Stasi 77

by David Young

  Sabine Unterbrink turned the heads of the mostly male drinkers when she finally turned up, around five minutes late. She was an attractive young woman, little more than a girl really, thought Müller. There was no doubt that if Tilsner had been here, he would have been trying to chat her up.

  She saw Müller in the corner seat and sat down next to her. Again, she smelt the same waft of perfume. Müller was trying to place it – then suddenly she did. When she’d made the brief foray into West Berlin in the middle of the graveyard girl case more than two years earlier, she’d had to shop for a list of items at Jäger’s behest. She had indulged herself by trying a few perfume sprays on the back of her hand. This was one of them. She was sure.

  ‘Chanel Number 5,’ said Sabine.

  Müller looked startled.

  ‘I could see you sniffing the air outside the apartment door when we were talking, and then again just now. My grandmother’s in the West. She sent it as a present.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ laughed Müller. ‘I went on assignment to West Berlin a couple of years ago. I tried a tester then.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘I couldn’t afford to buy any, though.’

  ‘I didn’t think they allowed police officers from the East over to the West. I thought it was only pensioners.’

  ‘It is, usually. As I say, it was a special assignment. Anyway, we’re not here to talk perfume. What was it you wanted to tell me?’

  Sabine cocked her head, considering the question for a moment. ‘I will tell you as much as I know – which probably isn’t everything you want or need to know. But first, I want you to answer a question.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You’re not really investigating the accident, are you?’

  Müller frowned. She wondered how much she could tell this young woman, who she barely knew. She might just be genuinely curious – it was her father who had been killed, after all. She might something else entirely – an agent for the Ministry for State Security. But she was the one who’d volunteered information in the first place, and who had asked for the meeting. Sometimes you had to take things on trust – whatever the risks.

  Müller looked around, then lowered her voice so that only Sabine would be able to hear. ‘I am investigating the accident – but I’m not one of the official investigators, if that makes any sense. I’d be very grateful if you’d keep that information to yourself.’

  Sabine nodded, and grinned. ‘Of course. So who do you work for – is it really the police, or is it the Stasi?’ There was a breathless excitement to the question – almost as though this was all a game to the young woman.

  Instead of answering, Müller got out her Kripo ID, the new one with her rank, Major, and the fact that she was the head of the Serious Crimes Department.

  The schoolgirlish grin was wiped from Sabine’s face. ‘So there is something more to this. It wasn’t an accident, was it?’

  Müller sighed. ‘It’s me who’s asking the questions, Sabine. Now tell me about this thing from your father’s past.’

  ‘Sorry, yes, of course. There isn’t much, I’m afraid, but I didn’t want any chance of my mother overhearing.’ Müller nodded, encouraging her to continue. ‘About a week before my father was killed, I was round their apartment while my mother was out. I took a phone message from someone calling himself Lothar Schneider.’

  Müller tried to hide the excitement from her face, but she could see that Sabine realised the name was significant.

  ‘What was the message?’

  ‘Well, first he asked if he could speak to my father. I explained he was at work, and even gave him his extension at the car factory. But he didn’t seem to want to ring Vati at work.’ For the first time, Müller noticed Sabine’s eyes glistening. She’d shown no signs of grief so far; clearly, remembering this felt significant to her.

  ‘Then I remember his voice became sort of strange. It sounded like he was excited, or frightened or something. He was speaking quite quickly. I was having to get him to repeat things. He wanted my father to meet him. He gave me an exact time, and even some grid coordinates.’

  ‘Grid coordinates?’ Müller began to get alarmed. This sounded exactly like the message to her at Keibelstrasse. ‘Can you remember what they were?’

  ‘I can do better than that,’ said Sabine, reaching into her handbag. ‘I made a copy for myself as well as for my father.’

  ‘Why on earth did you do that?’

  ‘I could tell it was something strange. Something dangerous.’ A single tear had started to fall from Sabine’s eye. Müller offered the girl her handkerchief, after she’d drawn a piece of paper from the handbag.

  ‘Here you are,’ she sniffed.

  Müller opened the folded piece of paper. She was almost certain she knew what the coordinates would be, and she was correct.

  52°34’26.3”N 11°20’55.3”E

  It was the exact spot in the woods near Estedt where she had been summoned to. But it was the date and time which made her grip the paper so hard, she found her knuckles turning white.

  Saturday 29 July at 1 p.m.

  It wasn’t just the exact place. It was the very time that Müller and Tilsner had heard the scream in the woods, then found the blood in the clearing, and seen the 4x4 racing away, presumably with Lothar Schneider inside.

  On his way to his death.

  33

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Sabine.

  ‘Yes, yes. Of course.’ Müller tried to gather herself. ‘This is very useful. Can I keep this piece of paper?’

  ‘By all means.’

  Some of the possibilities ran round inside Müller’s head. Had Schneider been intending to reveal what this was all about, getting Unterbrink to provide corroboration? Or – as Tilsner had alleged might be the case – had Schneider been trying to lure both Müller herself, as well as Unterbrink, to their deaths – but instead had met his own? And was his death linked to this message? Had the phone been tapped, and the message intercepted by the Stasi? Or – as Müller had already wondered – was the young woman sitting next to her a Stasi agent, currently playing Müller to see exactly what she knew? Whatever the truth, for the moment Sabine still seemed her best source of information.

  Finally, Müller framed another question. ‘How did your father react when he got the note?’

  ‘His face went white as a sheet. Like someone had walked over his grave.’ Müller knew what she meant – she remembered seeing the exact same look on Tilsner’s face at the start of this mystery, something her deputy had tried to explain away as ‘girlfriend troubles’. ‘Vati tore the note up, but as he did so I noticed that his fingers were trembling. He saw that I noticed. When he looked at me, his eyes weren’t just full of fear – there was an awful sadness there. As though he knew something terrible was about to happen.’

  Müller sighed, and took a sip of her beer.

  ‘I couldn’t resist checking on a map where the grid reference was,’ continued Sabine, ‘and then it made some sense to me. You know where it is, don’t you? You were asking about the same place until my mother refused to answer any more questions.’

  ‘Yes. I know where it is. I still don’t understand the full significance.’

  Sabine stretched her arms above her head. ‘Even before he received that contact from this Schneider person, I could tell Vati seemed troubled.’

  Müller frowned. ‘In what way?’

  ‘He started letting himself go. Women notice those things more, I suppose. Forgetting or not bothering to put on deodorant, not cutting his fingernails or toenails, not washing his hair, that sort of thing. In some ways, when I heard about this accident – though I don’t believe it was an accident, and I suspect you know full well it wasn’t – I wasn’t entirely surprised, because his mind was elsewhere. In those circumstances it’s easy enough to make a mistake.’

  ‘It wasn’t a mistake,’ said Müller.

  ‘Can you tell me what really happened?’

  ‘I don’t know the ful
l story, Sabine. And what I do know, I’m not at liberty to tell you at present. What I promise you is once my investigation is complete, I will give you the full facts – I owe you that for all the help you’re giving me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the woman, her voice catching with emotion. ‘There is some more. As I say, I could tell my father was troubled. I thought perhaps he – or my mother – had been having an affair. I’ve always felt closer to Vati, so I asked him.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He told me he’d been involved in something awful during the war, where he used to live. He claimed that he hadn’t instigated anything himself, and that he was simply following orders – and indeed tried to resist those orders, and help the victims. I asked him outright: “Were you a Nazi?” ’

  Things were starting to become clearer to Müller. She felt her stomach tingling – was that what this was all about?

  ‘And was he?’ she asked.

  ‘He didn’t answer directly at first. He simply said: “You didn’t live through those times, Sabine. Almost everyone who did had some sort of stain on their character.” He said he was little more than a boy when Hitler came to power. It soon became all but compulsory to join the Hitler Youth movement – my father claimed you couldn’t avoid it. By the end of the war, he was still in his early twenties. He told me: “Terrible things happened, things I can’t forget, but at the time we believed we were doing what we did for the best. Even if our own eyes told us differently.” ’

  Sabine paused, wiping her eyes.

  ‘So you believe your father was involved in something terrible? Involving the Nazis?’

  She nodded sadly.

  ‘But you don’t know what it was?’

  She shook her head. ‘That was pretty much all he would say. I did manage to find out one more thing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My father said that at some point – in order to live on safely in the Republic – he had to start again elsewhere.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He constructed a new life here in Eisenach, at the car factory. To hide his past during the war in . . .’

  Sabine had paused, as though she herself was unable to contemplate what had gone on. What her now dead father may have been responsible for.

  But Müller could complete the sentence for her. ‘In Gardelegen. What he’d been responsible for in Gardelegen.’

  Sabine held her head in her hands, as the tears fell, a transformation from the earlier meeting at the family apartment when she’d eagerly offered to tell Müller more.

  They were tears of shame, Müller assumed, shed on behalf of her murdered father.

  *

  Müller had intended to stay the night in Eisenach, but she knew she couldn’t do that now. She had to piece this puzzle together – to solve the murders of those who’d been killed so far, and to catch the killer before he struck again.

  So she drove north, some 250 kilometres. As fast as the Lada would travel, without endangering herself or breaking the law. It would take her more than four hours, even if she didn’t stop for a break. But she had to get there. She had to know.

  *

  It was after midnight by the time she reached the edge of the town, and it took another five minutes to reach number 73, Stendaler Strasse. She’d been checking her rear-view mirror Every few minutes, expecting at some point to see someone from the Stasi tailing her. So far, they didn’t seem to be. After parking the car, she rang the entry phone for Apartment 18. There was no answer. She tried again, and again. Eventually, a woman’s sleepy voice answered. ‘Who is it? It’s after midnight. You’ll wake the whole neighbourhood.’

  ‘It’s the Kriminalpolizei, Frau Schneider. We need to talk to you urgently.’

  *

  Frau Liselotte Schneider had her nightgown wrapped tightly around her. She seemed almost to shrink in on herself, illuminated by a single table lamp so that her thin face was shadowed in a sinister way. She didn’t offer Müller coffee – no doubt hoping she could get her out of the door as soon as possible.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you and rake up bad memories, Frau Schneider.’

  ‘It’s all right. I’ve got some preparation to do, but otherwise it’s the summer holidays. What did you say your name was again?’

  ‘Karin Müller. Major Karin Müller of the Serious Crimes Department of the Kriminalpolizei in Berlin.’

  The woman frowned. ‘Ah. I think you were the one Lothar . . .’ She broke off and choked back a sob. ‘Weren’t you the one Lothar wanted to meet?’

  ‘He did try to set up a meeting with me, yes.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘On the day he was killed, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You didn’t tell anyone about the meeting, did you? Could that be why he was killed?’ The woman got to her feet, and had moved across to a writing bureau. She switched on a desk lamp, and then began rummaging around without saying what she was looking for.

  ‘I didn’t, no. The only people who knew, as far as I’m aware, were myself and my deputy.’ As she said the words, it felt like her blood seemed to freeze in her veins. Tilsner. Had he betrayed Schneider to the Stasi? But then she remembered – she hadn’t actually given him the coordinates or details until they reached Estedt.

  ‘Anyway, perhaps he had some sort of premonition about it. Perhaps he knew he would never get to talk to you in person.’ She handed Müller an envelope with her name on it. ‘He entrusted me with this, to give to you – and only you – if anything should happen to him. I put it away in the drawer. I’m sorry, I should have tried to contact you to give you it before now. But the Ministry for State Security insisted I should talk to no one but them.’ The woman gave a weak smile. ‘They also told me to contact them if you should ever come round here asking questions. But I think I’ll forget about that part.’

  Müller mouthed a ‘thank you’ to the woman. She recognised Schneider’s handwriting from the note he’d sent her – the one with the coordinates for his chosen meeting point in the wood to the west of Estedt. The one where he met his death.

  She was almost scared to open the envelope. Finally, she breathed in deeply, and tore it open.

  Dear Major Müller,

  If you are reading this, it almost certainly means that our intended rendezvous did not take place and that I have been arrested.

  One other person has tried to thrust all this out into the open before. His name is Ernst Lehmann. If I have not been able to speak to you, I suggest you go to talk to him, if you can reach him. As far as I know, he is in the Stasi jail in Potsdam. But my information may be incorrect.

  With friendly greetings,

  Herr Lothar Schneider

  Frau Schneider was trying to peer over her shoulder. But Müller’s mind was racing. She needed to speak to this Ernst Lehmann – and quickly. Further questioning of Schneider’s widow would have to wait.

  Somehow she had to get access to this Stasi prison in Potsdam.

  34

  Transcribed and translated interview with Hitler Youth member Günther Palitzsch, conducted by Captain Arthur T. Wagner of the Ninth Army War Crimes Branch on 25 April 1945, at 1100 hours

  Wagner: Now, Günther, I want to turn our attention to the events of the 12th of April. I believe you were at that time working on the Isenschnibbe estate, near Gardelegen.

  Palitzsch: That’s correct. I was a groom.

  Wagner: You looked after the horses on the estate. Was that all you did?

  Palitzsch: I was a member of the Hitler Youth movement too.

  Wagner: Describe the atmosphere for us on that day. How did it feel? Were you frightened? Afraid of what would happen after the town surrendered?

  Palitzsch: Yes, but it wasn’t only that. We were afraid of the prisoners too – the Zebras. We’d heard what had happened at the village of Kakerbeck. That’s about fifteen kilometres north of Gardelegen. There were various stories of the prisoners escaping, running amok, raping women and children and
looting homes. Everyone was afraid that would happen here, in Gardelegen, too. Everyone was scared that as soon as the Americans arrived, the prisoners would be set free, and they would take their revenge on us. The SS and the Fallschirmjäger were saying there needed to be a solution. My boss was throwing a party for all the departing soldiers that evening.

  Wagner: Your ‘boss’ being?

  Palitzsch: Frau Bloch von Blochwitz. She’s the owner of the estate. The lady of the manor. She’s getting on a bit. Must be in her eighties, I think. I hope you’re going to interview her too. She’s got a lot to answer for.

  Wagner: I’m sure we will. But that’s not your concern. You say there was going to be a party?

  Palitzsch: There was a party. You’d have thought the troops would be out fighting on the front line. But lots of them were at Isenschnibbe. I was one of the waiters for the evening so I saw what went on.

  Wagner: I thought you were a groom?

  Palitzsch: I am. I was. Well, I don’t know what will happen now. But whenever her ladyship held events, I had to help out as one of the waiting staff. So I saw everything that went on. I heard everything that went on. I always say you should keep quiet and listen. You can learn a lot that way. Anyway, there was lots of drinking going on. I felt a few of them shouldn’t have any more, and I told her ladyship that. Some of them were blind drunk. I suppose they knew defeat was inevitable. They were drinking away their sorrows.

  Wagner: And you say these were SS and Fallschirmjäger officers?

  Palitzsch: Mainly. The ones I recognised, yes. But I think there were also the SA, Wehrmacht people, and local leaders of the Nazi Party. It was hard to tell, though, because many of them were already in civilian clothes. The clothes they hoped to flee to safety in. Then after a couple of hours the Kreisleiter of Gardelegen, Gerhard Thiele, bursts into the sitting room. He’s very agitated, and I don’t think best pleased that so many of the officers are drunk. He says: ‘Here I am with a thousand criminals on my hands. The Yankees are just down the road. They’ll be here in a couple of days. What on earth can I do?’