A Darker State

by David Young

  ‘Th-th-ank you,’ she stuttered. She held her hands over her face and breathed in a long draught of air, before letting it out slowly. ‘Do you have anything new to tell me?’ she asked Müller. ‘I don’t think you do, do you? I could see it in your face when I opened the door.’

  Müller thought back a few minutes. To the curious expression on Hanne’s face. Of course. She was expecting either the best or the worst – why else would her husband’s boss visit her? I should have put her at ease straight away.

  Müller pulled the woman to her for a gentle hug, then pushing her away slightly, looked straight into her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Hanne. I should have realised you would have thought my visit was something significant. It was remiss of me. I should have explained immediately. But please believe me, I will leave no stone unturned to find your son. I will do whatever it takes. All the information points to him still being alive, and as far as we know, safe and well.’ This last part – Müller was fully aware – was a partial lie. She feared very much for Markus’s welfare after what Fenstermacher had told her. Given the needle marks and restraint marks on the bodies of both murder victims. But there was no point worrying the woman further – if such a thing were even possible.

  ‘I still think that Jan Winkler holds the key to all this,’ said Hanne. ‘At first it seemed as though he was Markus’s saviour. Gave him something to live for. But really, that’s when his troubles started. Before that, the bullying, coming home crying from school with his spectacles broken, even though at eighteen he ought to be able to look after himself, well, all that pales into insignificance now. Can’t you put more pressure on that boy to tell us where Markus is?’

  ‘Believe me, Hanne, we’ve tried. We’ve had teams following him everywhere. My team and a uniform team from Keibelstrasse. We’re working on it.’

  ‘I bet his father is protecting him,’ said Frau Schmidt with a bitter edge to her voice.

  Müller knew that was the case. She also knew her hands were tied. But she wasn’t going to admit that to Markus’s mother. Her impotency in the face of the Stasi.

  43

  Müller decided she needed to see Jäger again – partly because of Reiniger’s assertion that she ought to try to build bridges with the Stasi colonel, and partly because of Hanne Schmidt’s gossip about Jan Winkler’s father’s real job. There was also something more personal she wanted to discuss with him. Perhaps it wasn’t the time, in the middle of a murder inquiry, but it was something that had been nagging her for months.

  *

  The choice of the Soviet War Memorial at Treptower Park as a meeting place encouraged Müller to return to her apartment to get a thick winter coat. Even with several layers under it, the raincoat wasn’t going to be enough to protect her from the cold. The visit also enabled her to pick something up from the flat that she needed to show Jäger. Something personal.

  Now, as she walked through the crusty, frozen snow, Müller twirled her gloved hand round the small metal box in her coat pocket. The one given to her by Helga when she’d first met her in Leipzig. The one that had contained the photo of her natural, teenage mother cradling baby Karin in her arms. And discovered beneath the photo, at the bottom of the tin, a military identity tag from – as far as she knew – the Soviet Red Army.

  This was a poignant place to meet. If the identity tag belonged to her father, as Helga intimated, had he been one of the eighty thousand Soviet soldiers killed in the battle for Berlin? Or had he survived, impregnated her mother, then moved on with his life? And if he was alive, where was he now? In the Soviet Union itself, or perhaps stationed in one of the friendly socialist states on that massive country’s doorstep? Perhaps – though Müller scarcely believed it – stationed in the Republic itself? There were plenty of Soviet troops garrisoned here. It was possible. But equally, the Soviet Union was a huge country, had a huge army. Why would her father even be in the army now that war was a thing of the past? He would almost certainly be too old, however young he’d been when he’d met her teenage mother. And even if he were still a soldier, or even an officer, surely the chances of him being posted to the Republic were tiny?

  She entered the memorial complex from the opposite end to the statue – the Soviet soldier holding a rescued German child, which she could see in the distance. Jäger had told her to wait by the eighth sarcophagus on the left-hand side of the central area of the vast monument. Müller glanced up at the giant red granite sculptural representations of Soviet flags – one each side of the entrance to the complex. The statues of kneeling soldiers beneath them were still adorned with snow.

  She counted off the sarcophagi. She knew from her history lessons at school that there were sixteen of them – one for each of the Soviet Republics, or at least, the ones that existed in the late forties, when the monument had been completed. Even before she got to the eighth she could see Jäger in his sheepskin jacket hugging his body for warmth.

  As she approached he failed to smile.

  ‘I hope this is important, Comrade Major. I don’t appreciate being dragged out of my office in this weather,’ he hissed.

  ‘And I don’t appreciate being bundled out of my apartment and into a stinking prison van by Stasi thugs, Comrade Oberst.’

  Jäger’s stern features softened. ‘Touché.’

  ‘So if we’re still playing the game of who owes whom, I think I’m owed more than anyone here.’

  ‘That’s not the way I remember it,’ said Jäger. ‘And I had to take a considerable personal risk – a risk to my reputation – to get you out of Bautzen so quickly.’

  ‘A prison where I was being held without any charge, or any accusation being levelled against me.’

  Jäger laughed now, but the laugh had a cruel edge to it. ‘You know very well what all that was about. Baum and Diederich. How you used Reiniger to, in effect, countermand their orders.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Müller. ‘But it conveniently delayed the overall inquiry. And I suspect there is more than their interests at stake here.’

  Jäger snorted. ‘I don’t think you’ve the slightest idea what’s at stake here, Karin.’

  At least he’s using my first name again, thought Müller. That’s something.

  ‘I didn’t come here just to trade words with you, Comrade Oberst. I need something.’

  ‘You usually do.’

  ‘Something personal,’ continued Müller, pulling the small tin box from her pocket.

  ‘Haven’t I seen that before?’

  Müller nodded. ‘On Peissnitz Island. When we were on the miniature Pioneer train.’

  Jäger sighed. ‘So there is even more inside, is there?

  Müller nodded. She pulled off her glove and prised the top away from the rusty container, her fingers almost immediately going white from the bitter chill in the air. She’d already removed the photo of her and her mother to a safer place – it was her most valuable possession. It was the link to her past, which now, thanks to Helga, she also knew in its flesh and blood form.

  She took out the tag, with its strange Cyrillic characters and letters. Jäger moved to take it from her, but she kept it out of his reach. ‘You can look, but I don’t want you touching it. I’m the only one allowed to touch it. It’s a Red Army identity tag.’

  ‘Whose? And from where?’

  Müller said nothing, but could feel herself reddening under Jäger’s gaze.

  Jäger rocked back on his feet, guffawing, momentarily forgetting the cold. As he exhaled, his condensed breath formed tiny clouds in the air. ‘You think this belonged to your father, don’t you? Why on earth do you think I’d be able to find out any information about him? Or want to?’

  Müller wasn’t going to try to answer him. But ever since she’d found out about her teenage mother, who died heartbroken after Müller herself was taken away from her as a baby, she’d felt a desperate need to complete the puzzle about her natural parents. Even though she was embroiled in a murder and missing persons inquiry.
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br />   She put the ID tag back in the tin that Helga had given her when breaking the news about Müller’s mother, closed the lid, and returned it to her pocket. Reaching into the other side of her coat, she brought out a folded piece of paper. ‘I’ve noted down all the details.’ She handed the paper to Jäger, who took it and put it into his own pocket. ‘I need you to find out who this relates to, and whether he is still alive.’

  ‘And presumably, whether he actually is your father?’

  ‘If there is any information to confirm that, which I doubt there will be, then yes – please. And I have another request.’

  ‘Go on,’ he prompted, warily.

  ‘I want you to tell me all you can about Jan Winkler’s father. For some reason we’re not being permitted to take his son in for questioning.’

  Jäger seemed to suck his teeth, and glanced up towards the steel-grey sky. Then he slowly lowered his gaze to meet hers once more.

  ‘I hope you’ll take my advice, Karin. Perhaps it could be the trade-off for me finding out what I can about this Red Army soldier who may or may not have been your father.’

  Müller frowned.

  ‘Be very, very careful taking on Winkler. Whatever you may think you know about him, he’s a very powerful man. A very ruthless man. He doesn’t take kindly to anyone interfering with his son’s life – or way of life – either. However much you feel you’ve been through during the two years or so we’ve known each other, if you cross Winkler, you’ll be in more danger than ever before.’ Jäger’s face was like thunder – more serious than she’d ever seen it. ‘That’s clear, I hope?’

  ‘Perfectly clear, thank you, Comrade Oberst. While I can’t give you any absolute undertakings, as long as Herr Winkler and his son haven’t committed any criminal acts, then they have nothing to fear from me or my team.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean, Karin. I mean steer clear of him – whatever you think you know.’

  Müller nodded. For her it wasn’t a nod of agreement, merely an acknowledgement of comprehension. If Jäger understood things differently that was his problem.

  She held out her hand to his to shake.

  Jäger held it briefly. ‘I mean what I say, Karin. I don’t think I can make myself any clearer.’

  ‘I heard you, Comrade Oberst, loud and clear. Please do let me know when you have any information for me about the other matter.’

  With that they left each other, walking away in opposite directions.

  Müller strode now towards the main statue of the memorial – the Soviet soldier, Nikolai Masolov, with the toddler he’d saved as a firefight raged in ruined Berlin, perched on top of the Kurgan – the domed warriors’ grave in which several thousand Red Army soldiers were said to be buried. Müller wondered if there were any similarities between the heroic Masolov and her father – whoever he was. In all probability, he too had been a Red Army hero, delivering Germany from the evils of fascism, of Nazism, at the same time as siring a baby with a teenage German girl.

  44

  Sunday afternoon (mid-December 1976)

  Strausberger Platz

  Müller’s much-delayed meeting with the endocrinologist had finally been confirmed for the next day, with the help of Fenstermacher. Despite the awkwardness of their last encounter, with little progress in her own attempts to pin the man down, Müller had asked the pathologist for assistance. Fenstermacher was coming all the way from Hoyerswerda to sit in and try to put him at ease. Whether or not the man would talk was an entirely different matter.

  Kriminaltechniker Jonas Schmidt, too, claimed to have made an important discovery that he didn’t want to talk about over the phone. So she’d promised to drive straight to Guben as soon as her meeting at Charité was over. Tilsner had also rung her to say he was back on her service. Her immediate thought to how Tilsner could help brought her back to the thorny problem of Jan Winkler – and his father. Whatever it was that Reiniger had needed her deputy to do so urgently had now gone on the back burner.

  Tilsner gave a heavy sigh when Müller said she wanted him to follow the youth again on his Sunday adventures.

  ‘I really think you should come too, Karin. There’s something I’ve wanted you to see since before Bautzen. Didn’t you get my phone messages? I left them at your apartment and at the office.’

  Müller remembered Helga saying a work colleague had been trying to get in touch. Amidst all the confusion and tension after her arrest, it must have slipped her mind. But she didn’t recall receiving any message at Keibelstrasse. Was that just inefficiency on the part of one of the phone operators – or something more sinister?

  ‘You need to see it with your own eyes,’ continued Tilsner. ‘That’s why I’d like you to come with me on the bike.’

  ‘That was a disaster last time. And it’s too dangerous now, what with the snow and everything.’

  ‘Hah! Too dangerous for you to ride pillion, but not too dangerous for me to have to follow that bastard Winkler alone. Thanks a lot. Anyway, I’m asking you one last time. I assure you it’s in your own interests. If you won’t come with me, still come – in the evening. That’s when they seem to be meeting now. It’s a different crowd. Older guys too. There is something you must see.’

  ‘And you can’t just tell me what?’

  ‘Just come. Honestly, Karin. I am swearing on my life. You need to see it for yourself.’

  *

  Despite Tilsner’s pleas, she felt she owed it to her family to spend the day with them. And rather than watching Tatort with Helga in the evening, she wanted some cosy time with Emil on the sofa once the twins had been put to bed.

  They’d had a lovely afternoon, strolling up and down Karl-Marx-Allee. Although it was still cold, the strong sun made it a beautiful winter’s day. Johannes kept straining against the pushchair belts as though he wanted to get out and run, even though both he and Jannika were still at the crawling stage. When not having to carry one of the twins to keep them quiet, Müller had linked arms with Emil as he pushed the double buggy along. Helga stayed in the flat to give them some space.

  ‘It seems to be better between you and Helga now, Emil. More relaxed.’

  He smiled. ‘She’s not so bad. And she’s a tough old bird. I was impressed with the way she bounced back after your arrest. It was a nasty fall she had—’

  ‘Push, not fall,’ insisted Müller.

  ‘Of course.’ He didn’t seem in the mood to disagree. ‘But she didn’t mope about it – just started making as many phone calls as possible to your boss to try to find out what the hell had happened. She wouldn’t let it rest.’

  A spiteful thought wormed its way into Müller’s head. Shouldn’t it have been you doing that, Emil?

  Perhaps, though, she was being unkind. At that moment, Johannes began kicking and screaming again, so it wasn’t a thought she pursued.

  *

  But it was a thought that resurfaced at dinner time. Emil seemed to be rushing his food again.

  ‘Emil. Why are you in such a hurry again? I’ve never seen anyone eat so fast. Can’t we just relax and enjoy the meal?’

  His face creased into a frown. ‘What?’

  ‘You seem to be rushing, that’s all.’

  ‘Have you started to police my eating habits now?’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  Emil slapped his palm down on the table, provoking tears and screaming from Johannes. Helga picked him up and started rocking him.

  ‘I think it was very clear what you meant.’ Then he turned to Helga. ‘Could you leave us, please?’

  ‘Of course, I’ll just put him down in his cot.’

  ‘Helga, you don’t have to—’ Müller’s attempts to defend her grandmother were cut short.

  ‘And the girl too.’

  ‘The girl? She does have a name, you know,’ said Müller.

  ‘Right, that’s it,’ he said, grabbing his coat. ‘I’m not going to be told how to eat in my own home.’

  ‘My home,’ sai
d Müller feeling her muscles quivering with anger. ‘And where the hell do you think you’re going?’

  Helga, had by now moved both twins to their cots. Both were screaming, but Müller’s grandmother ignored them and took refuge in her own room, slamming the door behind her.

  ‘The reason I was rushing my food is that I’m behind on work. I was hoping to do some here this evening. I took time off to deal with your little drama when you got yourself arrested.’

  ‘When I got myself arrested? How can you say—’

  ‘You’re always sailing close to the wind, Karin. That’s your problem. There are rules in this Republic. Perhaps you should obey them once in a while.’

  ‘That’s outrageous. How dare—’

  Emil was already at the front door. ‘I dare. I’m going to the office at the hospital. It’s the only place I can get some peace.’ He slammed the door behind him.

  Müller rushed into the twins’ room and tried to calm them. She got them both out of their cots, turned the light on, and then got some toys out for them to play with. Soon they were gurgling happily again. But Müller knew it wasn’t good enough. She and Emil shouldn’t allow their differences to affect their children, especially at such an impressionable age.

  Müller slumped down into Helga’s antique nursing chair. She rocked back and forth. This wasn’t the way it was meant to be. It was all so, so wrong. But she didn’t want to give up on another relationship. Somehow, she and Emil had to make this work.

  Helga knocked softly on the door.

  ‘Come,’ said Müller, surprised how shaky her own voice sounded.

  Helga crept into the room, then saw the twins were awake and playing on the floor.

  ‘Are you OK, Karin?’

  The concern from her grandmother, when Müller and Emil had been at fault, was just too much. Müller cleared her constricted throat.

  ‘I hope you’ll forgive me, Helga. That should have never happened in front of you and the children. I’m so terribly sorry.’