Stasi 77

by David Young

  Verbier now appeared to be kneeling down in front of the structure, but Jäger and Tilsner were moving off, back towards Jäger’s Volvo. Müller had to make sure she wasn’t spotted. Crouching down below the level of the hedge, she ran back towards the Lada. She lowered herself down beside the car, indicating with a raised finger to her lips that the apple-picking woman should remain quiet and not give her away. The woman gave a small nod of complicity, before turning back to her task of collecting more fruit.

  The Volvo passed, seemingly without spotting Müller. She raised herself but then saw that Verbier, too, was returning to his car. Once again she crouched down, once again she made a silent plea to her fruit-picking accomplice. This time the woman laughed and said: ‘Don’t worry. I won’t give you away.’

  Once the Citroën, too, was past her and on its way back down the lane, she thanked the woman, and began to climb back into the Lada.

  She quickly swung the car round, hoping at first to keep following the Frenchman. But by the time she turned the corner in the lane and could see straight down to the main road, the car was out of sight. And she didn’t know which way he had gone.

  In any case, she now had important evidence. The fingerprints and the photographs. She needed to get back to the Hauptstadt and set Schmidt to work.

  *

  Once she was back in Berlin, she sought Reiniger in his office. The man might be pompous and dull and always tried to play by the rules. But as far as Müller knew, he was also trustworthy, and the number of people she could trust was dwindling quickly.

  ‘Is this room secure, Comrade Oberst?’ she asked him.

  ‘What do you mean, is it secure?’

  ‘If I have a conversation with you here, can I be certain it’s not being eavesdropped.’

  Reiniger sighed. ‘If we can’t have a private conversation in my office, then the world has arrived at a pretty messy place.’

  ‘I would rather be certain,’ said Müller.

  ‘All right,’ said Reiniger, putting on his jacket. ‘Let’s go for a walk around Alexanderplatz. There’s usually safety in numbers.’

  *

  After they’d bought a couple of coffees, and found a quiet corner, they sat down. Müller stared Reiniger hard in the eyes.

  ‘You’ve always looked after me, Comrade Oberst, and I am very appreciative of that.’

  ‘Think nothing of it, Karin. As you say, it’s about trust. You are an honest detective. I want to try to promote your career, although things haven’t been going so well recently. But I don’t think that’s entirely your fault.’

  ‘What I’m about to tell you may make you angry.’

  ‘Go on. I might as well hear it.’

  Müller gave a long sigh. She didn’t want to turn into a snitch. But she needed some sort of protection, some sort of help. Reiniger was best placed to provide it.

  ‘You know the murder cases that I’ve been removed from.’

  Reiniger glared at her. ‘I hope you haven’t been interfering again. There’s only so much I can do to protect you if you defy orders.’

  ‘Just hear me out, Comrade Oberst, please.’

  Reiniger gave a small nod.

  ‘What if I told you I had photographic evidence of two Stasi officers meeting the murder suspect in those cases, evidence of them threatening and assaulting him, but not arresting him?’

  ‘Well, that would be very odd indeed – and very dangerous for them, and you. The last I knew, there wasn’t an actual suspect – more a nebulous counter-revolutionary group that are considered to be responsible.’

  ‘We know that’s a lie. Unfortunately we don’t know why.’

  ‘Careful, Karin. And how – precisely – can you, an officer who isn’t even on the case, know that that theory is even erroneous, let alone – as you call it – a lie? That’s a very serious charge.’

  ‘I have fingerprint evidence.’

  Reiniger. ‘Really? And how did you acquire that, given you are off the case? And why didn’t you hand over this evidence to the Ministry of State Security, given they are now in charge of it?’

  ‘You know very well why.’

  Reiniger gave a long, drawn out sigh before pausing dramatically. Müller could hear the rapid drumming of her pulse in her ears, filling the silence. ‘Bring me the fingerprint evidence. Show me the photographs. Then we will see. But I don’t fully understand what you want me to do.’

  ‘I need some help. I can’t do this alone.’

  ‘But you have a deputy. You have a chief forensic scientist at your disposal.’

  ‘The forensic scientist, yes. A deputy that I trust? I’m afraid I don’t have that at the moment, Comrade Oberst. I think you can probably guess why.’

  Reiniger nodded slowly. ‘As I say, bring me the evidence. Make sure that it is absolutely watertight and cannot be challenged. Then we will see.’

  *

  Müller sought out Schmidt. She found the Kriminaltechniker poring over some slides in the lab, evidently working on something for someone else. That would have to wait.

  She took him to a quiet corner. ‘Where can we talk with reasonable secrecy, Jonas?’

  ‘I always think the dark room is a good place, Comrade Major.’

  ‘Good idea. I have some film evidence I need developing too. In secret. In fact, I need to be there while you do it.’

  They moved to the dark room. Schmidt turned on the red safelight – illuminating himself in such a way that it almost looked like he was glowing in the embers of a fire. It made Müller shiver; it was too close to what she imagined the poor souls in that awful barn near Gardelegen must have looked like. Then she had a sudden thought – was that strange wall, where Verbier had been kneeling down, the remains of the barn?

  She voiced the thought to Schmidt. ‘Just before we start, Jonas, tell me that the exact location of that barn where the massacre took place?’

  ‘Just to the north-west of Gardelegen, a couple of kilometres away. The Isenschnibbe estate. Hang on a minute, I can show you what it looked like.’ He turned the main lighting on, lifting the red glow that had so unnerved Müller, and then opened his briefcase. ‘Here’s a pamph—’

  Before he finished his sentence, Müller grabbed it from his hand. There was a photograph of some sort of memorial on the cover. It was where she had been today – where she’d seen the strange truncated wall. Where Verbier had knelt, presumably to pay his respects to those who hadn’t survived. Where Jäger and Tilsner had disturbed him, threatened him, assaulted him. Desecrating that hallowed space. In an instant, her vision of the whole case flipped. Was Verbier really the murderer here? Had all of those guilty of such a barbaric atrocity been punished? Or had he found out that some had secured amnesties in questionable circumstances? Müller would never believe in taking an eye for an eye, a life for a life – but if this was the case, was he merely, in his own warped way, trying to right a wrong? Which further begged the question, if this was the case, what were Jäger and Tilsner doing? Simply trying to protect themselves? She tried to swallow back the nausea. Jäger was capable of anything. But Tilsner?

  ‘Are you all right, Comrade Major?’

  ‘Yes, yes, Jonas. Sorry. It’s just such an awful period in Germany’s history. Anyway, thank you. While the lights are on, before we get on to the photographs I’ve taken, I’ve got this.’ She handed the sealed evidence bag to Schmidt. ‘That wrapper is from a bouquet of flowers. It should have four sets of fingerprints on it. Firstly, the flower seller’s. Secondly, my own. Thirdly, a hotel receptionist’s. But it’s the fourth set of prints I’m interested in. Even after that I handled the bouquet again – so my prints may obscure that fourth set.’

  ‘If what you say is the case, we should still be able to get a clear print. As long as the flower vendor used a new wrapper that hadn’t been handled previously.’

  ‘Ah, I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Even in that scenario, we may get something. Good work.
And clever too. I’d never have thought about handing someone flowers to get their prints. But it’s the sort of gift that isn’t easy to refuse.’

  Müller decided to accept the praise rather than reveal it had been a happy accident. Sometimes it was useful for your subordinates to believe you were wiser than was actually the case.

  ‘Did we get prints from the Ronnebach murder, and the Höfler killing?’

  ‘Yes we retrieved some. I collected copies in person from my opposite number in Karl-Marx-Stadt, and got the forensic team in Leinefelde to send me a set. Of course, we don’t know if any of them relate to the suspected killer.’

  ‘No. Perhaps it’s a long shot. But I’m convinced the fourth set of prints on the bouquet wrapper do belong to the murd . . .’ She stopped herself mid-sentence. Müller realised she was no longer prepared to label Verbier that way. She knew too much now. ‘I’m convinced they are the prints of our suspect.’

  ‘You actually met him?’ asked Schmidt, a look of awe across his face.

  Müller nodded. ‘But I wasn’t in a position to arrest him. I was under cover. I had no back up, and – until we do find matching prints – no real evidence.’ She pointed at the bag containing the wrapper. ‘That is our evidence. You need to make sure there are no mistakes, Jonas. And this must remain strictly between you and me. The same goes for the photographs when we develop them. I went out on a limb to support you. For now, I’ve overlooked things. For now.’

  ‘I understand, Comrade Major,’ said Schmidt, shame-faced. ‘I assure you, you can rely on me. I won’t let you down again.’

  ‘I hope so, Jonas. I won’t give you a third chance. Grab this one while you can. If anyone from the Stasi approaches you, if anyone approaches you, including Reiniger, you tell them nothing. The only person you talk to is me. The fingerprint analysis must be done in secret. The photos we’re about to develop must be kept secret. In a moment, you’ll see why.’

  Müller handed him her camera, and Schmidt once again turned the lighting to filtered, red safe-mode.

  Schmidt got his developing trays and solutions ready.

  ‘Do you know if you used Orthochromatic or Panchromatic film?’

  ‘I’ve absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Jonas.’

  ‘In which case, I’d better use a developing bag to be on the safe side. That will keep the light out.’

  After several minutes of adding various chemicals into the developing drum, and Müller starting to get a headache from all the smells, Schmidt washed off the film and hung it up to dry. From these small negatives, Müller didn’t expect him to be able to see who the subjects were – she’d been at too great a distance.

  The forensic scientist confirmed as much. ‘If you’re hoping to get a clear view of the faces of the people in these, you might be disappointed. I think you were too far away. We can try enlarging them when we print them off, of course, but unless you’ve got a very steady hand or it was very strong light, there’s no guarantee. You needed a camera with a longer lens. But I can see where it is taken. I can see the relevance.’

  That might be the case, but if the enlargement did work, then the subjects of Müller’s camera work were likely to come as a big shock to him.

  *

  Once Schmidt had done the enlarged prints, he started rocking the developing bath from side to side. The faces were not totally clear, but clear enough.

  ‘Good grief!’

  ‘Keep your voice down, Jonas. You can see why I’m insisting on absolute confidentiality.’ In the black and white photograph, Tilsner’s face was reasonably clear, and straight on to the camera. The armlock he had Verbier in was obvious too. Jäger’s face was in profile, but still instantly recognisable. There would be no way they could deny it.

  ‘What’s going on here, Comrade Major? I thought Hauptmann Tilsner worked for us? And – if you don’t mind me asking – if Comrades Jäger and Tilsner were on official business, why were you spying on them. Isn’t that putting yourself at risk?’

  Suddenly, Müller was less sure of herself. That was something she hadn’t considered. The Stasi had taken over the case. Perhaps they were on official business. After all, it was no secret that Tilsner helped the Stasi. He’d virtually admitted as much. Jäger had admitted as much, at the end of the graveyard girl case. But then she remembered about Harald Scholz – Jäger’s real name, his childhood name. She remembered that Scholz – so Lehmann said, and she had no reason to doubt him – had been one of the Hitler Youth guards that had gone to the barn. And now, there was a photograph of him back there, if Müller was correct in her assumption of where Verbier had been on the night of 13 April 1945, jabbing his finger in the chest of one of the very few survivors. There was no way this was official business. No way at all.

  50

  Continuation of 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 1515 hours

  Wagner: Do you feel able to carry on, Günther, now you’ve had a break?

  Palitzsch: Yes. Sorry.

  Wagner: There’s no need to apologise. It’s important that we get this correct and that your account is as full, as truthful and as accurate as possible. Now, you began to tell me about the initial events at the barn. But how long did you stay there? And what else did you witness?

  Palitzsch: There were more shootings. The north-west door was blasted open by a hand-grenade exploding inside. Grenades were being thrown in all the time. I don’t know how anyone survived, really.

  (PALITZCH PAUSES AND HOLDS HIS HEAD IN HIS HANDS)

  Wagner: Take your time. There’s no rush.

  Palitzsch: I did see one prisoner escape, though. I think he was Polish. He burst out of the barn, and was grabbed by a dog in the dark. Guards were shooting towards him, but he must have known some German. He told people to stop shooting. In the confusion, it sounded like an order from a superior. He managed to escape across the fields. I heard he managed to hide in another barn until the Americans came. But some of the others who escaped weren’t so lucky, and the paratroopers went after them with grenades.

  Wagner: How long did you stay at the barn?

  Palitzsch: Until about 10 p.m. I think. But then we were ordered back in the early hours to clear up everything.

  Wagner: What did that involve?

  Palitzsch: Various groups had been mobilised to take part. The Hitler Youth, in other words us, about 150 or so from the Volkssturm – the home guard – then another thirty or so from the fire brigade and emergency service. They were digging trenches to bury the dead, that sort of thing. But some of them refused. They couldn’t stand all the shooting, the moans of the wounded. Some of them just left – defying their orders.

  Wagner: When did you see the French prisoner?

  Palitzsch: There was an incident involving a Russian. He came walking, naked, out of the barn. An Unteroffizier made him kneel by one of the trenches and shot him in the neck. While that was happening, I saw this other prisoner come towards the door. I was worried the Unteroffizier would get him too. We just sort of locked eyes with each other.

  (PALITZSCH BECOMES UPSET AND ASKS FOR ANOTHER BREAK – INTERVIEW SUSPENDED FOR THE DAY)

  51

  August 1977

  Keibelstrasse People’s Police HQ, East Berlin

  Heavy rapping on the locked dark room door interrupted Müller and Schmidt just as they were finishing up.

  ‘Quick. Give me the first set of prints, Jonas.’ Müller jammed them in her briefcase. ‘Is there anywhere completely safe for you to put the evidence bag and the negatives?’

  Schmidt nodded, and had already pre-empted her. ‘I use this wall safe for anything sensitive. Only I know the code.’

  More banging on the door. Then muffled shouts. ‘Karin, Jonas. This is urgent. Can you let me in, please?’ It was Reiniger.

  Müller waited until Schmidt had closed the safe, and set the co
mbination lock, before she let Reiniger in.

  He immediately handed her a piece of paper. ‘Karin, you need to ring this number urgently. It’s not good news, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What is it?’ shouted Müller as she rushed to a phone.

  ‘I don’t want to discuss it in an open office. But once you’ve spoken to them, if you need any help, be sure to let me know. And I wouldn’t do it here. Go to the privacy of your own office.’

  *

  Müller found herself hyperventilating as she sat down in her office, about to make the call. The piece of paper with the number on quivered in her hand. She tried to control her breathing. It had to be something serious and important for Reiniger to interrupt them.

  She dialled the number, her hand still trembling.

  ‘Major Karin Müller of the People’s Police here. I was told you wanted to speak to me.’

  ‘Ah yes, Comrade Major Müller. I’m the head of children’s services for the Friedrichshain district. It’s concerning your children.’

  Müller’s heart hammered in her chest. ‘There’s nothing wrong, is there? They’re all right?’

  ‘They are well but they are now in our care.’

  Müller felt her world crash down around her in an instant. Her whole body – her very insides – felt frozen to the core. She found herself struggling for breath. In her selfishness, by letting herself get too absorbed in her work, she had lost the most precious gifts she’d ever been given. The children she’d longed for, and that she’d been told, time and time again, she would never be able to have. Their birth had been a miracle – and she was in danger of tossing it away. She wasn’t going to let that happen.

  ‘What do you mean “in your care”? They’re well looked after – they have a full-time carer.’

  ‘Your grandmother, yes. You have a full-time job.’

  What was happening here? It seemed like a deliberate attack on her and her family. ‘Yes, but I look after them too.’

  ‘Well, I am afraid your grandmother has been arrested.’

  Müller stifled a gasp. She had to try to regain control of the situation – she had to fight back. ‘Arrested? That’s ridiculous. She’s a pensioner.’