by Jack Gatland
‘So Ilse and Karl are working together on this,’ De’Geer muttered. ‘That concurs with the manager at the Dew Drop Inn, as he said that both met with Detective Chief Superintendent Walsh before he crashed.’
‘How long for, though?’ Declan asked, pacing around the table. ‘And what do we do about it?’
‘Go to DCI Freeman,’ De’Geer suggested. Anjli nodded.
‘Great idea,’ she said. ‘Small addition to that though, what exactly do we tell him? Everything Declan has just said is hearsay, told to a DCI on administrational leave by an old man in Berlin who’s angry at the world. Sure, we can state that Wilhelm Müller and Karl Schnitter are the same person, but we can’t conclusively confirm this. Müller disappeared thirty-plus years ago. They didn’t have DNA back then, and if the Stasi or the CIA gave him a new identity, they’d have fixed the fingerprints as well. And if he’s been giving information against the GDP, you can be damn sure that the Americans won’t be helping us here.’
‘There’s no way to prove any of this,’ Billy muttered. ‘Karl Schnitter can simply claim that Meier was Müller, killed in the confusion and was buried in his grave by accident, and that Karl didn’t know this as by then he’d already left.’
‘But Müller is the Red Reaper!’ De’Geer protested. ‘He has to face justice!’
‘I agree,’ Anjli continued. ‘But how? There’s a reason the deaths have all been seen as suicides. You can’t prove that Karl, or Müller was near any of them. Even Patrick Walsh’s death was deemed an accident. Sure, we’ve found a nice conspiracy, but you know other nice conspiracies? Moon landings. JFK’s death. Paul McCartney walking barefoot across Abbey Road. They’re not evidenced facts, and those are what we need here.’
Billy leaned back in his chair. ‘So we let them get away with it? That’s bullshit.’
‘Find me something to use!’ Declan screamed out in impotent fury.
The room was silent.
‘We’re on your side, sir,’ De’Geer said gently. Declan nodded, looking to Billy.
‘Sorry,’ he said, forcing a small, apologetic smile as he did so. ‘It’s been a hell of a day for revelations.’
Billy nodded at this. ‘We’ve gotten bigger people with less,’ he replied. Declan shook his head.
‘None of them had get out of jail free cards before. We need to play clever on this,’ he said. ‘We need to get Karl, and fast. If he realises we know, he’ll cry out for his immunity and ask for a new identity now he’s outed. And he’s shown for the last thirty years that he’s real good at starting new lives under fake names.’
‘If we can find any DNA in the tunnel, or even the crypt…’ Billy suggested, but De’Geer shook his head.
‘The tunnel isn’t new. People have examined it or even visited it for years. Karl could simply say he had a look around any time in the last few years and we’d not be able to prove him otherwise.’
Declan nodded. ‘Go see Miss Randall again. See if anything we’ve learned here helps. Meanwhile, let’s bring him in for questioning.’
‘On what charge?’ Anjli asked.
‘On the charge of being a lying, murdering piece of shit,’ Declan snapped. ‘And then we’ll move on from there.’
Declan had headed to Maidenhead after the decision had been made, leaving De’Geer to liaise with a squad car that had been sent to pick Karl Schnitter up at his home, as the thought of Karl being arrested and brought to the cells on the back of a motorcycle gave opportunities for too many bad results. Anjli and Billy had stayed behind, however, waiting for PC Davey to arrive back at the hotel with a forensic kit; there wasn’t likely to be any evidence in the tunnel, but Declan had to ensure that they left no stone unturned, even the ones in centuries old crypts.
Arriving at the building, Declan found Doctor Marcos waiting for him outside of the main entrance.
‘I heard from Alex,’ she said as he approached. ‘Are you sure that you want to do this?’
‘What choice do I have?’ Declan asked. ‘If we don’t bring him in, he walks. Rolfe’s death is a suicide.’
‘Technically it was,’ Doctor Marcos walked with Declan into the building. ‘He killed himself. All the evidence proves this.’
‘So you think I should just leave it?’ Declan stopped in the hallway. ‘I expected different from you.’
‘I don’t think you should leave it,’ Doctor Marcos replied calmly, ‘but I do think you should consider what you’re doing here. If you can’t nail Karl Schnitter for the murders of Nathanial Wing or Rolfe Müller, it doesn’t matter who he was in a past life. Your father’s death was an accident. Your mother died in hospital of a terminal illness--‘
‘You know that’s not true!’ Declan exclaimed.
‘Do I?’ Doctor Marcos snapped back. ‘That’s what’s on the coroner’s reports, Declan! If you accuse him of these deaths as well, we have no proof on it!’
Declan nodded.
‘I know,’ he whispered. ‘But if I don’t try, then all of this has been for nothing.’
‘And there’s this whole immunity thing,’ Doctor Marcos added. ‘If he’s an asset, or has been in the past, this could really bite you on the behind. It’s not like Whitehall isn’t looking for a reason to get rid of you, and they’ll value the CIA’s special relationship way higher than the Walsh family. And unless we have conclusive proof on all of this, none of it will matter. He’ll be whisked away under a new identity before we can even call him out.’
Declan nodded. He knew this was risky.
‘Expect flak from Freeman on this too,’ Doctor Marcos replied. ‘He’s not been happy seeing me taking this over, and he sure as hell won’t be impressed with you bringing Karl in. Freeman’s a provincial copper, Declan. He’s not used to the adrenaline filled days of London, or other cities. His is a slower, more rural world. A more comfortable world that doesn’t involve this kind of political gameplay.’
‘And I’m throwing chaos into it,’ Declan nodded once more. ‘I get it, I really do. But let’s be honest, Rosanna. Karl’s not going to hang around after this. Talking to him here might be the last time we speak, the last chance I get to prove my case.’
‘And if you can’t? If it becomes your word against his?’
‘Then I’ll step back and let him walk,’ Declan looked to the end of the corridor where a furious-looking DCI Freeman waited to speak to him. ‘But with luck, I’ll cause him to slip up.’
‘You’d better,’ Doctor Marcos turned and walked the other direction, away from Freeman. ‘Because you’re throwing a Hail Mary here.’
Sighing, Declan walked to the end of the corridor where DCI Freeman glared at him.
‘I understand you’ve arrested a popular, local mechanic,’ he said. ‘Bloody hellfire, Declan. I said to take the win. Not this.’
‘You said I had until the end of tomorrow, sir,’ Declan replied quietly. ‘You said I’d used up all my debts for this.’
‘You were going to find Wilhelm Müller.’
‘I have done, sir.’
‘You found Karl Schnitter!’ Freeman exploded. ‘Karl Schnitter! I think everyone in here’s used his garages to fix their cars! He’s been here longer than I have!’
‘He’s still Wilhelm Müller,’ Declan insisted. ‘And I’m going to question him and get him to admit it. Then I’ll get him to admit to the murders of Nathanial Wing and Rolfe Müller, to start with.’
‘And how will you do that?’ Freeman shook his head. ‘You going to beat it out of him? You’re known for punching suspects almost as much as killing them!’
Declan bit his tongue.
‘I’ve seen Monroe’s report too,’ Freeman muttered. ‘I know he has friends in high places. Kept in the loop, remember?’
‘You gave me a day,’ Declan reminded.
‘A bloody mistake, it seems!’
‘My mistake to make,’ Declan replied. ‘Not my teams. You just saw Doctor Marcos advise against it.’
‘You’re risking your
career for this?’ Freeman was genuinely surprised. ‘Because that’s what you’re doing here. If Schnitter raises a complaint, or if some agency kicks off about us harassing an asset for murders he didn’t commit, or can’t be proven to have committed, you’re finished.’
‘Let’s see what happens by the end of the interview,’ Declan gave a smile, but it was an uncertain one, mainly because Declan wasn’t confident that he could do this. Freeman muttered to himself, half-mumbled words that sounded more like expletives, and nodded.
‘Last ball, Declan,’ he said. ‘One more strike and you’re out.’
And with a final shake of his head, Freeman walked through the doors at the end of the corridor, leaving Declan alone.
‘A baseball reference?’ Declan muttered. ‘You could have at least made it bloody cricket.’
Karl Schnitter was sitting in Interview Room 3 when Declan entered through the door. He was relaxed, smiling even as he leaned back in the chair, feet on the table, whistling to himself. PC De’Geer was standing by the wall, but when he saw Declan enter, he nodded and left the room, leaving Declan and Karl alone.
‘You’re pretty chipper for a man who just heard of a violent death,’ Declan said as he sat down in the chair facing Karl who took his feet off the table, straightening up in his chair as he faced his opponent, as if starting a chess game.
‘The man was hunting me,’ he said. ‘Why should I not be happy?’
‘What about the fact that Wilhelm Müller may have killed him, meaning that not only is Wilhelm still alive, but now may be targeting you?’
‘That is indeed a concern,’ Karl replied with the face of a man who didn’t seem concerned. ‘But I am sure you will save me.’ He smiled. ‘You save all the innocent people.’
Declan looked to the recorder at the end of the table. ‘The moment I turn that on this becomes official,’ he stated. ‘So before I do that, is there anything that you want to get off your chest?’
‘I am fine, Declan. Let us get on with this. Anything I can do to help.’
‘Is that you offering your help as Karl Schnitter, or as Hauptmann Müller?’ Declan asked, happy to see a flicker of surprise on Karl’s face. ‘We’ve been talking to some old soldiers. They had quite a few stories.’
‘I’d like to hear them,’ Karl said, the surprise now gone. Declan smiled.
‘Good, because I’ve got a great one for you,’ he replied as he pressed record. ‘Although you might really hate the ending.’
25
Inter-Viewed
‘The time is seven fifty-five, DI Walsh interviewing Karl Schnitter, AKA Karl Meier, AKA Wilhelm Müller.’
‘Alleged,’ Karl smiled.
‘Are you saying that you’re not Hauptmann Wilhelm Müller, formerly of the Grenztruppen, and stationed in Berlin before the fall of the Berlin Wall?’
There was a long moment of silence, as Karl considered the question. Declan wondered if he was working through scenarios in his head, deciding what the best option was to take, again like a chess player in a competition.
‘For the record, Mister Schnitter is not replying.’
‘I am thinking,’ Karl replied, and for the first time Declan heard irritation in his voice. ‘It is something I have hidden for a long time, my actual name, and I am aware of the diplomatic, or legal ramifications I create by admission.’
‘Is that a confirmation?’ Declan pushed. He wondered if this was the play Karl had to try for; to give up the truth of his identity while avoiding anything to do with The Red Reaper.
Karl nodded at this. ‘I thought you would find out,’ he replied. ‘I forget how good a detective you are. Much better than your father.’
‘You don’t get to mention my dad,’ Declan hissed. ‘You don’t get to say his name ever again.’
‘He was my friend, Declan,’ Karl replied, calm once more. ‘No matter what you think of me, he understood.’
‘You told him you were Müller?’
‘Yes,’ Karl said, looking directly at Declan as he spoke. ‘He asked for my advice when Dotty Brunel committed suicide. He recognised the symbol of the Ampelmännchen, and when I saw it, I recognised the symbol of my old unit.’
‘A symbol that you designed, after they named you the Reaper, correct?’
‘No,’ Karl shook his head. ‘Command created it, to strike fear into dissidents. The Reapers, the Wolves, the Inquisitors, all units named to scare.’
Declan stopped, watching the completely calm Karl. He was creating a new narrative right here, right now. One that made him into the victim.
Doctor Marcos and Freeman had been right. Declan was out of his depth here.
‘Why did they call you the Reapers?’ he asked.
‘Because we killed escapees,’ Karl admitted. ‘It was our job. But I always tried to save them. I would flip a coin, give them a fighting chance. In fact, over a dozen people escaped because of that coin.’
‘I heard you had a fake coin, one that always benefited you.’
‘Lies, spread by a guard that hated me.’
‘Meier?’
Karl nodded. ‘He wanted me removed. He was sleeping with my wife. Having me moved or even arrested for atrocities I never committed would have enabled him to be more open.’
‘From what I heard, he was pretty bloody open.’
‘Only at the end,’ Karl replied. ‘When Rolfe was three, maybe four years old, I learned of the indiscretion.’
‘Ilse was yours?’
‘I hoped so. But in those days it was hard to confirm.’ He smiled. ‘If Meier had been black, it would have been easier.’
Declan declined to answer that, moving on.
‘When we spoke, you claimed you had taken the name Karl Schnitter when escaping Berlin in 1989.’
‘That is true.’
‘And that your name was originally Karl Meier.’
‘I never said that,’ Karl frowned, as if confused at the question. ‘I think you must have been confused as to what I said.’
Oh, you bastard.
‘Was it all a lie?’ Declan asked. ‘I’ve known you since I was a kid. How much of that was real?’
‘All of it,’ Karl replied. ‘Yet none of it. I was told by agents of your own government, and also by the American CIA, that when I turned informant against my old superiors, although I would have a blanket amnesty for all crimes I had committed under my real name, to stay known by it would create reprisals. Better to run and hide in a lie.’
‘Convenient answer, when there’s no way to prove the truth.’
Karl nodded.
‘I am sure there are official records of my agreements in many places,’ he smiled. ‘But then again, what is truth?’
‘The truth is that you’re a monster,’ Declan snapped. ‘Sixteen, seventeen bodies, all by your hand. My mum. Nathanial Wing. Karl Meier. Craig Randall. The list goes on.’
‘I know the list,’ Karl replied. ‘I helped your father with it. But all we found was the truth, that these were just suicides, of people who wanted a way out, and who found a death cult that they could follow. The Red Reaper.’
‘I have a witness that says Craig Randall wasn’t alone before he died.’
‘His sister. A child. From a distance, a decade ago,’ Karl nodded. ‘Your father saw her testimony, even though then-DI Freeman never took the statement seriously.’
‘So she’s a liar?’
‘No, Declan. She’s a child.’ Karl leaned back in the chair and seemed to be genuinely enjoying this. ‘Craig Randall was a rapist. Dotty Brunel killed animals for sport, Nathanial Wing a liar and a debtor, and Rolfe Müller a murderer.’
‘Murderer?’
‘Of course,’ Karl nodded. ‘Did he not confess to Wing’s murder? And he tried to hang me also, remember?’
‘So the others were murdered?’
‘I believe they were, by Meier,’ Karl replied, holding up a hand. ‘Yes, I know he is dead and buried, but it was a confusing time. People were riot
ing. There was confusion everywhere, records being burned. If I escaped, then so could he.’
Declan was getting flustered now. He could feel the vibration on his phone; a message. Pulling it out, he looked at the words on the screen.
Your daughter is very sweet when sleeping.
He looked up to Karl who smiled, placed a finger to his lips and pointed to the recorder.
The bastard knew what the message said.
‘Do not make these people into martyrs,’ Karl continued. ‘And do not continue on this Quixotic quest like your father. You have me on my true identity, and I have admitted that. However, that is not cause for arrest, and more importantly at best can only cause me to be extradited home, or given a new identity elsewhere. Do you know the definition of a criminal?’
‘Someone who commits a crime.’
‘And how is that decided? That they did indeed commit that crime?’
‘They’re found guilty.’
‘Exactly,’ Karl clapped his hands together. ‘A criminal is a man who is proven to have committed a crime. Which, dear Declan, has not happened.’
‘Monster,’ Declan whispered. ‘All this time, you’ve lived in plain sight.’
‘Because I have had nothing to hide,’ Karl shrugged, looking up to the camera. ‘Although I am concerned with this continual harassment. Is it anti-German? Something from your time in the army? I heard from Ilse that you called Rolfe a Nazi in the middle of a bar.’
‘I did no such thing!’ Declan rose from the chair now, furious.
Karl smiled wider now. ‘What would your superiors say?’
‘I’ll keep hunting you,’ Declan hissed. ‘Even if they close this down, I’ll find a way to make you pay.’
Karl nodded at this, as if expecting it. ‘And others will suffer for your arrogance,’ he replied. ‘How many more will lose their jobs, following you down this rabbit hole? It’s over, Declan. Allow it to die.’ He smiled.
‘Just like your father did.’
