A Darker State

by David Young

  Müller entered the lounge first. The furnishings here were ultra-modern: curved wooden table, an unusual all-white, leather-look sofa with a shiny chrome frame. Most impressive of all were the high windows, flooding light into every corner of the room. Müller ambled over to one of them. If you wanted to be picky, you could say that the view was only a side-on of Strausberger Platz – you couldn’t see the whole square from here. But you could see enough: the fountain with its fine mist of blown spray, which a couple of children were running in and out of; the two imposing towers on the eastern side of the square; the start of the long, majestic Karl-Marx-Allee, leading past the U-bahn station entrance for kilometre after kilometre until it became the road that would take you to the very east of the Republic, and beyond that, to Poland.

  She felt overwhelmed by all the luxury. Slightly guilty too, because it highlighted some of the inequalities of what was supposed to be an equal society. Had the Trümmerfrauen – the rubble women – really acquired the leases on apartments like these?

  Müller made her way back to the hall, off which all the apartment’s rooms led. She could see the corner of the kitchen, with its ultra-modern fitted cupboards. The bathroom, too, had its door open and looked to be of the highest specification.

  At the dining table, Reiniger had sat down, and for once was in shirt sleeves, his jacket with its epaulettes of shiny stars hung over the back of his chair. In front of him, various papers were spread out on the table itself, with a pen alongside.

  ‘Come,’ he said, pointing to the chair opposite his. ‘Sit yourself down, and I’ll take you through everything.’

  Müller frowned. ‘Take me through everything?’

  Reiniger was smiling broadly, his teeth unusually white for a man of his age. Müller knew that, like her, he didn’t smoke, and was always casting disapproving glances towards Tilsner when he lit up. But as well as that, he must spend a lot of time polishing his teeth, just as he did the stars on his shoulders. That, or he’d found a very good dentist. He picked up the pen.

  ‘Yes. The lease. There’s a few things I need to explain.’

  Müller felt the colour drain from her face, and a rapid trembling begin somewhere deep in her belly. ‘I . . . well, even we . . . couldn’t possibly afford something like this, Comrade Oberst. Not on the salary of a police first lieutenant nor a hospital doctor, and not even if we combined those with my grandmother’s pension.’

  ‘I think you’d be surprised, Karin. This is hardly more expensive than any other flat in the Republic. Cheaper than some, in fact. Less than one hundred marks a month. Surely you could manage that?’

  Müller felt her heart racing. Of course they could afford that. It was virtually no more than the Schönhauser Allee apartment. There has to be a catch. There’s always a catch. She started looking round the room furtively, up into each corner. Reiniger eyed her with suspicion.

  ‘If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, Karin, don’t worry. This is a police apartment. It’s been thoroughly checked for surveillance devices. It’s clean.’

  Reiniger was turning one of the documents round, pushing it in front of her. She could see it had her name on the rental agreement, as yet unsigned. Immediately, however, she spotted a mistake in what had been typed, awaiting her signature. She traced the rank before her name.

  ‘There’s an error here, I’m afraid, Comrade Oberst. They’ve called me Major. I’m not a major. I’m a first lieutenant.’

  ‘Hmm. Yes, that could be a problem. But have a look at the counter-signature.’

  She recognised Reiniger’s angled scrawl above his printed name.

  ‘You don’t think I would have signed a document and not noticed a mistake like that, Karin, do you? If so, you underestimate me.’

  ‘I . . . I d-don’t understand,’ Müller said.

  ‘There is a problem. Or rather there was. An apartment such as this can only be rented to a police officer of the rank of major and above.’

  ‘So . . .’

  ‘So usually, as a mere Oberleutnant, albeit a much-valued one, you would be disqualified. However, things have changed in your absence on maternity leave. A lot of talking’s been going on. We realise it might be difficult for you to return to work and look after twins at the same time, although I gather from your personal circumstances that your grandmother should be able to help a great deal, and in effect be the twins’ full-time carer?’

  Müller nodded, but said nothing, too shocked to speak.

  ‘At the same time, we in the People’s Police want to use you to your full abilities, while realising you can’t go gallivanting all over the place as the head of a murder squad.’

  Müller had a sudden feeling of dread. Their answer would be pen-pushing. Not just pen-pushing, but pen-pushing as a major, in charge of a team of pen-pushers. If that was it she was going to say ‘no’, without question. But for now, she allowed Reiniger to continue without interruption.

  ‘So there’s been a bit of a reorganisation. Not solely to accommodate you, although that’s part of it. We’ve been worried for some time about discrete murder squads in the various regions working in their own sweet, but perhaps idiosyncratic, ways. For the highest-profile cases we can’t allow that to continue, so we’re creating an overall Serious Crimes Department. Based in Keibelstrasse. Liaising at the highest levels with other agencies and ministries. I probably don’t need to spell that out. You’ve done plenty of it in your last two cases.’

  Liaising with the Stasi. That was what Reiniger meant. And that was where Jäger came into the equation.

  Reiniger was still in mid-flow, though he now lowered his voice, despite what he’d said about the apartment being ‘clean’.

  ‘You’ll be aware that the Ministry for State Security took a very close interest in your last two major cases. What you may not have been aware of at your previous rank is that, in some similar circumstances, inquiries have been taken away from the People’s Police, by what are known as the MfS’s – the Stasi’s – Special Commissions.’

  Müller frowned. The conversation had taken an ominous turn. Reiniger’s joviality had been replaced with an icy seriousness.

  ‘It has tended to be cases with political overtones, or cases where the Ministry feels it is essential that ordinary citizens do not find out more than they need to. That has even included the families of the victims themselves.’

  Reiniger glanced at each of his shoulders in turn, as though to admire his star-studded epaulettes – forgetting for a moment his uniform jacket was over the back of his chair. As though to check he really was a police colonel. That he really was in charge. Müller was starting to doubt it.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Now, you can imagine that if that continues, if it extends to more cases, the Kripo’s remit in tackling and solving serious crimes will be severely undermined.’

  Müller watched Reiniger wringing his hands. Then he fixed her with a stare.

  ‘So that is why we are creating this new department. To, if you like, get ahead of the game. So that we can make a case for our own specialist team to keep control of the most serious murders, rather than them being taken out of our hands and given straight to the Stasi.’

  Müller felt tension taking over her body, constricting her throat. This all felt like she was being set up to fail again, that she would be in opposition to the Stasi from the word go. If that were the case, there would only be one winner.

  ‘It will be a small team,’ continued Reiniger, picking up the rental contract and turning it over. ‘But you will have a roving brief across the whole country to oversee such murder investigations. Especially those that could, shall we say, prove embarrassing to the Republic. Werner Tilsner is being promoted to join this team, working as your deputy again. There is a catch, however. You probably knew there would be. You will have to start immediately and end your maternity leave.’

  Müller was about to object. The twins were only six months old. She didn’t feel re
ady, whatever carrots were being dangled in front of her. But before she could say anything, Reiniger was in full flow again.

  ‘Don’t say anything hasty. Hear me out. Both you and Tilsner will jump a couple of ranks. He’s already working in his new role, although he doesn’t know about yours, should you choose to accept. He will be your Hauptmann and you will be Major Karin Müller of the People’s Police.’ It was Reiniger’s trump card, and with a flourish, he leant over and traced his finger under her rank on the rental agreement. ‘Look around, Karin. Is it really fair to your family to deny them all this? You’ll never get a chance like this again. It’s not a desk job, if that’s what you were afraid of. This will be real police work, real detective work. And you’re being chosen because of your previous experience in dealing with the Stasi. But you will be the boss, able to ask for any assistance you require. That way, you can be certain, you can still look after your family in the way you want to.’ Reiniger lifted the pen and then stretched his arm out, offering it to Müller.

  She lifted her hand as though to take it, then stopped the motion in mid-air.

  Was it really what she wanted? Being separated from the children she’d yearned for, at such an early age?

  To have the Stasi watching her every move again, as they surely would?

  2

  September 1976

  Senftenberger See, Bezirk Cottbus

  As he introduced himself, shaking the local Kripo captain’s hand, Tilsner stumbled over his own rank.

  ‘Unt— sorry . . . Hauptmann Werner Tilsner, Comrade.’

  A Hauptmann now, not a mere Unterleutnant. Not that he really cared about the title, or the fact that Oberst Reiniger seemed to have secured him a double promotion. A jump up the ranks, missing out Leutnant and Oberleutnant. What Tilsner cared about was why. Why he’d once again been sent abruptly from his beloved Berlin to another godforsaken part of the Republic. This time, the banks of an artificial lake in the middle of the industrial Lausitz brown coal belt.

  ‘Lovely spot, isn’t it?’ said his opposite number from the local force. The man had clearly mistaken Tilsner’s gaze across the lake as one of admiration, rather than bewilderment. Tilsner, being Tilsner, had already forgotten the officer’s name, so he just nodded to keep the peace. He could hear Karin’s voice in his head admonishing him. You wouldn’t have forgotten the name if it was a woman, would you?

  Karin. Or, more correctly, Oberleutnant Karin Müller. He didn’t expect her to be coming back to work at all, what with her new twins to look after.

  Here, the wind whipping off the lake’s surface made the canvas of the large tent erected by the local police slap rhythmically. To one side, the beached dinghies from the boating club joined in, their partly furled sails and lanyards snapping in Aeolian syncopation. Tilsner held his hand against his forehead for a moment, then moved it backwards through his hair. He could feel a migraine coming on.

  He tried to focus. ‘Sorry, Comrade Hauptmann? . . .’ If he couldn’t remember the other detective’s name, he might at least give him his full honorifics.

  ‘Schwarz. Helmut Schwarz,’ the man replied. If Schwarz felt slighted at having to remind Tilsner of his name for a second time, he hid it well. Instead, a faint smile played across his face. ‘Did you want to see the body, or did you come all the way down from Berlin just to stare into space?’

  Now it was Tilsner’s turn to grin. Schwarz didn’t seem a bad sort. Better company than misery guts Jonas Schmidt. The forensic officer had accompanied Tilsner here in the Wartburg, but had hardly said a thing the whole journey. Usually Tilsner was grateful on the rare occasions Schmidt ended one of his tedious monologues. But the new silent Schmidt was even worse. Something was clearly troubling him, but the Kriminaltechniker didn’t seem inclined to enlighten Tilsner as to what it was.

  Schwarz pulled back the flap of the tent for his Berlin colleague to enter. Tilsner wondered how the man felt. This initiative from on high, delivered to him by Reiniger, had brought Tilsner’s team of two – himself and Schmidt – from Berlin to take charge of this investigation.

  He swatted a fly away from his face, irritated by its buzzing.

  All he could see of the body, almost completely encircled by policemen, police photographers and forensic experts, was the bottom portion of the young man’s legs – pale and obscenely swollen from the time they’d been under the water.

  Schwarz leant towards Tilsner’s ear, as though about to impart some delicious piece of gossip. ‘He was weighted down. We were never meant to find him. Someone didn’t do a particularly good job, and the weight must have eventually come off. Perhaps whatever was binding it to the body rotted away. So the body floated to the surface.’

  Tilsner knew all this already. He’d been fully briefed by Reiniger. But he wasn’t about to play the clever fox with the locals. He’d need their help.

  Having taken his place in the circle, Tilsner could see that Schmidt was at the head end of the body, talking and nodding away.

  ‘So we don’t know the cause of death yet?’ the portly Kriminaltechniker asked, peering through his centimetre-thick spectacle lenses.

  ‘I’m a pathologist, not a magician,’ replied a fierce-looking middle-aged woman hunched down on the opposite side of the body.

  ‘But do we know how long the body was in the water?’ continued Schmidt.

  ‘I refer you to my previous answer,’ said the woman, gruffly, puffing out what Tilsner noted was a not inconsiderable chest. ‘If you’d let me get on with my work, Comrade, I might have a chance of finding out. Though I won’t be able to say anything with any certainty until the autopsy.’

  Tilsner watched as the woman poked at the youth’s face with an implement that looked a little like a speculum, occasionally brushing flies away as they hovered round her hair, which was such a lustreless, deep black that it was obviously dyed. The sooner the body was moved and put in the cooler, the better. At least they were planning to conduct the autopsy immediately – that afternoon, he’d been told. As soon as this initial external examination was over, the body would be moved to the nearby town of Hoyerswerda.

  Schmidt’s failure to elicit any useful information saw him cast an apologetic glance towards Tilsner, who beckoned him away from the pathologist with a slight jerk of his head.

  ‘Just leave her to it for now, Jonas,’ he whispered. ‘She doesn’t seem the friendliest of sorts.’

  Tilsner turned back to Schwarz. ‘Why don’t you have a go?’ he said quietly. ‘Grumpy guts might respond better to questions from someone she knows.’

  Schwarz smiled conspiratorially, and gave a slight nod.

  ‘Come on, Gudrun, you could be a bit more welcoming to our visitors from Berlin. This must be an important case for them to have been sent here. A chance of a bit of glory for you.’

  The pathologist lifted her head and shot Schwarz a withering look, then turned her attentions back to the body. ‘Not more than two weeks,’ she grunted.

  ‘ “Not more than two weeks”, what?’ asked Schwarz.

  ‘That he was in the water for, of course.’

  ‘And what makes you say that?’ asked Tilsner.

  This time it was the Berlin detective’s turn to receive a glacial stare.

  ‘Who is this one, Helmut? Another interloper?’

  ‘He’s Comrade Hauptmann Werner Tilsner. As I explained, he’s come all the way from Berlin, Gudrun. So I’d be grateful if you could extend your usual helpfulness and cooperation to him too.’

  ‘Two police captains on the same case? Isn’t that overkill, even for you lot?’

  Tilsner laughed. ‘I agree,’ he said. ‘I’m sure Comrade Schwarz could have handled this perfectly well on his own, Comrade Gudrun . . .’ Tilsner extended his hand. The pathologist peered at it for a few seconds, before putting down her implements. She wiped her gloved right hand on her white overalls, and took Tilsner’s in a firm grip.

  ‘Fenstermacher. Dr Gudrun Fenstermacher. No
t Comrade, thank you.’

  Tilsner was surprised that the woman was so ready to divorce herself from the greeting for a fellow Communist Party member. But there again, she didn’t seem the type to be afraid of very much, rather someone content to plough her own furrow, whatever the consequences.

  ‘Citizen if you must use these silly names, but certainly not Comrade.’ The pathologist held the Berlin officer’s gaze. ‘The reason I can tell the body has not been in the water more than two weeks is the state of the hands and feet. There is wrinkling there, as you would expect.’ She held up the dead youth’s left arm to illustrate her point, turning it slightly so that Tilsner and the others could see the tiny ridges that had formed on the underside of the pale, waxy-looking hand. Then she pinched the index finger between her thumb and forefinger. ‘But the skin is not yet fully detached,’ she continued, maintaining her pincer grip. ‘That usually happens between the first and second week of immersion, be it in seawater, or – as in this case – freshwater. So, not more than two weeks. When we do the full autopsy this afternoon, I’ll be able to give you a better estimate. Now, I’d guess at about a week.’

  ‘Impressive,’ smiled Tilsner. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s not impressive. It’s just science. It’s simply doing my job. They only need one of me. Not two, as they seem to require of you, and your forensic scientists.’ She threw a sarcastic grin towards Schmidt.

  ‘Very useful anyway,’ said Tilsner. ‘I know it’s a very early stage, but is there anything else – anything at all – that you can tell us?’

  ‘Well, there is something slightly odd. There aren’t the classic signs of drowning. Not all of them anyway.’

  ‘So whoever it was, was killed before entering the water?’

  ‘Possibly. See these marks round the stomach area?’ The woman drew her finger backwards and forwards in mid-air, hovering a few millimetres above the body, where the skin, in two encircling stripes, was a slightly darker colour. ‘They may have been caused by ropes or similar used to secure whatever weight was attached to make sure the body sank to the bottom of the lake. But at the moment that is speculation.’