Stasi Wolf

by David Young

  ‘And no police files on them? No record of violence, petty crime?’

  ‘Nothing. As clean as a whistle. As clean as two whistles, in fact. Of course, that’s as far as the People’s Police are concerned. The Stasi may tell a different story.’

  Müller blew out her cheeks. ‘So you’re saying the Stasi do have something on them?’

  Eschler shook his head. ‘Not at all, Comrade Oberleutnant. Not at all. I’m just pointing out that just because neither of them have a record with the People’s Police, it doesn’t mean they’re not known to the authorities in some respect. However, as far as we’re concerned, they’re clean. No motive for harming their own children that I can see.’

  ‘And no opportunity?’ asked Müller.

  ‘No. They both seem to have watertight alibis, from the gentle questioning that we did conduct. On the night in question, they’d been invited round for dinner by some friends. With all the vigils at the hospital, they were both tired – too tired to cook for themselves, and their friends were helping out. It all seems to check out, but you might want to go over it all again.’

  Müller nodded slowly, and then picked up the photo of Karsten, and frowned. ‘Even if this is a murder, our priority has to lie just as much in trying to find the baby girl, if, as I hope, she’s still alive. Are we searching house-to-house?’

  Eschler gave her an apologetic look. ‘We’ve been told not to, Comrade Oberleutnant. By the Stasi liaison officer, Hauptmann Janowitz, and his boss, Major Malkus. They say it will only create panic.’

  ‘We will have to challenge that, then. An apartment-by-apartment search has to be our best way of finding the girl, and stopping the abductor or killer before he, she or they strike again.’

  Eschler gave a heavy sigh. ‘I’ve tried to argue the case, believe me. I agree with you. But Major Malkus wants our search to use more subtle methods. Have you met Comrade Malkus yet? He was here looking for you last night.’

  She thought back to the previous night’s encounter with the Lada driver. Had that been the Stasi major or his assistant? She had no idea really. And no evidence the car had actually been following her and Schmidt, as opposed to simply driving in the same direction at the same time. She shook her head. ‘No. As yet, I haven’t had the pleasure.’

  Eschler gave her a weak smile. ‘I expect he will catch up with you before too long.’

  Müller nodded and rose from her seat, drawing herself up to her full height. ‘Let’s meet the rest of the team, shall we? I’m keen to know exactly what they have been doing instead of a house-to-house search. How about in half-an-hour’s time, at nine o’clock? I take it they’re all still here, or are they out and about already?’

  Eschler looked down at his watch, frowning. ‘Some may be going to breakfast around that time. We start early, as you can see.’

  Müller breathed in slowly. This whole case felt like trying to push water uphill. ‘Please ask them to delay their breakfasts. I’m sure that won’t be too much trouble, given that it’s a murder inquiry.’

  *

  In the event all the officers who’d been detailed to help the investigation arrived promptly, as requested, on the dot of nine. Müller surveyed the room, mentally calculating the numerical strength of the team. There would be herself and the as-yet-unannounced Kripo Unterleutnant, Schmidt as the sole forensic officer – but with access to help from the People’s Police should he need it – then Eschler as the police captain leading the uniform side. He was assisted by a police sergeant, who Eschler introduced as Wachtmeister Fernbach, and three beat constables, as well as various typists and secretaries.

  Once everyone had quietened down, Müller cleared her throat and began to speak. ‘Thanks very much for agreeing to this meeting, comrades. I’m Oberleutnant Karin Müller, from the Hauptstadt Kripo, and this . . .’ Müller gestured towards Schmidt who was trying to button up in his scientist’s white overall, ‘. . . is Kriminaltechniker Jonas Schmidt, again from Berlin, who’ll be in charge of forensics. We’re also expecting one more Kripo Unterleutnant to join us in the next couple of days. Now I dare say you’re asking yourselves why a Berlin detective has been brought in – why not someone from Halle-Neustadt or at least from Bezirk Halle? I can’t give you the definitive answer for that, but I can assure you that the decision has been taken at a high level. So let’s deal with it, and make the best of it.’

  Müller glanced round the room. She wanted to win the team over, whatever it took. Even if it meant playing to their prejudices against women in leadership roles. She took a breath, smiled, and continued. ‘There will be times when Jonas and I will need to rely on your much greater local knowledge. We already had problems finding our apartment last night. The numbering system of the blocks and the lack of street names . . . Well, it was too much for my brain to cope with, anyway.’ The admission brought a few gentle laughs. ‘Hauptmann Eschler has just given me a full briefing about the case, and I’m sure you’re all completely familiar with it by now. What I want to impress on you is that this is a sensitive inquiry. Halle-Neustadt is a very important city for the Republic. We want people to want to live here, to want to work here. So as well as finding the murderer or murderers as soon as possible, we’ve got to do it in a subtle way. We don’t want to alarm people. I’m sure you understand. That said, I will be asking again about conducting a full apartment-by-apartment search, even though you’ve been prevented from doing that so far. Anyway, Wachtmeister Fernbach, I understand from Hauptmann Eschler that you’re going to explain to me what the team plans to do today.’

  The uniform sergeant – Fernbach – got to his feet and moved in front of a street map on the far wall. Müller and the others gathered round. She could see the plan of the new town had been divided into various colour-coded sections, roughly corresponding to the various Wohnkomplexe: eight residential areas – each comprising several apartment blocks.

  Fernbach, a ruddy-faced man with bushy eyebrows, cleared his throat. ‘If anyone asks us what we’re doing, we’re telling them it’s an operation to secure the city against counter-revolutionary spies. That’s what the Stasi’s asked us to say, anyway.’ The sergeant raised his hirsute brows, clearly indicating his dislike of the subterfuge. ‘The story is that the West is so impressed by what we’ve achieved here in the Neustadt, they want to send spies over to try to copy our architecture and designs. I’m not sure many people believe it, but equally it’s fair to say that news of the disappearance of the babies isn’t really widely known. Medical staff at the hospital face disciplinary action if they talk about it. The trouble is, there are plenty of hiding places in the new town, if the baby girl is even here. And unfortunately, by and large, many babies look identical to each other. From the face, it’s even hard sometimes to tell girls from boys.’

  Müller coughed. ‘I’m sure the mothers will know.’

  ‘Well, yes. You’re right, Comrade Oberleutnant. I was forgetting we had a woman present. It’s harder for us men.’

  Resisting the urge to tear Fernbach off a strip, Müller simply gave a small smile. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘You were saying there are lots of hiding places. Where, exactly?’

  Fernbach started tracing his fingers in straight lines along the map, between the various Wohnkomplexe, and then between the strangely numbered apartment blocks in each numbered residential area. ‘Underground,’ explained Fernbach. ‘All the apartment blocks are heated from this plant in the centre of the city. And then the pipes radiate out to take warm air to each block. There are kilometres and kilometres of underground pipe tunnels. But we’re also looking at waste ground, scrubland surrounding the new town, and along all the various railway lines, in case it’s not just one . . .’ Fernbach’s voice tailed off, gloomily. Müller knew what he’d been about to say. In case it wasn’t just one murder. In case the second twin, Maddelena, was now also dead.

  ‘All right, thank you, Wachtmeister. For today, I’m going to leave you to continue with all that under Hau
ptmann Eschler’s command. Over the next few days, I may want to adjust our priorities. But I want to get fully up to speed today, visiting where Karsten’s body was dumped, and – if necessary – meeting with this Major Malkus to argue the case for a full search of every home in the city, and the surrounding areas.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ said Fernbach in a loud whisper. Loud enough that Müller could hear – quiet enough that he could claim he’d said something else if he was challenged. Müller let it pass. Until she’d fully appraised herself of the dynamics of the team, she wasn’t going to start throwing her weight around.

  The short meeting was clearly over, and Müller raised her eyes at Eschler – indicating he should take over from now on. Müller herself moved to the exhibits table, ignoring the battered red suitcase that Karsten Salzmann’s tiny body had been discovered in, ignoring the photos of the battered boy himself, and instead stared at the photo of Maddelena Salzmann. His twin sister. The fact that this case involved twins – one missing, one murdered – was too stark a reminder of her own past. Her own aborted twins: the painful memories raked up again, just as they had been in the case of the murdered Jugendwerkhof teenager earlier in the year. Maddelena’s innocent baby face stared back at her. The girl was smiling, perhaps at her mother. The smile was like a knife into Müller’s gut – a sharp, visceral reminder that their ability to solve this case, and solve it quickly, was literally a matter of life . . . and death.

  5

  Later that day

  Müller rocked back on her feet as the express roared by, centimetres from where she’d been peering down at the taped-off square of ballast at the trackside, the shape of the mound of stone chips disturbed where the suitcase had landed – at considerable speed. She’d been concentrating so hard on the crime scene, picturing how it all must have happened, that she hadn’t seen the train coming.

  ‘Careful, Oberleutnant,’ said Kriminaltechniker Jonas Schmidt at her side. ‘I did warn you they wouldn’t be stopping the trains for us.’ Müller took a couple of deep breaths, letting her heart rate calm, then smoothed down her windswept hair with her hands. She smiled at the forensic officer. ‘Did you bring the photographs, Jonas?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Comrade Oberleutnant.’

  As Schmidt dug around in his briefcase to retrieve them, Müller looked across at the parallel roadside where the two uniformed Volkspolizei officers who’d accompanied them to the scene were leaning against a marked Wartburg patrol car. After their difficulties navigating the nameless streets the previous evening, Müller and Schmidt had been grateful for the chauffeur service. Although she again had a nagging worry that the job of the two Vopos might be as much one of surveillance as driving them around. But she’d wanted to come here to see the site for herself. She needed to know that Eschler’s conviction that the suitcase had been thrown from the train was well-founded.

  ‘Here you go, Oberleutnant.’ Schmidt passed over a bundle of plastic-wrapped photographs. Müller had seen them before, of course, in her meeting with Eschler. But this was the way she liked to work. To try to get a visual feel for the scene. She held up the photo of the unopened case across part of her field of vision, lining it up against the view of the railway track, imagining how the body had got there. And then looked again at the tragic picture of little Karsten’s battered body.

  Then she returned the photos to Schmidt, and he placed them back in his briefcase. What had they told her? Very little. It was just a ritual she liked to perform. After all, this wasn’t the location of the actual murder – if indeed that’s what this is. The autopsy wasn’t until the morning. She wasn’t prepared to jump to any conclusions.

  Müller noticed Schmidt had moved away and was searching the trackside in the direction of Halle-Neustadt town centre. What was he up to? Then she glanced back at the Vopo officers at the roadside. Another car, this time unmarked, had drawn up, and both policemen were leaning down talking to the occupants through the open front windows. The new arrivals looked official. Wearing suits. She had a good idea who they might be.

  Schmidt ambled back towards her, carrying something in an evidence bag. Two somethings. A disposable lighter and a cigarette butt. The lighter was interesting, thought Müller. Usually only carried by Westerners, or those who had access to Intershops.

  ‘I shouldn’t think they’re connected,’ he said. ‘But we might as well have a look. The suitcase, although it was heavier, would have travelled further. That’s why I was looking back along the track towards Ha-Neu.’ Schmidt’s use of the nickname for the new town threw Müller for a second. It sounded exactly the same as the German pronunciation of the Vietnamese capital, Hanoi. There were plenty of Vietnamese guest workers in the Republic. No doubt a few of them had invented jokes around it.

  ‘That doesn’t make sense, Jonas, does it? Wouldn’t the heavier object fall to the ground more quickly?’

  ‘It’s hard to explain, Oberleutnant, and not really an exact science. In a vacuum, heavy and light objects fall to the ground at the same rate. However the suitcase – and the lighter and butt, if indeed they’re from that train, which I expect they aren’t – would initially be travelling at the same speed as the train. But the suitcase, being heavier, is less affected by air resistance – so would travel further.’

  ‘Hmm,’ murmured Müller, who didn’t feel much clearer on the matter than she had before Schmidt’s explanation. ‘Anyway, I think we’re done here. I just wanted to get a feel for where the body was dumped, really. I don’t suppose we’re going to learn very much that the local Kripo don’t already know.’

  Schmidt nodded, and then the two officers started to pick their way carefully down the embankment to the waiting police car. As they drew closer, the two suited men from the unmarked car alongside got out, and walked towards them.

  ‘Good morning, Comrade Oberleutnant,’ said the first man, extending his hand towards Müller, and holding her gaze in a vaguely challenging way. ‘We were hoping to catch up with you in the People’s Police office in Ha-Neu, but they said you’d come out here. I’m Major Uwe Malkus, and this is Hauptmann Horst Janowitz. We’re from the Ministry for State Security office in Halle-Neustadt. We just wanted to let you know we’re here, and available to offer you any assistance, should you require it.’

  As Müller and Schmidt shook hands with the two men in turn, the high summer sun emerged from behind a rare cloud, illuminating the older man. Müller found she couldn’t tear her eyes from his. She was staring, and then she realised why. The sun’s glare reflected in his irises – irises that were an unusual yellowy-brown colour. They had a depth to them that almost seemed to have a magnetic pull, sucking her in.

  She dropped her gaze, like an animal acknowledging its subservience to a dominant rival before any blows had been struck. Annoyed at herself she raised her eyes again and answered, as firmly as she dared. ‘I think we’ll be fine with the help of the local People’s Police and Kripo, Comrade Major, but many thanks for your offer.’

  Malkus gave a small nod and smile, but Müller was conscious that Janowitz alongside him was unsmiling and still staring fixedly at her, as his boss had been a moment before. ‘Nevertheless,’ said Malkus, ‘there are peculiar sensitivities to this case.’ Müller thought about challenging him about what these ‘peculiar sensitivities’ actually were. Eschler had given an outline, but it still didn’t really add up. However, now perhaps wasn’t the most opportune time. After a short pause, Malkus continued. ‘Ha-Neu is an important project for the Republic, as I’m sure you realise. So I’d be grateful if you’d do me the honour of dropping by the Ministry for State Security office later today so that we can brief you fully.’ Malkus handed her his business card. ‘Would three o’clock be convenient?’

  Müller paused before answering, but knew she had no choice. ‘Of course, Comrade Major.’

  ‘Good, good,’ nodded the Stasi officer. ‘We’ll see you then.’ He glanced slightly disapprovingly at Schmidt, who’d unpacked a sa
ndwich and was chewing on a piece so large his mouth was half open, the contents on show a bit like clothes in one of the latest front-loading washing machines. ‘Alone, please, Comrade Oberleutnant. I’m sure Comrade Schmidt here will be wanting to get on with his forensic work – once he’s finished his early lunch.’

  6

  Ten years before: 1965

  Halle

  Hansi is so kind to me. He knows this is a difficult time and that I’m a little frightened about the pregnancy, but he’s always reassuring, giving me shoulder massages, making me cups of coffee, visiting the cake counter in the Kaufhalle to bring me my favourite apple mousse cake. I shouldn’t have so much of it, of course, but Hansi says it’s all right. ‘After all, you’re eating for two now, Franziska,’ he’ll say, while rubbing my tummy.

  A couple of weeks ago, I told him I was worried that I couldn’t feel the baby kicking. The other mothers at the antenatal class are always talking about this. ‘Ooh, I feel a little kick there,’ they’ll say. ‘I think this one’s going to be a footballer when he grows up.’ I do worry when I don’t feel anything. But Hansi took me for a check-up with his doctor friend and he says the doctor told him there was nothing to worry about. That was such a relief. Although I know I am pregnant, I knew as soon as my strawberry weeks stopped. That’s such a lovely name for it, isn’t it? It’s always made me laugh, even though my first strawberry weeks were during . . . No! I’m not going to think about that. Hansi says it’s bad for me, remembering those days.