A Darker State

by David Young

  He laughed. ‘Only the best for the best.’

  ‘Have you moved departments or something? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for a while.’

  Jäger shook his head. ‘No. Still working for the foreign service – the Main Intelligence Directorate. But based here in the Hauptstadt.’

  Müller fell silent. She felt slighted. He’d obviously been deliberately ignoring her calls. But it wasn’t as though they were close friends. He’d been helpful over tracing her natural family. But in the graveyard girl case the previous year she’d always felt he was controlling her, toying with her, if not even outright undermining her.

  ‘I can see that’s not the answer you were expecting. But I work for the Ministry for State Security, Karin. Ultimately, you and I know we’re on the same side. But our short-term goals aren’t always going to coincide. I have been following your progress though. No doubt we’ll be seeing more of each other, or at least you’ll be seeing more of one Stasi officer or another. That goes hand in hand with a senior role in the police, I’m sure you’re aware. Anyway, what was it you wanted? You didn’t request a meeting just to find out how I am.’

  Müller hunched down in her raincoat, pulling the lapels up. Stupidly, she hadn’t brought an umbrella, and the sleet had started again. She didn’t mind snow. It was a fresh, fun reminder of her childhood in the Thuringian forest with her adopted family, a reminder that she was once a top schoolgirl winter sports athlete. She didn’t even mind the rain – it often had a cleansing effect on the Hauptstadt’s thick, choking smogs. But she didn’t like sleet. It seemed almost colder than snow, wetter than rain, and neither one thing nor quite the other.

  Delving into his briefcase, Jäger pulled out a retractable umbrella. He unfolded it, and held it over both their heads. It felt a surprisingly intimate gesture to Müller, and she found herself blushing.

  ‘Has the cold robbed you of the power of speech?’ he chided gently.

  Müller sighed. ‘No, sorry. I was thinking. You’re right, of course. I wanted to see you to beg a favour.’

  ‘Another one? If I remember correctly, you’re already in my debt after our chat in Halle-Neustadt. You’re sure you want to ask another favour before you’ve paid the last one back? I’m renowned at Normannenstrasse for having an elephantine memory.’

  ‘It’s a favour for a dear friend.’

  ‘Jonas Schmidt?’

  Müller shouldn’t have been surprised. Jäger’s stock-in-trade was knowing everything about everyone.

  She nodded, wary now.

  ‘It’s a difficult one, Karin. There are other – shall we say – interests involved. Sometimes regional branches of MfS have their own agendas. I don’t think you enamoured yourself to the Frankfurt branch by circumventing their ban on investigating the drug addict’s death further. Reiniger didn’t either. He probably needs taking down a peg or two.’

  ‘I see you’re toeing the Party line, then, Comrade Oberst.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have to remind you, Karin, that in this Republic that’s what we’re all supposed to do. Major Baum in Frankfurt felt you were almost opposing him outright. That’s a dangerous game to play. So my room for leeway may be slim. They won’t want to be doing me – or you – any favours.’

  Müller sighed. She’d had enough of pussyfooting around. She eyeballed Jäger and dropped the unctuous honorifics. ‘Klaus. You’re a father. I’m a mother. Just imagine if your son went missing.’

  Jäger’s face reddened. He started to speak, but Müller held up her hand.

  ‘My son did go missing, remember? He was stolen away from me at birth. Before I’d even had a chance to hold him.’ Müller could feel the tears welling up. She tried to fight them back – crying wouldn’t help her cause. Anger wouldn’t help her cause either, but she couldn’t help it. ‘Now just imagine that your son goes missing, you have no news of him for weeks, and then it looks like he’s involved in a revolting conspiracy involving the planting of drugs, enforced prostitution and murder. You wouldn’t be very happy, would you? In fact, you’d be desperate, as desperate as Jonas Schmidt is at the moment. Yes, he wants his son back safe. But even if you can’t achieve that, surely you can find out some information?’

  Jäger started to stand up. ‘I’ve listened to enough of this.’

  ‘Please, Klaus. You’re just walking away from your own conscience. I know that somewhere inside you, Klaus Jäger, is a half-decent man.’

  Müller could feel her heartbeat pounding inside her head. She wasn’t sure what was driving her on. But she’d had enough.

  She ran after Jäger, caught him up, and then stood in front of him, blocking his way.

  ‘Is there a decent man inside here?’ she shouted. He was red-faced with anger by now, fighting to control himself. ‘Because if there is, you need to show it. Now’s your chance. There’s a stinking mess behind all of this. I know there is. You’ve got the chance to do just a little bit of good by helping a father like yourself.’

  Jäger inhaled deeply and slowly, and then let the breath out. He sucked his teeth, as though he were fighting some inner demon. Then he ran his hands down his face, as though to wipe away the invective Müller had aimed at him, stepped round the detective and headed for the park exit.

  33

  When she returned to her office in Keibelstrasse after her meeting with Jäger, once the adrenalin of the argument had worn off, Müller started to worry. Had she, in letting her emotions get the better of her, scuppered her best chance of helping Jonas Schmidt? She knew what Jäger thought of her. That she was over-promoted and too young for her position. He’d said that at the end of her last case. That had been his reason for recruiting her, and since then she’d been promoted another two ranks, so he no doubt still thought the same.

  At least she had stood up for herself, and for Schmidt, and for his son. She couldn’t just go on playing the puppet on a string for her whole career.

  *

  Her frustrations were eased a few moments later by a telephone call put through to her desk from Hoyerswerda. It was Fenstermacher, the pathologist.

  ‘I’ve got some news for you,’ the woman grumbled down a crackly line. ‘In fact two bits of news. Are you happy for me to talk about it over an open line, or do you want to meet somewhere?’

  The thought of another tiring drive, of more time away from her family, didn’t fill Müller with joy – despite the fact that Fenstermacher seemed to be offering up important new information. She felt drained by the verbal battle with the Stasi colonel. But it was the knowledge that the Stasi were taking so much interest in the case, the fact that they were involved, that made up her mind.

  ‘Major Müller. Did you hear me?’ bellowed Fenstermacher.

  ‘I heard you, yes. Let’s meet. Where do you suggest?’

  ‘I can’t get away for long, I’m afraid, so Senftenberg is about as much as I can manage. But at least that’s a bit nearer to you than Hoy. I don’t really trust that bar at the hotel though. It’s exactly the sort of place where people eavesdrop. How about that beach on the lake where the sailing club is, where the first body was found?’

  *

  The sleet had turned to light snow, but it wasn’t settling on the motorway, and with traffic light and the Lada able to cruise at high speed, Müller managed to do the trip in little over ninety minutes, without needing to take a break.

  When she pulled into the car park by the sailing club, she found Fenstermacher’s beautiful vintage Wartburg already parked up, facing the lake, its peppermint-green paintwork providing a beautiful splash of colour on an otherwise dull grey day. Once again, she found herself admiring the car. She’d never really coveted material things, but somewhere at the back of her mind a little voice told her it would be rather nice to own a stylish car like that. Something a bit different to the box-like uniformity of the modern Trabis, Wartburgs and Ladas. Perhaps she’d look into it when this case was finally over.

  She parked the Lada and opened
Fenstermacher’s passenger door.

  ‘Is this all right for you?’ the older woman asked. ‘I’ve had the engine and the heater running. Been here about five minutes already. So it’s nice and warm.’

  Too warm for Müller, who still had her coat and layers on from the Märchenbrunnen. She took her coat off, then peeled off her uppermost jumper, and placed them both on the back seat. In doing so, her T-shirt and thin jumper rucked up, baring her midriff. As she turned back to face the front, she caught the pathologist appraising her – at least that’s what it felt like. The way a man might look at her. Fenstermacher looked away quickly, but not before Müller noticed the woman’s face reddening.

  The pathologist had a file open, resting on the steering wheel.

  ‘First things first,’ she said. ‘The second body. The boy we’ve still not managed to identify. Obviously it took a while for the test results on the samples to come through. Much longer than with our first one. My tests at the autopsy hadn’t detected anything similar to those strange levels we found in the Nadel case, but my equipment isn’t that sophisticated. So I sent the samples off to Berlin. They concluded there were elevated male hormone levels. Same as Nadel.’

  That’s useful,’ said Müller. It was, but it didn’t give them a new line to investigate. It just confirmed their suspicions.

  Fenstermacher closed the file slowly. ‘Now the other bit of news is a little more sensitive, and perhaps it’s best you don’t say where it’s come from. You know that the Republic is short of hard currency?’

  Müller nodded.

  ‘So sometimes there are some quite strange things going on to try to bring in those US dollars and West German marks that the powers that be seem to need to keep things ticking over. That’s reasonably common knowledge.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Because of the hormones involved, I got in touch with some of my old sparring partners at the Charité hospital in the Hauptstadt. I was discussing our strange little case with one, a contact who works in the endocrinology department there. He was telling me about a medical trial conducted a couple of years ago. It was funded by an American pharmaceutical company. The evil capitalist West and all that sort of rubbish. I’m sure you’re as tired of having that rammed down your throat as I am.’

  Müller wasn’t so sure. She’d always believed in socialism, while recognising children in the East got fed as much propaganda about the evils of the West as those in the West were fed about the East. For Müller, though, there was a key difference. Everyone here in the Republic did have a job. Everything wasn’t about earning as much money as possible, so you could show off your latest refrigerator or washing machine to your neighbours. To her, it just seemed fairer. What she was less happy about was the infrastructure needed to keep that system in place. She accepted she was part of that as a member of the People’s Police. But she justified her role by telling herself she was just fighting crime, as police officers did the world over. The things that Jäger, Baum et al. got up to . . . well, that was something entirely different altogether.

  She forced herself to concentrate on the issue at hand.

  ‘So this was for hard currency?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Fenstermacher. ‘Suddenly the West is not so evil when our Republic wants their American dollars. This trial was an extension of other controversial work by the endocrinology department, initially on rats. One of the research scientists essentially took his work a stage further, with financial backing from the Americans. The results were written up, but were discredited by the peers of this research scientist. He was hounded out of Charité.’

  ‘OK, but I don’t understand how that links to our case.’

  ‘It’s the reason for the discrediting by his peers. Someone found out he’d extended his trials from animals to humans, using university students as volunteers, initially in return for small payments – though I don’t think they realised what they were volunteering for.’ Fenstermacher fiddled with her hair, adjusting the rear-view mirror to look at her reflection. She seemed in an unusually nervous mood to Müller.

  ‘That was the problem,’ she continued. ‘If they had been told the truth, then there is no way on earth any of them would have volunteered – unless they were very mixed up indeed.’

  Müller frowned. ‘Why not?’

  Fenstermacher looked Müller straight in the eyes and held her gaze. ‘Because the experiments were to change people’s sexuality – the very essence of their soul. The Americans were funding it to try to “cure” homosexuals.’

  Müller’s mind was racing with all the possibilities this raised.

  ‘But this rogue scientist was removed from the Charité endocrinology department?’

  ‘That’s right. But not everyone was against him. There were rumours some of the high-ups were backing him, they’d arranged the funding, they wanted the trials to continue.’

  ‘But they didn’t?’

  ‘Not in the Hauptstadt, no. However my contact has heard other rumours too.’

  Müller frowned in alarm. ‘What?’

  ‘That he’s still conducting his experiments – somewhere else in the Republic. In secret.’

  ‘I’ll need the details of your contact at Charité. We need to try to find this place as quickly as possible. Boys – young men – are not just having their sexuality tampered with. They’re dying. And my forensic officer’s son may be one of them.’

  Fenstermacher nodded gravely. ‘There’s one more rather disturbing thing, however, and I may be at fault for the delay in discovering this. I’d preserved the brain of each of our victims in formaldehyde – it makes a detailed examination easier as the tissue becomes firmer after a few weeks. When I eventually examined them in the last couple of days, what I found in both were microscopic lesions in part of the hypothalamus.’

  Müller frowned. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means, Major Müller, we’re not just dealing with someone who’s pumping these young men full of male sex hormones, though that’s bad enough. We’re dealing with someone who is operating on, mutilating, their brains.’

  34

  Sunday evening

  Strausberger Platz, East Berlin

  Müller had immediately contacted the Charité hospital as soon as she was back in Berlin, but Fenstermacher’s contact was away and wouldn’t be back till the Monday morning. She left a message asking him to get in touch as soon as he returned. That said, from Fenstermacher’s account it sounded as though the man had no real knowledge where this rogue scientist was now conducting his experiments, if indeed it was true.

  Tilsner and Schmidt had updated Müller on their latest activities. Schmidt had done more calculations on flow rates of the river, but with winter almost here, conditions had changed. He had tried to narrow down some possibilities, which they’d discuss once she could get to Guben. He seemed to be holding together remarkably well, even though he must now fear the worst for Markus. His wife, Hanne, was struggling though.

  Tilsner had continued to plug away with the missing persons files, widening his search from Bezirk Cottbus and Frankfurt to the Hauptstadt and the rest of the Republic. But as the days passed without the clear breakthrough they sought, both officers were being asked by Reiniger to help out on other matters. And Müller’s hope that Jäger would provide information about Markus Schmidt had so far come to nothing.

  *

  ‘You don’t happen to know anyone in the endocrinology department at Charité, do you, Emil?’

  All five of the family were sitting round the dining table in the hall eating their evening meal, with Helga spoon-feeding Jannika and Müller looking after Johannes.

  Emil looked up from his plate. ‘Not really, no. Why do you ask?’

  ‘It’s this case I’m working on.’

  ‘The one near Eisenhüttenstadt?’

  ‘Mmm – don’t do that, Johannes,’ shouted Müller, turning her attention back to her son. ‘It’s not nice to spit out food.’ She wi
ped up the mess with his bib. Then turned back to Emil, who seemed to be hurrying through his meal. ‘I just wondered if you’d heard about a clinical trial in that department sponsored by an American pharmaceutical company.’

  ‘Trials of what?’

  ‘Something to do with sexuality. Adjusting people’s sexuality, specifically homosexuals.’

  ‘No, nothing like that. But I can ask around if you like.’ He dropped his gaze back to his plate. He swallowed his last mouthful, quickly finished his drink, and then started to put on his jacket.

  ‘You’re not off out again, surely? I thought we could have a nice evening in watching the TV.’

  ‘I’ve got a late meeting at the hospital. Bit of a crisis. You know how it is. I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up.’ He leant in to kiss her on the cheek, then kissed each twin on the top of the head. ‘Bye, Helga. Make sure these two don’t get into any mischief.’

  Müller made a mock sad face to Helga. ‘Bang goes my cosy night in with my boyfriend.’

  ‘He does seem to have a lot of these meetings. Not much of a life for you two – what with your police work and his hospital duties. Couldn’t you have chosen more compatible careers?’

  ‘Well, my alternative career would have been a ski jumper. But they still don’t allow women to compete, so that wouldn’t have had much career progression,’ laughed Müller.

  They started to get the twins ready for their baths, this time swapping round, so Müller looked after Jannika, Helga taking Johannes. She didn’t like to admit it, but both seemed happier with their great-grandmother. They were more used to her. Müller had been away such a lot in the last few weeks.

  Once both children were in their cots with the light switched off, Helga whispered conspiratorially to Müller. ‘I wouldn’t mind watching TV with you in the lounge. We could have some nibbles, open a bottle of wine. I’d kept a nice bottle of Sekt for Christmas, but I quite fancy being naughty and opening it now.’