  ‘You’ve probably been here before, haven’t you, Werner?’

  Tilsner gave her a mock snarl. ‘Give it a rest, Karin. I’m not in the mood. What do you think this is about?’

  Müller didn’t bother lowering her voice. ‘They probably want to give us some “assistance”. That’s the usual story.’ She wondered if this would be the moment one of the Stasi’s Special Commissions – the ones Reiniger had originally talked about – would try to take over the case. Perhaps that’s who Diederich really works for?

  ‘To be honest,’ said Tilsner, ‘any help we could get would be welcome. I feel as though we’re still just scratching the surface of this one.’

  *

  They were shown into a small, brightly lit office, with a window overlooking the courtyard on one side of the room, and a mirror covering much of the opposite wall. It made the room look bigger – which was presumably what it was meant to do – but Müller found it slightly unnerving.

  Sitting behind a desk against the far wall was Diederich, wearing the same plain clothes he’d been in that morning at Neuzelle. Next to him was another, more senior, officer. A major, it looked like from the epaulettes, which were similar to those of both the People’s Police and the People’s Army, although the uniforms of the former were a darker green.

  Diederich immediately leapt to his feet and moved round to the front of the desk.

  ‘Excellent, excellent. We’re so pleased you could take time out from your inquiry to come and meet us. We really believe in cooperation between the Ministry and the police. This is Comrade Major Jörg Baum.’ The bald-headed, round-faced man behind the desk was smiling equally broadly, and extended his hand, first to Müller then Tilsner, as Diederich made the formal introductions.

  ‘Please sit down anyway. Make yourselves comfortable. We think this new initiative of the Serious Crimes Department is an excellent idea, don’t we, Major Baum?’

  The older man nodded. His smile was almost a smirk; he knew that Müller was aware all of this was just shadow-boxing. Diederich’s words were meaningless. The true purpose of their summons had yet to emerge.

  ‘Thanks for all that, Walter,’ said Baum, jovially. ‘First names OK for you two as well? I hate all that formal crap. Although given I’m wearing this,’ he ran his hands down the front of his uniform, ‘it probably doesn’t look like it. Anyway, although this is partly a “get to know you” visit, let’s not beat around the bush. I’m sure you’re busy, as are we, but we have some information that may be useful for you.’ He took the top two files from a pile on his desk and then handed one each to Müller and Tilsner. ‘They’re both the same. They concern this so-called club for queers just outside Frankfurt. We’ve been thinking of closing it down for a while, but . . . Well, as you can imagine, it’s a bit of a honey trap. And it’s amazing what kind of flies get trapped in it. So for the moment we’re under instructions to leave things be, up to a point.’

  ‘Instructions?’ queried Müller.

  ‘From above. Normannenstrasse.’ The Stasi headquarters in the Hauptstadt, thought Müller. Why are they taking such an interest? ‘I’m sure you understand. That said, the key phrase there is “up to a point”. If anything gets seriously out of hand we have to step in. And as part of that, we’ve also got a little apology to make. Walter?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, Jörg.’ Müller did a double take. Their dispensing of formalities wasn’t just for show, then. They actually seemed to be on first-name terms. Diederich smiled at Müller, then continued. ‘We’re glad, actually, that neither of you look any the worse for wear. I’m afraid it was our agents who gave you a little fright on your motorbike yesterday.’

  ‘You’d better have a good explanation,’ snarled Tilsner.

  Baum held up his hand. Müller wasn’t sure if it was an admission of liability, or just an indication that Tilsner should tone his rhetoric down. But Müller felt equally affronted.

  �
�I fully understand your anger. But no bones were broken. Just let Walter finish, if you would.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Diederich. ‘When we heard what had happened we were equally alarmed. They shouldn’t have done that near the canal bridge. The thing is, we didn’t know who you were. To our agents, you were two people on a motorcycle chasing one of our contacts.’

  ‘You could have checked the registration plate for the bike,’ insisted Tilsner. ‘A quick radio call would have established it belongs to Keibelstrasse special ops.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Diederich. ‘As I say, we’re delighted you’re both all right. We thought you were part of a drugs gang targeting our contact, Jan Winkler.’

  ‘When you say “contact”, do you mean he works directly for you?’ asked Müller. It was a worrying development, worrying for the well-being of Markus Schmidt.

  ‘No, he simply provides us with some information. In return, we provide him with protection. Our agents were only meant to intercept you, so that you didn’t find out where he was going. By doing so near the canal bridge, I gather you nearly came off the bike. It was a misjudgement on their part.’

  Müller exhaled slowly. This wasn’t going the way she expected. In her recent cases, there had been high-level Stasi involvement. This seemed altogether different. And disturbing. Not only did it look like Winkler’s father worked for the Stasi – Winkler did too.

  ‘Thanks, Walter,’ said Baum. ‘Now, why don’t we look at these files? If you turn to page one, you’ll see a summary. Basically, we’ve known for some time that illegal drugs are openly traded at this club. But, until fairly recently, it was just cannabis. We were happy to go along with that as part of our honey trap.’

  ‘To trap what, or who?’ asked Müller.

  ‘Ah,’ said Baum. ‘I thought you might ask me that. I’m afraid I’m not allowed to say.’ Müller heard Tilsner snort with derision. ‘Anyway,’ continued Baum, ‘recently we discovered some of them had moved on to harder drugs. Amphetamines.’

  ‘Speed, I think it’s known as in the West,’ added Diederich. ‘You might have seen mention of it on some of the West German news reports. Of course I know none of us watch western TV for pleasure. But sometimes we need to for the job, don’t we?’

  ‘And if you look at exhibit A,’ said Baum, ‘the first set of photographs, you’ll see a sting operation we recently carried out at the club. It was a few months back now. The suspect’s identity has been disguised.’

  Müller peered at the photo. The guilty youth’s face had been completely obscured. ‘Why do that? And given you have, what’s the relevance for us?’

  ‘We’re protecting the suspect’s identity for security reasons,’ replied Baum. ‘As to the second part of your question, we simply need to demonstrate that there is an ongoing operation involving our agents surrounding this club. Therefore we need to make sure your team doesn’t – how shall we put it? – trample on our flower bed. Does that make sense?’

  Müller nodded. It makes sense. But it doesn’t necessarily mean we’re going to do their bidding, she thought.

  ‘There are also some sensitive links to the case you’re investigating,’ said Diederich.

  ‘How so?’ asked Tilsner.

  ‘If you turn to page five of your folder, please,’ said Baum. ‘Exhibit B.’

  Müller drew her head back in shock. ‘Exhibit B’, as Baum termed it, was an autopsy photograph – of their murder victim, Dominik Nadel, concentrating on the injection mark on his arm identified by the pathologist, Dr Fenstermacher. She quickly skim-read it: Heroin . . . addict . . . needles . . . dealer. She heard Tilsner next to her sigh in exasperation. She turned and saw him shaking his head, looking at her.

  ‘So you’re saying you’ve solved our murder?’

  ‘Not necessarily, Karin. My problem with that last sentence of yours is the word murder. What we’re saying – what our investigation department has discovered – is that there was no murder. Some of the conclusions passed to you by . . . who was it? . . .’ Baum picked up another file from his desk, one he hadn’t shared with the Berlin officers, and flicked through it. ‘Ah yes, Dr Fenstermacher. Well, I wouldn’t believe all that she tells you. She’s a bit of a loose cannon, to be honest, according to our colleagues in Bezirk Cottbus. So yes, some of her conclusions are, I’m afraid, mistaken. Dominik Nadel’s death was not a murder.’ Baum closed both files with an air of finality.

  ‘I think my team will be the judge of that,’ said Müller.

  ‘Quite so,’ said Baum. ‘But your team isn’t some private little organisation, Karin. You answer to your People’s Police bosses at Keibelstrasse, just as we answer to ours at Normannenstrasse. And ultimately, of course, to Comrade Minister Mielke. So, just to summarise, Dominik Nadel was not murdered. He was a drug addict, a heroin addict, and his death was self-inflicted. And I’m sure you’ll be hearing from Keibelstrasse before too long confirming that you’re to return to the Hauptstadt and drop this inquiry.’

  *

  Watching Müller and Tilsner from the other side of the mirror – through the one-way reflective glass – the Stasi colonel frowned.

  ‘Do you think they will drop it, even if they’re told to by Reiniger?’ his colleague asked.

  ‘Probably not. They’re not always the most sensible pair. They’re not always the best detectives either.’

  ‘You’ve worked with them before then, Klaus?’

  The colonel nodded. ‘Most notably on the case involving Ackermann.’

  ‘Ah yes. That was a convenient one for your boss, wasn’t it?’

  ‘My boss?’

  ‘Markus Wolf. Cleared his way to succeed Mielke – got his main rival out of the picture.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean. Colonel General Horst Ackermann died tragically in a car accident. Surely you read about it in Neues Deutschland? As far as I’m aware Ackermann and Wolf were friends.’

  The other man let out a huge guffaw. ‘Pull the other one. So our two Berlin detectives helped you with that, did they?’

  ‘After a fashion. Although, as I was saying, they weren’t recruited for their abilities or experience. The opposite, in fact. She was the youngest head of a murder squad in the Republic. The only woman too. Over-promoted, out of her depth.’

  ‘I thought she’d just been promoted again, to head this new Serious Crimes Department?’

  ‘Exactly. As I was saying, over-promoted, out of her depth. Only now even more so. It makes her more . . . open to suggestion, shall we say.’

  ‘And isn’t he one of ours?’

  ‘To some extent. I get some information from him. We worked together a long time ago.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘That’s hardly your business, is it?’ said the colonel. He ran his fingers through his sandy-coloured, shoulder-length hair. The style that he knew people said made him look like a West German newsreader. ‘Anyway, I’m not sure our problem is really those two. If they do go ahead and defy orders, someone will put a stop to it pretty quickly. What’s more problematic is the mess those other two goons in there have made – Baum and Diederich.’

  ‘This isn’t their fault. It was all approved at a higher level.’

  ‘You may be right. But we need to make sure it gets disapproved at a higher level, and quickly. Otherwise it’s going to blow up in all our faces. And you probably have bigger fish to fry – I know I certainly do.’

  ‘What? The Red Army Faction thing?’

  The colonel became silent. How did he know about that? It was supposed to be secret. The trouble was, the Firm was starting to get leaky.

  ‘As I say,’ the colonel finally replied, although not to the question posed. ‘We need to get Baum and Diederich’s operation closed down – quickly.’

  21

  Müller didn’t have long to wait for the phone call from Reiniger at Keibelstrasse. She’d returned immediately to the Hauptstadt to see the twins and Emil, and relieve Helga from her
nanny duties – at least temporarily. The same night, last night, Reiniger had rung.

  *

  ‘We’ve a bit of problem, Karin,’ he said. ‘I think you may have got wind of it from the Ministry for State Security in Frankfurt.’

  Müller started to object. ‘Surely you’re not—’

  Reiniger cut her short. ‘Let’s not argue on an open line, Karin. Come in and see me at Keibelstrasse tomorrow morning. Is 8 a.m. too early?’

  Was it fair to foist the twins onto Helga once more, when she’d only been back a few hours? Well, that was the agreement they’d made, when her grandmother had come up from Leipzig and given up her own apartment there to live with them in Berlin. ‘Eight is fine. I’ll see you then, Comrade Oberst.’

  *

  Müller had half-expected Reiniger to be joined by Stasi bigwigs, given their apparent close involvement with the case. In the event, they were joined by another officer – someone she hadn’t been expecting. Her deputy Werner Tilsner, who appeared to have been summoned back from Eisenhüttenstadt.

  Reiniger seemed to be in a perfectly affable mood, holding the meeting in his side lounge, rather than his office, and ushering them to sit on his comfortable armchairs – normally solely reserved for high-ups. ‘Coffee?’ he asked.

  The two detectives both nodded, and Reiniger rang down to get the coffee delivered to the room. ‘A plate of biscuits, too, please, Truda.’

  Tilsner started to speak. ‘I don’t think we should let the Stasi in Frankfurt—’

  Reiniger held his finger to his mouth. ‘Stop, please, Comrade Hauptmann. Don’t jump the gun. Please listen to what I have to say first.’

  ‘Of course, Comrade Oberst,’ said Müller. Tilsner threw her an angry look.

  ‘Now it’s going to be very difficult going against the express instructions of the Ministry for State Security. The whole reason your new unit was set up was to secure a greater level of cooperation on sensitive murder inquiries. Unless we do what they say, then they’ll just have their own investigation department – or indeed one of their own Special Commissions – take over all inquiries like this. We’ll find that the Kriminalpolizei no longer have a role. That won’t be good for any of us.’