by David Young
Then microseconds later, the boom, and the pressure wave hitting their faces. The forest was now in near silence, the only sound the pitter-patter of shrapnel and ash as it fell like rain.
After perhaps a minute, the birdsong started again. Nature starting to reassert itself.
He heard the man next to him exhale in relief: a job well done. But the Stasi officer himself experienced a fleeting moment of regret. Regret at the destruction. Not for the life of the overweight chimpanzee that had no doubt been blown into thousands of pieces of sinew and bone, its soft tissue destroyed, its last meal – that tantalising piece of fruit – never eaten.
No. His regret was for the Mercedes. A symbol of western decadence – of western capitalism, perhaps. But they were damn fine motors.
10
Four months later (September 1976)
Eisenhüttenstadt
‘Where’s Schmidt?’ asked Tilsner. ‘I thought he was supposed to be liaising with the local forensic team to see if there’s anything more they can tell us? It’s not like him to say no to a free meal.’
All three had arranged to meet in a nice-looking restaurant Müller had spotted on the Strasse des Komsomol – an attractive street that bisected Wohnkomplex II – but the Kriminaltechniker was missing.
‘I gave him leave to return to the Hauptstadt,’ said Müller, while perusing the menu.
‘Why the hell did you do that? I’d like to return to the bloody Hauptstadt, but this is the first inquiry to be handed to our new specialist team. If we mess this up, it won’t take long for them to decide it’s all a stupid idea. And then bang goes our promotions, the extra cash that goes with them, and we’ll no doubt be sent out on the beat again. Or, worse than that, sent to traffic to give out speeding and parking tickets for the rest of our miserable little lives.’
Müller let her head slump forward onto her hands. ‘Give it a rest, Werner. He said there were urgent family problems to deal with.’
‘He pulled that one in Halle-Neustadt too. What precisely are these urgent family problems? Presumably you found out before allowing him to go swanning off?’
Müller ignored the question. ‘What do you fancy? I think I’m going to be boring and go for the Goldbroiler and chips.’
Tilsner slapped the table. ‘Karin! Answer the question.’
‘Shush,’ she hissed, glancing round the restaurant, worried in case other diners started to take an interest in the tetchy exchange. She lowered her voice. ‘Whether or not I asked him exactly what these serious family issues were before I gave him leave is none of your business. And even if he had told me, with the mood you’re in, I’m not about to share his secrets with you.’ She put the menu down in a slow, deliberate movement. ‘Now, what are you going to eat? Or shall we just forget about this and go straight back to the hotel?’
Tilsner pursed his lips and began to leaf through the menu.
The truth was, Müller hadn’t asked Schmidt exactly what the problems were. Something to do with his son Markus, just as it had been in Ha-Neu. But this time there was more urgency, more fear in the request to his superior. Müller had simply decided that his mind wouldn’t be on the job if he were to stay. They would be better off availing themselves of the forensic scientists in Hütte or Frankfurt for the time being, should they need to.
The comments from Robrecht Manshalle, back at the steelworks, disturbed her too. Homosexuality – male or female – was something that held little interest for her. She knew her own tastes were strictly heterosexual, but homosexuality wasn’t a crime in the Republic, even if there were some who wished it still were. It was another area in which their small country was more open-minded, more fair-minded, than parts of the West. The way Manshalle had talked about Dominik Nadel, however, spoke of insularity and prejudice. Müller found it unsettling.
She was chewing this over in her mind, and waiting for Tilsner to finally choose his meal, when her deputy kicked her under the table.
Müller was about to tear him off a strip, when he interrupted her. ‘Don’t look now. But Frankfurt Fred – the blond boy from the bar the other night – is about to pay us a visit again. They’re certainly active here.’
Instead of turning round, Müller reached into her handbag and pulled out her make-up compact. She flipped up the lid and angled it so the mirror showed her the reflection of the doorway. At that very moment, in walked the Stasi officer – or at least the man they’d assumed was a Stasi officer – who’d kept an eye on them in the Frankfurt bar.
Why the close interest? Was he part of one of these Stasi Special Commissions that Reiniger had warned her about? As she continued to study him surreptitiously, Tilsner kicked her gently again.
‘He’s not that good-looking, you know,’ he whispered. ‘And I’m ready to order.’
11
The next day
Eisenhüttenstadt
‘You wouldn’t believe this was once an Oberliga ground, and that even Dynamo Berlin were scared of coming here,’ said Tilsner.
‘Why wouldn’t I believe that?’ They were sitting in the front seats of Müller’s Lada, although Tilsner was on the driver’s side. They’d left Tilsner’s car in the Frankfurt People’s Police compound. He’d fancied a bit of Soviet luxury – or semi-luxury – for a change, over the East German practicality of a Wartburg. ‘Not that I care, of course. I have no interest in football at all. But why wouldn’t I believe that?’
‘Look around. Crappy little ground, tin sheds for stands – and only two of them at that. It looks more like a village club.’
Müller shrugged and climbed out of the car. Through a gap in the fencing surrounding the ground she could see a training session under way. Shouts pierced the air as the players were thrown ball after ball by one of the coaches, and one by one set off weaving their way in and out of what looked like plastic traffic cones.
When Tilsner caught up with her, Müller realised they’d been too busy theorising about the case in the short journey from Frankfurt to have discussed their tactics for the morning. Whether to interview the players and staff individually or as a group. It made sense to do it individually, in case anyone was hiding anything.
‘I want us both to conduct each interview,’ said Müller. ‘If I’m asking the questions, you concentrate on the body language, and vice versa.’
*
Their main interest was in those who’d played with or coached Dominik Nadel. During the time Nadel had been in the youth team, as Tilsner had pointed out, the first team were in the Republic’s Oberliga, the highest division. At least a couple of Nadel’s contemporaries had now moved on to bigger and better things. They went through the printed list provided for them by the local People’s Police, who’d been in charge of the missing persons inquiry until it had turned into a murder hunt. One was currently playing for Tilsner’s team, Dynamo Berlin, in the Hauptstadt.
‘I need to go back to Berlin tomorrow, in any case, to see the kids and Helga,’ said Müller.
‘They’re OK, I hope?’ said Tilsner.
‘They’re fine. She’s fine. But I’m their mother. I’ve already been away for two nights on the trot. I don’t want them to forget me.’
‘Who could forget you, Karin?’
Müller matched her deputy’s sarcasm with an insincere smile. ‘You’re such a charmer. Anyway, what about the others?’
‘One’s a promising striker, snapped up by Dynamo Dresden. So unless we want another trip down south we’ll have to leave him – or do him by phone.’
‘I don’t want to do a telephone interview. It’s too easy to lie over the phone. One or both of us will have to go back to Hoyerswerda at some stage I’m sure. Dresden’s not too far from there. What about the others who are still here?’
Tilsner looked down at the list again. ‘We could start with number one.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘The keeper. Used to be the youth team keeper, but he’s graduated to the first team now.’
&n
bsp; ‘OK. Let’s call him in.’
*
Karlheinz Pohl was a gangling young man who towered over both Müller and Tilsner. Müller gestured to the chair on the other side of the table they’d set up for interviews in the club bar, and the rangy goalkeeper sat down awkwardly into it.
‘How’s it going?’ asked Tilsner, to break the ice. ‘Do you have a match this weekend?’
‘Yes,’ replied Pohl. ‘Away to BSG Chemie Wilhelm-Pieck-Stadt.’
Müller was surprised how high his voice sounded. Almost like that of a young boy. Yet he was at least late teens, possibly even twenty. The voice contrasted oddly with his masculinity too. Although he was tall, Müller had noticed he was muscular, and the menthol-like smell of liniment that had no doubt been applied to those aching muscles sat heavy in the air, alongside the more obvious musk of a sweaty male body.
‘So, Guben?’ asked Tilsner. Wilhelm Pieck – East Germany’s first president – was from Guben, although that part of the town was now Polish territory. Müller knew Pieck’s name had been appended to Guben’s in the early sixties. The full name for the town was now the slightly unfeasible Wilhelm-Pieck-Stadt Guben. Only those nicknamed ‘one-hundred-and-fifty per centers’ – who spouted every Party diktat at every opportunity – bothered with its full title.
‘That’s right. They’re top of the league. Although there’s a few murmurs of discontent because they draw their players from the other side of the river too.’
‘The Oder?’ Müller asked.
‘No, the Neisse. But it flows into the Oder within a few kilometres.’
‘So they have Polish players on their team?’ asked Tilsner. ‘Doesn’t seem fair, does it?’
‘No,’ laughed Pohl. ‘We’ll have our work cut out.’
‘Anyway, as you can probably guess, it’s not really football we want to talk about, at least not directly,’ said Müller. ‘What we are interested in is anything you can tell us about Dominik Nadel, who I think you used to play with in the youth team here.’
Pohl nodded. He seemed untroubled. ‘I’ve already told the local police everything I know. Which isn’t very much. I liked Dom. But not everyone here did. He had a bit of a falling out.’
‘Over what?’ asked Tilsner.
Pohl hesitated before answering. Then he frowned. ‘It’s not really my place to say.’
‘It certainly is your place to say because that question is being posed by the police. And we’re not just any old police. We’re the criminal police. The K.’
‘It was the Kripo that I talked to before.’
‘We know that,’ said Müller. ‘But the nature of the inquiry has changed now. Dominik’s been found.’
The relief was obvious on the young goalkeeper’s face. ‘Found? Well that’s great news.’
‘Hmm,’ said Tilsner. ‘Not so great for Dominik, or his parents. He has been found. Found murdered.’
Pohl’s complexion immediately went white. ‘Jesus.’
A name it is sometimes unwise to utter in the Republic, thought Müller. She gave the young man a few seconds to let the news sink in. ‘So, Karlheinz. As you can imagine, this inquiry takes on a totally different tone. Therefore we need to know everything you told the local police. And anything more you can think of.’
*
The picture that emerged was one of a keen young footballer who, although shy, was initially popular. According to Pohl, Dominik Nadel was a talented midfielder – although still a little lightweight. The club’s hope had been that he would bulk up as he grew. But something had happened to sour the relationship between Nadel and the club. Pohl seemed unsure – or unwilling to divulge – what that was.
‘So suddenly, almost overnight, Dominik Nadel went from being a popular member of the youth squad to being an outcast? And you’ve no idea why that was. Is that what you’re saying?’ asked Tilsner.
‘That’s right.’
Müller noticed the goalkeeper’s eyes dart to the left as he said this. It was a classic sign of deceit.
‘About the same time, or soon after, something went wrong at the club too, didn’t it?’ asked Müller.
‘You could say that. In fact that would be an understatement.’
‘You dropped down two divisions due to financial irregularities,’ said Tilsner.
Pohl nodded.
‘Were the two things connected?’ asked Müller.
‘What two things?’
Tilsner sighed slowly. ‘Don’t try to play us for fools, Karlheinz. Dominik’s fall from grace and the payments scandal. The Comrade Major here asked if they were connected.’
‘Not as far as I know.’ Eyes left again, noted Müller. She was fairly certain Pohl knew more than he was letting on. But for the moment, it didn’t look like they were going to be able to force him to reveal what that was.
‘OK. Let’s leave that for now,’ she said. ‘What about Dominik as a person? Did he have a girlfriend as far as you know?’
The young man blushed slightly. ‘No.’
‘Don’t you find that strange?’ asked Tilsner. ‘He was a good-looking lad by all accounts.’
Pohl shrugged.
‘I think you know why he didn’t have a girlfriend, don’t you, Karlheinz?’ asked Müller.
The young goalkeeper gave a resigned sigh. ‘OK. Look, I know why you’re asking the question. But it’s not something I knew about or suspected while he was here. It’s just something I’ve heard rumoured since he’s gone missing.’
‘He’s no longer missing. As we told you, he’s been found. Murdered.’
Frustrated, Pohl breathed in and out slowly through his nose, with his mouth pursed shut. ‘I know. Anyway, I know what you’re driving at. That he was a homo. But as I say, I’ve only heard that second-hand. And there were no whispers of that sort while he was here. Certainly not as far as I knew.’
*
The story was the same with all the other players and coaches on their list. All seemed, to Müller, to be holding something back. None would admit to knowing why Dominik Nadel had fallen out with the club, or why anyone would want to kill him.
Their final interviewee was the youth team coach. He kept up the party line. But at the end of the interview, as they left the room, Müller felt something brush her side, almost as if someone were trying to pick her jacket pocket. Tilsner was ahead of her, already marching down the corridor, so it clearly hadn’t been him. She turned towards the coach and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
Müller surreptitiously ran her hand over the jacket pocket. Something – a piece of paper or an envelope – had been placed into it. Why – and why so secretively? Perhaps he suspected Tilsner of being a Stasi agent. If that were the case, he was probably correct, although Tilsner was more complicated than that, and Müller was never too sure where his loyalties lay. What she did know was that he had never let her down.
Müller wondered if the man knew the room where they had been conducting the interview was bugged. By video surveillance, audio surveillance, or both. With the ever-present Stasi agent following them, the Stasi’s interest in her – and their latest investigation – had heightened. Clearly they had an interest in the local football team too.
12
The next day
Strausberger Platz, East Berlin
Müller wasn’t sure this was going to work. The sense of disapproval from Helga hung heavily in the apartment. Even the twins didn’t seem to want to smile for their mama.
‘I’m sorry, Helga. I hadn’t expected to be away for two nights. I know that wasn’t really part of the deal.’
‘You’ve a difficult job. I understand it can’t be regular hours.’
But despite what her grandmother said, she felt guilty, and felt as though Helga wanted her to feel guilty, to make sure the same thing wouldn’t happen again. She knew Jannika and Johannes at six months old were too young to be apart from their mother overnight. In any case, their base at Frankfurt was only around a
hundred kilometres from Berlin. She would just have to drive there and back each day – unless there was a really dramatic development.
Perhaps the football coach might provide that.
All his note had said was that he was willing to meet, and talk, but that it would have to be in three days’ time, after their crunch match with Guben, and that it would need to be at a bar in Neuzelle, a village just to the south of Hütte.
Her body felt like it needed to rest in the new apartment – she’d hardly had a chance to enjoy the surroundings – but Emil had taken advantage of her return to Berlin to arrange to meet for coffee. She had a sense of dread about what he might be about to say.
Müller could see that Helga was tired. The thrill of quasi motherhood for someone who was actually the twins’ great-grandmother had kept her adrenalin pumping, but now Müller was back she could see the older woman wilting before her eyes. Müller would take the twins with her for the short walk to the Kino International – Emil had suggested meeting in the bar there.
*
Despite their difficulties, which in many ways echoed those she’d had with Gottfried, there was genuine warmth in Emil’s greeting, and some of her feelings of apprehension dissipated.
‘How have they been?’ he asked, glancing towards the twins as they slept in the pushchair Müller had brought up in the lift. ‘They both look well.’
‘They are. We’re all settling in, although this new case is over in Eisenhüttenstadt, which means I’ve been away more than I’d like. And you’ve been away more than I’d like. I want you to be part of their lives . . . to be part of my life. There’s so much more space in the new flat. I wish you’d move back in with us. Now Helga has her own room it’s so much better. I’ve even bought her a second-hand television . . . she doesn’t need to be in the lounge all the time any more.’
Emil smiled. When he does that, his face lights up. He looks like the man I first fell for last year in Ha-Neu. I’d be mad to lose him, thought Müller.
‘I’ve been thinking too. I’d like to give it another try, if you would.’