A Darker State

by David Young

  He sighed. ‘I suppose I should have known this new job of yours would have had you liaising with the Stasi at a high level. Presumably that’s where you found out? To be honest, I couldn’t believe you weren’t more suspicious when I followed you to Halle-Neustadt.’

  Müller suddenly realised the conversation was taking an unexpected turn. But for the moment, she allowed Emil to continue to speak.

  ‘But the children weren’t my fault, Karin. You always insisted there was absolutely no way you could get pregnant. I took that at face value. Obviously on any close assignment like this we’re trained to make sure things like that don’t happen.’

  ‘By the Stasi?’ asked Müller, more as a prompt than a real question. She knew the answer now.

  Emil nodded slowly. ‘But you have to believe me. I care for you now, I care for the children.’

  Müller fixed him with an icy stare. She wasn’t buying this. ‘Do you still care for us while you’re gallivanting off to your club in Frankfurt on Sundays? You and your boyfriends?’

  Emil leant back, looking up at the ceiling. ‘Oh . . . my . . . God!’ He gave a strangled laugh. ‘You don’t believe I’m one of them, do you?’ His eyes widened. ‘That’s what this is about!’ He started shaking his head.

  ‘I’m not laughing, Emil. When you were supposed to be doing urgent business at the hospital you were on urgent business all right. Urgent business to satisfy your lust.’

  Emil just kept on shaking his head, still laughing. ‘I’ve clearly overestimated your detecting abilities, Karin. Halle-Neustadt I hold my hands up to. I’m not telling you this officially, and I will deny it if ever challenged, but your suspicions there are correct. My job was to find out everything about you. Our chance meeting at Charité wasn’t a chance meeting at all. You’d telephoned ahead to ask if it was OK to visit Tilsner in his hospital bed. It was known you were coming. But the Frankfurt club business has nothing to do with my sexual proclivities, I can assure you. It is a job – nothing more, nothing less.’

  Müller tried to control her breathing. She’d gone into this thinking that Emil had a secret life – that he was homosexual, or at the very least bisexual. This, though, was even worse. Confirmation that her suspicions about their relationship had been a lie all along.

  Emil reached across the table to take her hand. Müller snatched it away.

  ‘You have to believe me, Karin. I have grown to love you. And I certainly love the children.’

  Müller shook her head. ‘Our children, to you, are little more than mistakes. Part of your sordid little surveillance operation that went wrong. To me, they’re the world. Everything in the world. And I won’t have you hurting them as you’ve hurt me. So I want you out of here, immediately. And you will sign whatever access arrangements I choose to present you with. Do I make myself clear?’

  There was a pause. Müller could see Emil’s hands shaking on his briefcase, tears beginning to well in his eyes.

  ‘You’re wrong, Karin,’ he whispered. ‘Our relationship isn’t a sham, however it may have started. And I do love Jannika and Johannes. It will devastate me not being able to be with them as they grow up.’

  Müller was unmoved, and got to her feet.

  ‘I’m not saying that I won’t allow you full access in the future, Emil. But for now, this is the way it’s going to be, and that’s what you’re going to agree to. Otherwise the evidence I have will become more widely known.’

  He looked at her in shock.

  ‘So you’re blackmailing me?’

  ‘Call it whatever you like,’ she said, surprised at her own icy calm. ‘That’s the way it is. And you don’t have any choice in the matter.’

  54

  I can’t stand the suffocating false bonhomie of Christmas. The decorations in any case look pathetic. There’s a horrible atmosphere in the apartment. Mutti and I still get on just about OK, though I try to stay out of the way. I spend most of the time in my room with the headphones on, listening to records. I don’t want an apprenticeship. I don’t want to do my military service. My only interests are my music and my motorbike.

  Finally, on Christmas Eve, I crack.

  It’s another comment from him that triggers it.

  I’ve tried to stay out of his way, but he corners me in the kitchen. ‘Have you thought about what I said, at the Weisse See?’

  He holds on to my shoulders, but I try to wriggle free. I won’t meet his eyes.

  ‘Have you, Markus?’ he repeats.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, wrenching myself free. ‘Yes, yes, yes, yes. I agree with you. Of course you’re right.’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic, Markus.’

  ‘I’m not being sarcastic, Vati. You’ll see. I’ll do what you want.’

  *

  I wrap up warm, though I don’t really care. But I suppose for this bit, I might as well be comfortable.

  I don’t really know where I’m going, I just head south on the bike, following the TV tower to start with and then turn south-east, along Karl-Marx-Allee. There is an icy blast of fine snow against my face. I feel – I suppose – a bit like how those polar explorers must have felt. The ones who know they’re never coming back.

  I realise I could just turn into the oncoming traffic. That would be quick. The temptation is almost too much to resist, but there is one last place I wanted to see.

  They dumped Dominik’s body, hoping no one would ever find it. Someone did. If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t have been rescued. But was I really rescued? In reality, I was just taken from one trap to another. According to my father, I’m still not allowed to live the way I want to.

  *

  I stop for a coffee halfway. In the café, I get the feeling a man is eyeing me up. He’s attractive, dark hair, tall. I glance back, hoping to feel something. But it’s as though someone has numbed me, castrated me, taken away my life force. There is no reaction. Perhaps Gaissler’s injections worked after all, despite all the fuck-ups. He’s succeeded with me, and I hate him for it.

  *

  The wind is so bitterly cold, coming straight at me across the frozen lake. Was this the spot where Dominik was found – here by the sailing club? It’s the easiest place to park up. I wonder if he knew what had happened to him. And what about Georg? He was a sweet man. I laugh to myself, surprised I still can. I’d set out to trick him – I’d succeeded in tricking him – and then ended up falling in love with him. If the Stasi hadn’t forced us apart, would he have taken me with him to the West? I wonder what it’s like there. You see it on television, of course, you can see it from the top of the TV tower, like I did all those years ago when my father took me up there. But I wonder what it’s really like. You know, to live there. They say it’s even harder for homosexuals, queers, faggots, whatever name I used to be called in the playground that turned out to be true. Even harder there than it is here. More persecution. More nastiness.

  The act itself. I could still give pleasure, I know. But I don’t think I can be properly aroused any more. Gaissler has done that to me. The people at Charité insist it’s all in my mind – that I was only given the placebo, according to Gaissler’s records. I know differently. I feel differently. I will never be able to love that way again.

  I pick up a flat stone, so cold it almost sticks to my fingers. And then I skim it across the surface of the ice. It bounces a couple of times and then skids along, like an ice hockey puck. On top of the frozen, artificial lake. On top of the fish, who I assume are still swimming in the water underneath. The fish in the lake that you can never catch by hand. The lake that was once an opencast mine, feeding the hunger of this Republic for dirty brown coal, the dirty brown coal that drives our industry, our factories, lights up our homes. And covers our capital city in a choking blanket of smog.

  *

  I head back the way I came on the bike with no real plan, thinking I may delay things after all. But when I see it, it seems to be calling to me, in the same way the onrushing traffic did. It’
s a huge – no, gigantic – structure. It’s almost as if the Eiffel Tower has fallen down, and then been dumped here in the Lausitz lignite belt.

  It’s like a giant metal animal from a science fiction film. Eating the earth and excreting what it doesn’t want. Laying waste to huge tracts of land to keep the heart of the Republic pumping. And it’s calling to me. I know it’s calling to me. And I have to answer its call.

  55

  Müller was determined there should be no air of sadness lingering from Emil’s departure, spoiling her first Christmas with Jannika, Johannes and Helga. They were all having huge fun round the tree. Both of the twins had recently taken their first steps, and they were obsessed now with the tinsel and baubles on the branches. It meant they had to be watched constantly to avoid any mishaps.

  Having cut short her maternity leave to start up the new unit, Müller had managed to negotiate extra leave over Christmas. She wasn’t going back till early January – as long as there were no serious murders that, in Reiniger’s opinion, the local Kripo couldn’t handle.

  When the hotline to Keibelstrasse rang, she assumed that’s exactly what had happened. Christmas was going to be ruined by work. But it was worse than that. And it wasn’t even anyone from the People’s Police on the line – it was Jäger. The Keibelstrasse switchboard must have re-routed his call.

  What the hell does he want?

  ‘Hello, Karin. Happy Christmas. Sorry to ring you on your day off, but I have just received some news, and I thought you would want it immediately.’

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, warily.

  ‘Meet me outside your apartment block in ten minutes. There’s something I need to show you. I can’t talk about it over the phone.’

  *

  They drove north along the motorway, Jäger refusing to say what this was all about. Müller was taken back nearly two years to early 1975, when Jäger had taken her to Colonel General Horst Ackermann’s house in the forest settlement – the place she now knew was home to all the Republic’s high and mighty. Honecker lived there. Mielke. By western standards, the detached houses might be modest. But by the Republic’s standards? They were detached houses. That was enough to set them apart from most homes in the East.

  Instead they took a different turn off the motorway, and then – almost immediately – Jäger pulled over to the side of the road. He opened the glove compartment of his Volvo and took out a hood.

  ‘I hope you’re joking,’ said Müller.

  ‘No, I’m not, Karin. I’ve discovered something you will want to know. I promise you. I want to show you the place, but to do that I cannot let you see exactly where it is. Its location is classified.’ He held the hood, hovering over her head. ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘I’m not sure I do, no.’ What was this about? The last time she’d been hooded, it was by Jäger’s colleagues as she was led into Bautzen. Were they going to another jail? She didn’t think so, but she still flinched away from the black, sack-like hood. It looked like something they might place over an execution victim’s head.

  ‘Trust me,’ he murmured.

  She knew she should say no. Nothing was worth this humiliation. But curiosity is a powerful driving force. After all, she was a detective. It was her job to discover things. Things that people often didn’t want to be discovered.

  She gave a small nod and allowed her head to be covered.

  *

  The journey became something like the one she’d endured to Bautzen. Stopping, starting, going round in circles. She knew that Jäger was making certain she couldn’t make a mental map of the route. There was one big difference though. Here, she was in a comfortable seat, in a luxury car. The smell was of leather, cigars, Jäger’s cologne. An intoxicating mixture. On the way to Bautzen it had been piss, shit and puke.

  The car finally came to a halt and Jäger gently pulled off the hood. They were on a forest track. Ahead of them, a clearing. But on all sides, a thick blanket of trees. The only light – and that only the dim light of winter – was from above. Each side, thick with trees, was in deep shadow.

  Jäger reached over to the back seat and grabbed his sheepskin coat. He put it on inside the vehicle. Müller was already wearing a thick coat, but she knew as soon as the doors were opened they would be enveloped in a shroud of bitter, winter air.

  Climbing out of the car, Jäger made his way towards the clearing, and Müller followed.

  When he got to the centre, he breathed in deeply, and then exhaled.

  ‘I love the smell of the forest,’ he said. ‘Especially in winter. Don’t you?’

  Müller nodded, warily. What is this all about?

  ‘I have a confession to make,’ he said. ‘It concerns your ex-husband.’

  To Müller, Jäger looked nervous – as though he was apprehensive about her reaction to what he was about to say.

  ‘I know you’ve divorced. But you may still have feelings for him. That’s why, when I learnt this news, I thought I should bring you here. As you know, I was told he was allowed to emigrate to the Federal Republic. I believe you even received a letter from him.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Müller. She didn’t ask him how he knew. By now, she expected the Stasi to know everything they wanted to. There were no secrets in this Republic. ‘The letter was signed – it was definitely his signature.’

  ‘And the rest of the letter?’

  ‘It . . . it was typed.’ That had always nagged at the back of Müller’s brain. It wasn’t Gottfried’s usual style. Usually, any letters from him would be handwritten – from start to finish.

  ‘Do you know how easy it is to fake a signature, Karin?’

  She stared at him in horror. What was he about to say?

  ‘State leaders, heads of companies in the West, they all have machines that can fake a signature. It looks genuine, because in some ways it is. You get the subject to sign his or her name with the machine, the machine records the pen movements, and can then recreate that signature exactly. Again and again and again. You didn’t seriously believe that Comrade Honecker hand-signed all his responses to letters and petitions, did you?’

  Müller felt a tightness in her chest. She wanted Jäger to stop speaking now. She didn’t want to hear any more.

  ‘I did my best for Gottfried, tried to use any influence I had to secure his release. I was told I had been successful, that he had indeed been allowed to go to the West. I’m sorry to say I was lied to.’

  The news hit Müller like a sledgehammer. ‘What?’ she shouted. ‘You mean he’s still in the Republic, in prison somewhere, and you never told me?’

  Jäger shook his head and sighed. ‘I’m afraid not, Karin. The charges your husband faced were very serious. The maximum sentence was the death penalty. That is what a court could have imposed.’

  Müller frowned. ‘He was tried in court? Why was I never told? I would have been a character witness.’

  Jäger turned away. He began speaking, but wouldn’t meet her eyes. ‘The Ministry for State Security, as you’re probably now aware, doesn’t always abide by the court system, particularly when it’s carrying out a death sentence. Your former husband was brought here. Hooded, as you were just now. I’m afraid he never left.’

  Müller felt herself drop to the icy ground. It couldn’t be true, she told herself. She’d received the letter. All right, it was typewritten. But it was Gottfried through and through. The tone of voice, everything.

  Kneeling on the forest floor, she began beating it with her fists. Yes, they were divorced. But she still cared for him. Hoped to see him again sometime. And he had been her first true love. Had nursed and nurtured her after the horrors of her rape at the police college. They had spent so many happy times together. The thought of him meeting such a terrible and lonely end was unbearable.

  *

  They’d driven back to the Hauptstadt in silence. Müller felt desperate. She realised she wasn’t even sure whether to believe Jäger. Their relationship was st
rained at the best of times. Müller wasn’t sure it would ever recover. The Ministry for State Security had – in effect – murdered her first true love. A man she was sure was innocent. Schmidt had proved that the Stasi had faked the photographs of him in compromising situations with the reform school teenagers. What if everything he had been accused of was false?

  56

  ‘Did she accept your account, Klaus?’

  ‘Yes, without question, Comrade Generalmajor.’

  ‘So the identity of our agent is secure? And she believes he is dead?’

  ‘Yes, Comrade Generalmajor.’

  ‘This time I insist you join me in a cognac, Klaus. Before you go back to your family for the remainder of Christmas. Would that be acceptable?’

  ‘Very acceptable, Comrade Generalmajor.’

  57

  The hotline was ringing again. Müller tried to stop herself lifting the receiver, but in the end she couldn’t resist.

  As she picked up the phone, she had a strong sense of déjà vu – with good reason. It was Jonas Schmidt on the line.

  ‘Karin, Karin, you have to help us, please. He’s missing again.’

  *

  Schmidt insisted on travelling with them, even though they didn’t know where they were going. The Lada seemed none the worse for its ice drive, so they were sitting in it now, paralysed, trying to work out where Markus might have gone.

  ‘Would he have tried to go after Gaissler in jail?’ asked Tilsner.

  ‘He wouldn’t know which jail he’s in. He’d have no idea,’ replied Müller.

  Schmidt held his head in his hands. ‘We have to do something – please!’

  Müller turned towards him. ‘We’ve put out an all-bulletins alert, Jonas. I can’t see the point of chasing round anywhere until we get a sighting back from that. We might just end up further away from where we need to be when someone does spot him.’

  ‘We can’t just sit here waiting, Comrade Major. I’m sorry, that’s not good enough.’

  ‘What about Winkler’s house?’ asked Tilsner. ‘Could he have gone to have it out with him?’