A Darker State

by David Young

  Müller was still angry they hadn’t been able to make a charge stick against Winkler. He seemed to be under the protection of people in very high places – presumably because of his father, who she now knew was a major general with the Stasi. But she knew Markus wasn’t with Winkler. ‘I asked for a watch on their house as soon as Jonas told me he was missing. If he’d gone there, we’d have been told.’

  ‘How about that club?’ asked Tilsner.

  ‘The one near Frankfurt? We could try, but as I say it might be a wild-goose chase, and then if we have a sighting in Berlin we’d be miles away.’

  Schmidt’s tone was firm. ‘I’d like to take that risk, Comrade Major. We’ve got to do something.’

  *

  Thankfully, just as they joined the motorway system near Rüdersdorf, a call came across the radio.

  ‘Sighting of suspect . . .’ Müller groaned inwardly at the use of the word. He wasn’t a suspect, he was a poor, confused boy. ‘. . . at the Klettwitz-Nord mine near Lichterfeld.’

  Müller looked at the index for their road map.

  ‘That’s not far from Senftenberg. In the Lausitz. What on earth’s he doing there?’

  ‘Let’s not worry about that,’ said Tilsner. ‘Let’s just get there, fast.’

  Müller was thrown back in her seat as her deputy kicked down hard on the accelerator.

  She reached out of the passenger window and attached the magnetic blue light to the roof. She switched on the siren, then turned back towards Schmidt, placing her hand gently on his leg.

  ‘Don’t worry, Jonas. I’m sure he’s going to be OK.’

  *

  By the time the three of them got to the mine, a group of other police cars, an ambulance and even a fire engine with a ladder were all in place, their blue lights rotating.

  They soon identified one of the officers as Schwarz.

  ‘He’s warning us all to stay back or he’ll jump.’

  ‘Where is he?’ demanded Müller.

  ‘There.’ Schwarz pointed to what looked like a small dot at the end of the massive structure. ‘Right at the end of the conveyor belt. It’s an overburden conveyor bridge – it moves all the earth from above the lignite layer, and then dumps it in terraces on that side of the mine.’

  ‘Haven’t they at least stopped it from mining, till we can get him down?’

  ‘They say they can’t. They’ve got government targets to reach. They’re in competition with other mines. I’ve tried reasoning with them. But they insist he’s in no more danger, whether they’re continuing to remove the overburden or not.’

  ‘I’ll have to go up there,’ said Schmidt. ‘I owe it to him. This is all my fault. Let me through.’

  Tilsner grabbed the forensic scientist. ‘Hang on. You’re not going alone. And what do you mean, it’s all your fault? If that’s the case, we don’t want you spooking him.’

  Schmidt hung his head. ‘There was a misunderstanding about . . . about a personal matter.’

  ‘What did you say to him, Jonas?’ asked Müller.

  Schmidt breathed in heavily. ‘I may have given him the impression that I didn’t want him living at home any more because . . . well, because of his lifestyle choices. But it wasn’t what I meant. I just wanted him to consider everything carefully . . . for his own sake, not mine.’

  Müller watched Tilsner roll his eyes. ‘If we let you up there with us, Jonas, you have to promise me that you’re not going to say anything negative. All I want to hear from you is reassurance that you love him. Do you understand?’

  Schmidt nodded.

  Müller eyeballed Schwarz. ‘Is there an elevator?’

  ‘No. You have to climb. Up the stairs and along the walkway. It’s half a kilometre long and two hundred metres off the ground. And he’s virtually at the highest, furthest point.’

  Müller knew she didn’t have a head for heights, not since the ski jump incident as a teenager, where she’d frozen in fear. But she’d faced her fear once before when she’d had to, on the roof of the Interhotel Panorama, when the life of her own son was hanging by a thread.

  Now it was the son of her Kriminaltechniker.

  She knew how desperate Schmidt must be feeling. She and Tilsner would do all they could to try to save Markus, although perhaps, given what he’d been through, he just didn’t want to be saved.

  *

  They let Schmidt go first, so Markus could see his father was coming. Müller felt that would be the best way.

  Before he’d even climbed halfway up the first set of stairs, Schmidt seemed to be struggling, panting and out of breath. Müller began to wonder if her decision was wise – an emotional father and a suicidal son meeting in a highly charged, highly dangerous situation, with an icy wind howling all around.

  ‘Jesus,’ cried Tilsner. ‘He’s going to die from the cold if we don’t get him down, never mind anything else.’

  Müller motioned angrily, a single finger raised against her lips. Luckily, the wind had almost certainly carried Tilsner’s stupid comment away with it.

  As they edged along the walkway, still climbing to the peak of the conveyor bridge, Müller tried not to look down at the ground. The bridge itself was high enough already. But underneath it, the earth and lignite had been excavated away. There was now a giant hole beneath them, and a drop of nearly a hundred metres more, even after ground level.

  Soon they got close enough to hear Markus above the roar of the machinery.

  ‘You two, don’t come any closer,’ he shouted. ‘Vati, you can approach.’

  Schmidt went another ten metres before his son ordered him, too, to halt.

  ‘That’s close enough. You’ll be able to hear clearly enough from there.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Markus. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.’

  ‘Oh, but you did, Father. You meant every word. It’s too late now anyway.’

  Markus started to lever himself up to the top of the railing that protected the end of the walkway.

  ‘I didn’t mean it, honestly,’ pleaded Schmidt. ‘You live your life how you want to. Your mother and I both love you, unreservedly. I’m desperately sorry if what I said to you led to a misunderstanding. We’ll always support you, I promise. We love you.’

  Markus was now sitting at the top of the railings, his feet dangling over the massive drop.

  ‘Do you remember fishing in the Mecklenburg lakes?’ he shouted towards his father.

  ‘Of course, Marki. Of course. I’d like to do that again. As soon as the ice melts. You and me together. We could go camping.’

  ‘You’ve never time though, have you? Your police work always comes first.’

  Müller noticed from the corner of her eye that Tilsner seemed to have found a ladder taking him to a lower level, and was using it as Schmidt spoke to his son.

  ‘I will make more time for you, Marki. Honestly. I will support your lifestyle choices. I will see you through this – whatever it takes.’ Müller noticed Markus straightening his arms and back, as though he was preparing to jump. She edged forward, as Schmidt continued to shout to make himself heard above the roaring, bitter wind. ‘You’ll always be welcome in—’

  ‘No!’ shouted Müller, rushing forward. ‘Don’t, Mark—’

  Too late.

  The boy had jumped.

  Müller and Schmidt leant over the side of the walkway, expecting to see the worst. But Markus had landed just a few metres below, his fall cushioned by the rubberised, overburdened conveyor belt and its load of earth.

  His arms and legs were flailing around. Müller wasn’t sure if he was trying to stand or to jump again. And then she realised. He’d seen the end of the chute.

  The plume of earth being sent hundreds of metres to the ground below.

  And Markus was about to be sent with it.

  The youth was frantically trying to stand again, to run against the direction of the belt and save himself from certain death.

  He wanted
to live, she realised now.

  He wanted to be with his father.

  ‘I’ll get him,’ shouted Tilsner, as he leapt from the iron ladder onto the conveyor, and then started scrabbling towards the youth. Unless he reached him in time, they would both be sent flying over the edge. ‘Karin,’ Tilsner shouted over his shoulder. ‘Run down to the control room. Get them to stop it!’

  Müller had been frozen to the spot, but she ran now until her lungs were bursting, as though it was the most important race of her life. She waved her arms, hoping Schwarz below would see what was happening.

  She risked one look back.

  Tilsner had reached Markus, hauled him to his feet. But they were now just a metre or so from the end of the belt.

  Müller shouted at the top of her voice towards the control room but knew the sounds wouldn’t carry on the wind, and she was still only halfway there.

  She tried her utmost to go faster, but her body wouldn’t let her.

  No one was responding.

  She knew she wouldn’t make it in time.

  And she knew what that meant for Markus . . . and Tilsner.

  58

  I’m not really going to do it, I tell myself.

  And when my father says he wants to take back what he said, that my sexuality is my own business, I tell myself to climb down from the railing. But my body seems locked on its course.

  Instead of scrambling back, I’m falling.

  *

  I don’t understand at first what’s happened. Then I realise. I’ve fallen just a few metres onto the earth-carrying conveyor. The soft earth and the rubberised belt beneath it have cushioned my fall. But I can’t seem to stand. I’m not injured; at least I don’t think so. I just can’t right myself.

  Then I hear the female detective, Frau Müller, and my father scream. At first I don’t understand why. Then I do. I’m moving. Being carried with all the waste earth, about to be dumped to my death hundreds of metres below.

  Then I feel the belt judder, and see the male detective has jumped onto the conveyor from a maintenance ladder. He’s coming towards me, swaying slightly as he climbs across the earth, half-crouching, trying to keep his balance.

  And he’s nearly reached me. But we’re both nearly at the end of the belt. Just a few more metres.

  I hear my father shouting, screaming. ‘No, no, Marki!’

  The male detective is pulling me up into a hug, trying to haul me backwards, but my legs won’t work.

  Then more juddering, screaming and groaning of metal.

  Then silence.

  We sway together in the wind, at the end of the giant arm. Holding each other.

  The belt has stopped.

  We’ve been saved.

  And as the handsome detective still holds me, finally gets me walking, I realise two things.

  I’m glad to be alive. I want to give my father another chance to accept me.

  And also something else.

  Something totally inappropriate in this life or death situation.

  The closeness of this handsome man, this stubble-chinned man who’s saved me, has produced an embarrassing reaction.

  Dr Gaissler’s injections haven’t worked.

  They haven’t worked at all.

  I feel my life force running through me. I am what I am. Take me or leave me.

  My name is Markus Schmidt.

  And I’m alive.

  59

  There was an empty place setting for Christmas supper at the Strausberger Platz apartment. Intended for Emil.

  ‘I didn’t know if you’d invited him or not,’ said Helga.

  Müller shook her head, sadly. ‘No, Helga. It’s too soon. Maybe next year. Let’s see if he agrees to my proposed access arrangements first.’

  Helga nodded. ‘By the way, there’s some good news. Aside from the delightful fact that we’re spending Christmas together for the first time. Jannika said her first word yesterday.’

  Müller felt a momentary stab of jealousy, but then dismissed it. It had been her choice to return to work, and despite the time apart from the twins, she didn’t regret that choice. She just had to accept that some milestones she would miss. So she hid any upset as well as she could.

  ‘Did you, darling?’ she said to her daughter. ‘What a clever girl. Are you going to show Mutti now? Or do you only talk for Oma? Can you say “Mutti”? “Mut-ti”. Will you do that for Mutti?’

  Jannika smiled and looked down at her toy doll, then lifted it up proudly. ‘Vati! Vati!’ she shrieked, a devilish smile on her face.

  For a moment Müller felt affronted, though she knew that was ridiculous, and then almost slightly tearful, thinking about how things had turned out with Emil. Of the horrifying way things had ended for Gottfried.

  Helga laughed at Jannika’s mischief, but must have seen the shadow cross her granddaughter’s face.

  ‘Then, earlier today, your little man did something very clever too, didn’t you, Johannes?’

  Johannes widened his arms, as though inviting his mother to pick him up from the floor. But when she did, he started fretting and pointing at something. Helga reached down to pick up one of his toy cars, and handed it to him.

  As she cradled her son under one arm, Müller saw it was the scale model of a Wartburg squad car she’d got him for Christmas. Complete with olive green and white livery, and the silver star of the Volkspolizei on its doors and bonnet.

  ‘Who’s that, Johannes?’ asked Helga, gesturing towards the miniature figure inside the toy.

  The boy stayed silent, and instead threw the car at the wall.

  Helga rolled her eyes. ‘He’s not going to do it for you, but a few hours ago I’m sure I heard him saying “Mama, Mama”.’

  Müller laughed. ‘All in good time. They always say girls are more advanced than boys anyway.’ But as she said it, she felt a tinge of regret. About how Johannes – and Jannika – would need a father figure, and how she had failed them.

  She went over to pick up the car – it was undamaged. Then she noticed where it had struck the wall there was a small tear in the wallpaper. Müller pushed it back into place – with a bit of glue, it would hardly be visible. But as she held her finger over the damaged area she felt something else, just to the side. Some sort of wire. The electrics? But electrical wire wouldn’t be just below the surface, directly under the wallpaper, would it?

  Müller traced the line of the wire, up and across, moving the side table out of the way. Helga was too busy calming Johannes down to notice what she was doing.

  The wire reached some sort of node that had been hidden behind the table edge.

  Immediately, she realised what it was.

  A microphone.

  She felt a darkening of her soul – like a heavy storm cloud passing over. She clutched her arms to her chest.

  It wasn’t a surprise, but it still disturbed her. Reiniger’s assertion when she’d originally moved in that this new apartment was ‘clean’ was either an out-and-out lie, or something had been installed later, perhaps when she was in Bautzen.

  She glanced back at her grandmother playing with the twins. Calm had returned. They hadn’t noticed anything wrong.

  Smiles, laughter, happiness. Müller was determined that was the way it would be for them, always.

  Darker forces in this Republic might want to track her every move, listen to her every conversation.

  But she would protect what remained of her fractured family.

  Come what may.

  And in any way she could.

  GLOSSARY

  Ampelmann

  East German pedestrian traffic light symbol

  Anti-Fascist Protection Barrier

  The euphemistic official East German term for the Berlin Wall

  Arschloch

  Arsehole

  Barkas

  East German manufacturer of the B1000, a small delivery van or minibus

  Bezirk

  District

  BfV
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  Bundesamt für Verfassungsschutz, West Germany’s domestic intelligence service

  Deutsche Demokratische Republik (DDR)

  The German Democratic Republic, or DDR for short, the official name for East Germany

  Duroplast

  Fibre-reinforced plastic similar to fibreglass, used in the body panels of Trabant cars

  Eisenhüttenkombinat Ost (EKO)

  Ironworks Combine East (the main steelworks in Eisenhüttenstadt)

  FDJ

  Socialist youth movement (Freie Deutsche Jugend)

  Fernsehturm

  East Berlin’s TV tower

  Fernverkehrsstrasse

  Main (long-distance) road

  Goldbroiler

  Grilled or roasted chicken

  Ha-Neu

  Short form for Halle-Neustadt

  Hauptmann

  Captain

  Hauptstadt

  Capital city (in this book, East Berlin)

  Hohenschönhausen

  An area of north-eastern Berlin infamous for its Stasi prison

  Hütte

  Short form for Eisenhüttenstadt

  Interhotel

  East German chain of luxury hotels

  Jugendwerkhof

  Reform school or youth workhouse

  Keibelstrasse

  The People’s Police headquarters near Alexanderplatz – the East German equivalent of Scotland Yard

  Kriminalpolizei

  Criminal Police or CID

  Kriminaltechniker

  Forensic officer

  Kripo

  CID (short form) – also known as the ‘K’

  Liebling

  Darling

  Main Intelligence Directorate

  The Stasi’s foreign arm – the East German equivalent of MI6

  Major

  The same rank as in English, but pronounced more like My-Yor