by Alex Cugia
“Well, maybe they'll buy up stuff, you know, houses, companies, factories …”
“Mills! The mill!” She sat up and smacked a fist into one palm. “Mills, factories, all those things are cheap now but won’t stay cheap. That’s it! Anyone buying now will make a killing. Maybe that's what the money was really for. Doesn’t explain Henkel’s death, though. He was an ambitious apparatchik, basically, and I don't suppose he had that much integrity. He wouldn't shop anyone if he found something out, he'd cut himself in if he could. Hmm. Maybe your blackmail idea has something in it.”
She smiled at him, snuggled down under the huge meringue of an eiderdown, then turned on her side, her back against his chest. With the back of his fingers he idly stroked her hair, sometimes lifting strands free and letting them trail through his fingers. Half asleep, she murmured and settled closer obliging him to move his hips away so as not to press his arousal against her.
Now more awake Thomas slid his lower arm through the gap by her shoulder, settling her neck in his elbow, then brought his forearm round to rest the tips of his fingers on her upper shoulder before letting his arm slide with slow, disingenuous intent back down as if his muscles had relaxed in sleep so that his wrist and then, as he settled into a more comfortable position for them both, his palm naturally rested where he could cradle her lower breast. She murmured again, settled herself slightly and as he swirled his fingers as if trailing the faintest of arpeggios he felt through the cotton the stiffening of a nipple. She murmured again and nestled in closer as they both fell asleep.
The alarm jangled, marking seven thirty and wrenching them awake. Bettina shot upright in bed, yawning, rubbing her eyes and shaking the sleep out of her head. She looked down at Thomas and her eyes softened.
“I had the strangest dream.” she said. “Can’t remember details but you were in it, I think.” She nodded. "You were." She paused and smiled slowly. “Safe. I felt safe and warm and at home and I wanted to stay there and we’d forgotten all this shitty Henkel stuff we’ve now got to deal with.”
As Bettina showered Thomas lay with his arms behind his head, thinking about her rapid changes of mood, particularly as she moved into operations mode as now. “But it is developing.” he thought. “It’s moving. That fucking alarm clock! If only, if only … ”
He reached out to the files Bettina had left on the table and began reading about Henkel, searching for some clue in his background as to why he’d apparently killed himself. Bettina returned, wrapped in large towel, a smaller one turbanning her head.
“Anything interesting?”
“Nah, boring stuff so far." He looked up and smiled at her. "But of course if your towel drops ... ”
“C’mon Thomas. Get up!” She clapped her hands imperiously and then shrieked as the large towel started to unwind. Securing it and trapping the end with one arm she grabbed the eiderdown and partially flicked it off Thomas’s body. She giggled and pulled harder but Thomas easily overcame her grip and pulled the eiderdown back over himself.
“OK, if you’re going to laze around there just look away, please, while I get dressed.”
Thomas turned to face the wall. He knew how marvellously lean and fit she was, both from being with her so often and from lying close the night before and it was with difficulty that he stopped himself glancing in her direction. "Maybe by accident?", he thought.
“Dieter. Umm, I expect Dieter said whether he thought Henkel, no, I mean Roehrberg don’t I, whether Roehrberg was behind all this. How long has Roehrberg been there? Henkel's going on holiday soon, isn’t he? No, I mean Dieter. Roehrberg, that is. Does he go to expensive places too? A lot depends on a person’s character, and there’s very little on that in the files.” He eased his hip from the slightly sticky patch on the sheet and forced his thoughts back to their mission.
“Holiday? Dieter? Expensive places? What are you on about? Dieter knows Roehrberg from his time in Berlin and was impressed with him, and that's rare. The files are compiled by bureaucrats who simply talk to informers and note everything that's been reported, and that’s why they only have limited use. No, Dieter made no comments, except that I should be very careful whatever I do.”
“I know he thinks a lot of you but I found it very surprising that he asked you to handle such a delicate and dangerous affair single-handedly.”
“Ah, but he didn’t, did he? He asked both of us. You can turn round now, guardian angel. What do you think I should wear tonight, this white dress or this shirt and trouser suit?”
Thomas looked frankly at her, at the clothes she held up, and then back again. “Nothing!" he thought. "Absolutely nothing at all would be just fine for me.”
“The dress would be good.” he said.
Chapter 24
Monday January 15 1990, morning onwards
THERE was a squat brick chimney stack at the north end of the Stasi's Dresden HQ, the only clue to the building's earlier life as a factory. On one side it overlooked the Elbe, less than a mile away, with the city, now partially hidden by the morning fog, sprawling in the background. Behind the building there was a large car park and it was here that Bettina left her car. The lowering threat of the building and the clammy feel of the fog affected her mood and made her think nostalgically for a moment of being back warm and safe in bed, luxuriating in her dream before the alarm clock shattered it.
As she walked towards the entrance Bettina remembered how she'd taken a dislike to the building when she'd first seen it as a little girl and before she even knew anything about its function. Clearly designed to contain secrets and prevent casual curiosity about what went on behind the heavily barred sashes and the rows of tiny windows, barred in turn, it was ugly and intimidating. In the middle of the building there was a tall rectangular frame holding many minute glazed openings, the whole covered with yet another of the ubiquitous metal gratings. As it loomed out of the fog as she approached she saw that its grubby white surface was stained and soiled, the paint damaged in places with water dripping down from the roof.
The security guard at the entrance glanced at her identity card without enthusiasm or interest and sent her up the stairs to the first floor. There she met Gina Schmidt, Roehrberg's secretary, who led her down the corridor and into Roehrberg's spacious office. He got up from behind his desk, walked over smiling and shook her hand warmly.
"Good morning, Miss List, good morning. How good of you to come. I hope you found your way easily to our offices." Here he waved his hand in a vague gesture as if apologising for the fact that they weren't as grand as she was no doubt used to. And taking full personal responsibility for the weather, added "I'm so sorry about this dull and rather dreary day but it's what we often have at this time of year, I'm afraid. Do sit down Miss List. Coffee?"
She shivered involuntarily in response then sat down at one end of the large leather sofa indicated and placed her briefcase on the low glass-topped table in front. "Thank you. That would be very welcome, particularly after the fog outside."
She judged his height at around 1.8m and thought that his file picture didn't do him justice, couldn't bring out except faintly his charisma and air of confident authority. He was handsome, with well groomed hair, clean shaven, regular, chiselled features, and was wearing an understated but clearly expensive suit which looked as if it had been tailored for him, and a pair of hand-made black shoes. His voice was firm, almost without regional accent, and well modulated and she caught herself listening to as a series of sounds and so missing the sense of what he was saying. "He could be an actor" she thought "and probably a highly successful one at that." She caught a hint in the air of some musky scent.
She shook her head slightly and consciously made herself more alert. "I must be very careful." she thought, remembering how his manner when she entered his office had almost disarmed her, instinctively made her feel friendly towards him, privileged that he was paying her attention.
She looked away, took out a file and busied herself with the paper
s it held. When she looked up again she saw that Roehrberg was in a large leather armchair at an angle to her and which he appeared to dominate, despite its size. He was looking at her, playing to perfection the role of the courteous host giving his guest all the time necessary to settle down yet now, alert, she noticed the line of his mouth and the hardness in his steady gaze. Annoyed with herself as soon as it happened she found herself unable to hold his gaze and again had to look away.
"How very good of you to come." he repeated. She looked sharply at him but he appeared to be sincere. "We're really appreciative of that, of the help that you, as a representative of central office, will be able to give us to solve this mystery. It would be a difficult situation at any time, of course, but it's a bigger mess than usual, now that we've officially been disbanded."
She noticed a slight smile flicker across his face as he laced his fingers together and leaned forward, apparently to confide something to her. Crossly she reminded herself that they were not partners working together to solve a mystery but antagonists. Her role was to suspect Roehrberg and his colleagues, to find out exactly how and why the money had been stolen - and now the further puzzle of why Henkel had died. "I must be very, very careful and keep alert" she reminded herself. She pulled a pen and pad from her briefcase, breathed deeply, and interrupted firmly." Have you had many changes since the announcement?” she asked.
“Well, we’ve had to clear our prison, here in this building. We had twelve prisoners. Nine are now with the police in normal cells, three we’ve discharged. The Interior Ministry still hasn’t told us which personnel are to be transferred to them and which aren’t, and what’s more people are resigning every day. I’m unsure if we’ll even receive in time the money to pay the salaries at the end of the month. It’s difficult to keep things running properly in these conditions. Very difficult.”
Roehrberg’s secretary entered with a tray and transferred china cups and saucers and jugs of hot milk and coffee to the glass table. Roehrberg waited and smiled encouragingly at Bettina who found herself pouring coffee for each of them. With irritation she took a biscuit without offering him the plate. She leaned back, disappeared awkwardly into the sofa, a diminished figure, and struggled back to an upright position.
“So Mr Roehrberg, I’ve been told ... ”
“Rudolf, please. It’s from my days in the United States and I rather prefer it.” Again there was the urbane tone, the sense of privileged inclusion being offered to her. Again she picked up the slight undertow of menace.
“Fine. Rudolf. OK, fine. Please go through what happened with this financing, this money that's got lost. Please could you tell me when it disappeared and anything else of relevance. I really need to know this.” She didn’t like the way she had formulated the request. It was stupid and unprofessional, the words and phrasing of a supplicant, she thought. But Roehrberg was effortlessly dominating and had taken control of the meeting, subtly implying that her role as a woman was to deal with domestic matters but he would graciously allow her some of his valuable time. She found it difficult to articulate her thoughts clearly, censoring her comments in case she displeased him.
"There's not a great deal of detail I can give you on that. You will know, I'm sure, that it's Henkel who, as Treasurer, deals with all that side of it and has responsibility for most things to do with the financing of the Dresden operation."
"You've not had a chance to meet Henkel yet, I suppose?" he added. He raised his eyebrows briefly and paused, looking at her. "When exactly was it you arrived in Dresden?"
Bettina felt a sudden chill as she remembered Henkel lounging in his chair, blood on his temple and the floor, looking at them with his lop-sided smile as they carefully opened the door. Just how much did Roehrberg know? Had Henkel told him that he and Bettina were to meet? If he knew that and already knew of Henkel's killing he was astute enough to work out that she probably knew about it as well and would probe to find out how much more she knew. This was going to be far more difficult than she'd imagined. At least he didn't know about Thomas. Well, she hoped not. She swallowed and drank some coffee.
"Yes, I knew that Henkel was, is, Treasurer. I hope to talk with him shortly." She swallowed again. "I appreciate you may not concern yourself with the detail but don't you have overall responsibility? You manage at a high level what the funds are requisitioned for and what they're used for. "
"Yes, that's true. In both respects. You'll have to ask Henkel about the detail but, at least within the limits of what I have to keep confidential, I can tell you some things from that higher level. These particular funds were to be used for three international missions in France, England and West Germany. I’d prefer not to mention the specifics – unless, of course, you feel that knowing is of vital importance to you. They are classed at the highest security levels.”
"'Don't get any ideas about probing too deeply, my girl', that's what you mean." she thought, and again she felt a shiver run down her spine.
"No, I don't think that's going to be particularly relevant, not right now at any rate." she said. "If there's something there that we might need to follow up then we can perhaps discuss that with you later."
"We?"
Bettina looked at him.
"You said 'we'. I thought you'd come to Dresden alone." He rested his chin on his hands stared impassively at her. Again she had to drop her gaze.
"We? Ah, yes. Me and my colleagues in the office in Berlin, I mean."
There was silence. Roehrberg drank some coffee and looked again at her, waiting politely, head very slightly cocked.
"Because of the reorganisation Dieter couldn't spare anyone to come, ah, to work on this so he asked me to take on the investigation of the missing funds myself." She felt sick. "He said I could count on help from your office if I needed it."
"Of course." said Roehrberg. "That goes without saying. We'll be very happy, within our currently limited staff means of course, to give you all the help you need. I'll instruct Henkel and Spitze, that's my deputy, that that's the case." He looked at her for a moment. "And I'll let Modrow know that we've promised to keep a close eye on you. You can be confident of that."
He glanced at the antique clock standing on a small table at the back of the room.
"Would you forgive me, Miss List. I have an important telephone call to take in a few minutes but as Henkel should be in now you might it useful to talk with him and then the three of us, or four, Spitze as well, could meet later - for lunch perhaps, if you'll permit me."
He returned to his desk without waiting for any response, lifted the telephone receiver, dialled a short code, waited, then put the phone down and pressed a white button; moments later his secretary appeared.
"Gina, do you know where Mr Henkel is? I've just tried his office but there's no reply."
"He's not arrived yet, Mr Roehrberg. Mr Spitze was also asking for him just now. I'll give him a call at home, see if he's been delayed for some reason, and I'll let you know."
Roehrberg looked at the clock again before deciding. It was five to ten.
"Thank you. Yes, give him a call. He may have forgotten that our colleague from head office, Miss List, was due today. It's important that he talk with her. Tell Spitze to keep himself free as well. We’ll all go out to lunch together later. Please make reservations at the usual place. 12 noon.” He sat down again in the leather armchair and beamed at Bettina.
"Do you know Dresden at all Miss List. It's a beautiful city. Was a really beautiful city and is becoming one again. I'd be pleased to show you round some of the historic sights this evening or perhaps tomorrow if that interests you."
"I know Dresden well, as it happens, but thank you. Now, when the money arrived ... "
"Ah, but perhaps only the well known public places, Miss List. It's the hidden Dresden that's so fascinating. For instance, when the Semper Oper was being reconstructed workmen discovered a small, bricked-up room in the cellars and in that they came across ... "
The phone on the desk rang, suddenly and harshly, making Bettina jump.
“Excuse me. This will be the call I mentioned. I must answer it but I'll put him on hold for a moment while you leave. We can meet later and discuss things with the others.” Roehrberg stood and lifted the receiver on the sixth ring.
“Roehrberg! ... Yes? ... What?! ... I can’t believe that. When did this happen?" He listened for some moments and Bettina could hear an excited squawking coming from the instrument.
"Thank you." He said and replaced the receiver slowly in its cradle. His face had gone grey and the former authoritative expression had disappeared. The skin edging his eyes and his mouth drooped slightly and for a moment or two he looked shrunken and much older before recovering something of his earlier manner. He sat there in silence at his desk looking at but apparently not registering Bettina. He blinked, then screwed up his eyes and passed a hand over them, holding it in place for a moment before drawing it down to hold his pursed mouth. He took a deep breath and addressed the room without looking directly at Bettina.
“That was the police." There was a long silence. "A woman called them and said she had found Henkel dead. His cleaning lady. It seems he may have committed suicide in his study.” He stood up, leaning on his desk as if to gather strength. “Please excuse me but I should go and see what's happened. Miss Schmidt will look after you.” He crossed the office, opened the door but then turned back to Bettina. “I apologise, I should have asked if you wanted to join me. It’s just that it’s probably not a pleasant sight, and instinctively ... But I do understand that you might want to come. It could be important.”
Bettina rose, gathering her things and trying to bring the right note of surprise and dismay to her voice. “Dead?! Henkel? And suicide?! That’s dreadful. I’m so sorry. How terrible.”
“It is terrible, isn't it? Yes. Terrible.” he repeated. “He was a good man and a great colleague. I don’t understand. I just don’t understand what could have led him to this.”