by David Young
‘I can understand that, Herr Anderegg, given what’s happened to you both.’
‘Understand? You arseholes haven’t the first clue. You literally have no idea what it’s like to have both your children stolen from you – your only children – and then actually be framed for the crime by the very authorities who are supposed to be helping find them. In other words, you lot.’
Tilsner was about to give the man some choice words back, but Müller gave a slight shake of her head. She wanted to deal with it. And what Kaspar Anderegg didn’t know was that – yes – she did have some idea what it was like to lose two children. To lose twins. She held her stomach and breathed deeply for a moment, trying to shoo the images away from her brain.
‘I appreciate you must feel very bitter about what’s gone on, Herr Anderegg.’
‘Bitter? Hah! That doesn’t cover the half of it.’
Müller tried to give a slight smile, a smile of friendship. But she could see Herr Anderegg was having none of it. Instead, she turned her gaze to his wife.
‘Frau Anderegg. We’re interested in looking again at your case.’
The woman looked up at Müller. Her eyes were full of sadness, but what Müller said obviously gave her a grain of hope.
‘Oh yes. That would be kind of you, wouldn’t it Kaspar?’
‘Pah!’ exclaimed her husband, taking up his fork again and jabbing a piece of potato with it. The meaty smell of the meal suddenly had Müller’s salivary glands pumping.
‘Have you ever had any indication of your son and daughter’s whereabouts, Frau Anderegg?’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth – as she saw the smile of joy light up Hannelore Anderegg’s face – Müller regretted what she’d said. She couldn’t reveal that they’d found two skeletons in Berlin. That would be too cruel when there had been no identification. When there might never be any identification. But she shouldn’t have raised the woman’s hopes.
‘Why? You haven’t found them, have you?’
Müller’s answering pause – a silence that was pregnant with meaning – was enough to extinguish the woman’s renewed hope. How many times had that happened over the last few years, Müller wondered.
Finally, Müller answered. ‘It’s too early to say. But please don’t get your hopes up, Frau Anderegg. What we’ve found may not be –’
‘They’re dead, aren’t they?’ the woman sobbed.
Her husband stabbed his knife into his food, then rose from his seat, and seemed about to launch himself at Tilsner.
‘Careful,’ warned Müller’s deputy as he grabbed the man’s arm. ‘It’s a short trip back to jail.’
‘Kaspar!’ hissed his wife. ‘Don’t make a bigger fool of yourself than you have already.’
The man looked sheepish, shrugged his arm from Tilsner’s grasp, and then sat back down. ‘So what have you found?’
Müller looked at Tilsner with a pleading expression. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. They were meant to be seeking information, not giving it out. Tilsner shrugged. ‘You may as well tell them. They have a right to know.’
Sighing, Müller clasped her fingers together in front of her body, tightening them till the knuckles went white. Why was this so difficult? ‘We have found the bodies . . .’ she heard Hannelore gasp at this but didn’t look up to meet her eyes, instead continuing to concentrate on where her fingers were joined together, ‘. . . of two babies, skeletons they are now, who could be twins.’
Hannelore Anderegg was sobbing now, her face hidden in her hands. But her husband fixed Müller with a grim stare. ‘Where?’
‘In the Hauptstadt,’ said Tilsner.
‘The Hauptstadt?’ asked Herr Anderegg. ‘Why do you think –’
‘There is evidence of a Halle-Neustadt connection,’ said Müller.
‘What evidence?’
Müller looked at Tilsner. He gave a slight shake of the head. She exhaled. ‘We can’t say at the moment. It may be nothing. But we wanted to talk to you about the circumstances of your twins’ disappearance. We want to try to help you. I know you may not believe that, after what’s gone on before. But it’s the truth.’
Kaspar Anderegg snorted. But then – after seeing the misery on his wife’s face – the fight seemed to go out of him, and he laid his knife and fork to one side and placed his hand on his still-sobbing wife’s arm.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk.’
37
Once the Andereggs had overcome their initial scepticism – and started to believe that Müller and Tilsner had a genuine interest in discovering the true story of their missing babies – they became much more cooperative. For her part, Müller soon discounted them as potential suspects in the wider investigation. The couple appeared too broken, too damaged by the loss of their children, and the cruel way they’d apparently been treated by the authorities, to inflict that sort of pain on anyone else. It was an assumption – perhaps a dangerous assumption – but Müller was convinced it was true, nonetheless.
The story that emerged was one of genuine misfortune. Frau Anderegg had left her children outside a shop in a double buggy, ostensibly with another mother keeping an eye on them. That woman had become distracted in an animated conversation – against the background of bustle, building noise and overall confusion that had marked the birth of Ha-Neu, as slab apartment blocks rose from what had once been a muddy swamp by the banks of the Saale almost overnight. When she eventually looked round, the double buggy – and the babies inside it – had disappeared. That triggered a nightmare sequence of events for the Andereggs: a frantic, but fruitless, search for their babies – and a flat denial from the other mother that Hannelore had ever asked her to look after them. Or, indeed, that they’d ever been there to start with. Müller could imagine the situation: one in which fear would have been contagious, all-pervasive, and where lies provided a safe harbour for the negligent party.
With no witnesses prepared to back up their story, and with Kaspar already marked down as a troublemaker and potential counter-revolutionary, the fit-up that followed was all too predictable.
Müller’s only promise to the Andereggs was that the People’s Police would do everything possible to try to identify the skeletons of the twin babies found in the rubble of Doctor Rothstein’s illegal abortion clinic. If they were the Andereggs’ children, it would extinguish their remaining hopes – but at least it might give them some closure. But Müller knew the likelihood of being able to identify them at all was low.
*
‘Did you buy their story?’ asked Tilsner on the drive back to Ha-Neu.
‘I think so,’ said Müller, relieved to finally get away from the choking atmosphere surrounding Leuna. She rolled down the passenger window of the Wartburg and took a couple of deep breaths of the cleaner air, hoping it would dispel the lingering feeling of nausea. It didn’t. ‘They seemed angry, but honest. I would be angry if what had happened to them had happened to me.’ Her feelings towards the Stasi were conflicted. On the one hand, she was hoping to contact Jäger and persuade him to use his connections to help in her quest to find her natural parents. And of course some form of internal discipline, and security, was necessary in the Republic to guard against its many enemies in the West. Although she couldn’t remember the war, she could remember all the endless rebuilding afterwards. She’d seen the scars on countless buildings in Berlin, including the site of the new Palace of the Republic, and what was there before. She didn’t want the fascists, the Nazis, to be able to make a comeback. She wanted to help build a fairer future, for all the Republic’s citizens. But as her eyes honed in once again on Tilsner’s Western timepiece, she shuddered at some of the Ministry for State Security’s methods. She watched her deputy continually peering into the rear-view mirror to see if the Skoda driver had resumed his surveillance, wondering if this local branch of the Stasi even knew they were keeping tabs on one of their own.
*
If Müller had had enough of the Stasi,
they didn’t seem to tire of dealing with her. When she got back to the incident room – which was in the process of being transformed into the control centre for the forthcoming Castro visit – Eschler handed her a note.
He raised one brow as he handed it over, eyes glancing down at the Stasi emblem of the Republic’s flag flying from a rifle. Müller shielded it from him as she tore the envelope open. But her face relaxed as she saw it was an ‘invitation’ to a meeting – from Jäger – a response to a letter of her own, sent to him at the regional Stasi HQ in Ha-Neu, asking for help in her quest to find information about her real mother. Perhaps he had some news.
*
The Stasi colonel’s choice of meeting place held echoes of their meetings in the Hauptstadt: the Culture Park on Peissnitz island, between the navigable and ‘wild’ sections of the Saale river.
To get there, Müller had to drive to the north-east of the new town, near Stasi regional headquarters. Perhaps that was why Jäger had chosen the venue: it was convenient for him, nothing more, nothing less. He wanted them to meet near the Swan Bridge, a footbridge connecting the island to Halle West – near the university and, on the other side of Heide Allee, the giant Soviet garrison. Once she’d parked the Wartburg and walked through the woods past the Young Pioneers’ clubhouse, she saw him, in plain clothes, sitting in one of the open-top passenger carriages of the miniature narrow-gauge railway.
‘You know I like my theme parks,’ he laughed as he saw her.
His smile, though, held what appeared to be genuine warmth.
‘You look well, Karin. Pleased to be back on a proper case again?’ Everyone else had been saying she looked tired. Flattery made a welcome change.
Müller arranged her skirt under herself as she sat next to the Stasi officer on the miniature train. ‘Yes, though it’s a frustrating one. You presumably know all about it?’
Jäger nodded. ‘A little. Though as I think you know, I’ve been working far away from Berlin.’
‘The tan’s a bit of a giveaway.’ Müller was surprised how easily they lapsed back into friendly conversation given that by the end of the Jugendwerkhof case she’d almost grown to hate him. She certainly hated his methods, his ruthlessness. But perhaps, now, some of that could be put to her own advantage.
Müller found herself looking over both shoulders, to each side of the train tracks. What was she expecting to see? The black Skoda parked by the railway line? In any case, what she was about to show Jäger wasn’t that controversial. She pulled the rusting metal box from her pocket, opened it, pulled out the photograph and handed it to Jäger. As she did, she caught a faint whiff of Casino de Luxe again. Perhaps her mother – her adoptive mother – had used the same perfume.
‘Who’s this?’ he asked.
‘My mother.’
‘She barely looks more than a girl. And the baby is –’
‘– me . . . as far as I know. And then there’s this.’
Müller proffered the yellowing adoption certificate, the legal piece of paper which had allowed her adoptive parents to bring her up as their own child in Oberhof.
‘I’ve written it all down for you. All the details. What my adoptive mother could tell me about my birth mother – which wasn’t much.’ She handed the piece of paper she’d made her notes on to the Stasi colonel.
He looked at it dubiously. ‘What do you expect me to do about it? You know that most of the time I’m stationed abroad now. I’ve come back only briefly, because of the Castro visit.’
‘You’re my best chance.’ She tried to hold his eyes in her gaze. ‘I helped you in the Jugendwerkhof case . . .’
‘Because you were told to, Karin, by your People’s Police superiors. It was your job. And in the Harz, you didn’t exactly cover yourself in glory.’
Müller said nothing in reply. She could feel a tightness gripping her throat. The moisture started to well up in her eyes. Jäger noticed, and squeezed her hand.
‘Look, I’m sorry. That sounded harsher than I meant it to. But I don’t see how I can help . . . even if I wanted to.’
Gripping the tin box tightly in her pocket, Müller forced herself not to cry. Tried to sound calm and professional. ‘You have plenty of contacts in the Ministry, Klaus – sorry, Comrade Oberst.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Jäger. ‘This isn’t a formal meeting.’
‘You knew all about my abortion after the rape at the police college.’
‘The alleged rape.’
Müller sighed. She wasn’t in the mood to get into an argument. ‘The point is, you have methods of finding things out that I don’t. I’d like your help. To try to identify my birth mother – my birth father too, if his identity is known. I can’t force you to do it.’ Jäger gave a thin smile at this. ‘I’m simply asking you to do what you can.’
The Stasi colonel folded the paper and pushed it into his trouser pocket. ‘OK, Karin, I will see what I can do. But if I do a favour for you, you will probably find yourself having to pay me back one day. That’s the way things work.’
They watched as another man, in railway engineer’s overalls, approached. He gave a slight nod to Jäger, then climbed into the driver’s seat.
Jäger looked up at the overcast sky. ‘Hopefully the rain will hold off.’ He signalled to the driver – the only other person on board – who released the brakes. The miniature train trundled off, with much grinding and clunking of metal.
They were both silent for a few moments as the locomotive pulled them along in a northerly direction. The rhythmic clackety-clack as the train wheels passed over the rail joints had a soporific effect on Müller, so that when Jäger finally spoke again she found herself jolting upright.
‘You’re probably wondering why I asked for this meeting.’
Müller tried to read the expression in his face. It was his affable Western newsreader look. ‘I assumed it was in response to the letter I sent to you. My request for information about my mother.’
Jäger shook his head. ‘No, that wasn’t it. Though as I’ve said, I will do what I can – and in return, I expect you to cooperate with me. However, what I really wanted to talk about was the forthcoming state visit.’
‘Of Comrade Castro?’
The Stasi colonel gave a single nod. ‘We’ve received information that there may be attempts to disrupt the visit.’
Müller pulled the lapels of her jacket together as the train began to turn the corner at the apex of Peissnitz island. It wasn’t particularly cold, but an easterly breeze was enough to raise goosebumps on her forearms. ‘And how does that involve my team?’
Jäger rubbed his chin. ‘On the actual day, we’ll need all hands to the pump. So you and Tilsner will need to be on duty, and put your other investigation to one side. We’ll be needing you to watch for anything untoward.’
On the face of it, that seemed to make sense. But why had Jäger felt the need to call her to one of his semi-clandestine meetings?
Sensing her puzzlement, the Stasi officer continued: ‘And from now on, I want you to keep your eyes and ears open. Ask questions of the Pioneer teams collecting newspapers for you.’ So, as Müller suspected, the Stasi lieutenant colonel did know about their investigation – intimately. ‘And if there are any more mothers you’re visiting as part of this health campaign, try to get them talking. See if you can find anything out. You’re from Thuringia, aren’t you? Or at least your adoptive family is.’
Müller rolled her eyes. ‘You know very well where I’m from. You know everything about me that you want to know, Comrade Oberst.’
Jäger smiled. ‘You’re getting used to our methods, Karin.’ Then he turned to her and held her gaze. ‘The group who seem to be behind the protests call themselves the Committee for the Dispossessed. Have you ever heard of it?’
The shriek of the train’s whistle as it approached Peissnitz Bridge station startled her. She felt her heart rate quicken. Almost as though she felt guilty about something. ‘No. I can’t say that
I have.’
‘From the content of their letters we believe the people involved are somehow connected with the drive to eradicate racketeers in tourist areas and our attempts to make sure the Free German Trade Union holiday service had enough properties. In Rügen, where you were earlier this year, and in –’
‘– Oberhof, my home village,’ interrupted Müller. She turned her head to the station platform as they trundled through. Would-be passengers looked confused that the train wasn’t stopping. This, though, was Oberst Klaus Jäger’s private express.
‘So you know about it?’
Müller frowned. ‘The Committee for the Dispossessed? No, I’ve never heard of it, as I said. I am aware that some people still bear a grudge about the state taking control of tourist facilities. But tens of thousands of citizens have benefitted from cheap holidays as a result. Workers who otherwise would not have been able to afford it.’ She knew this was the answer an authority figure like Jäger would expect to hear. He nodded, as though he could sense she was simply repeating propaganda messages by rote.
‘What I’d like you to do – subtly, please, Karin – is ask your family if they’ve ever heard of this group. If they’ve heard any grumblings.’ Müller knew – even as Jäger was asking the question – that she wouldn’t be complying with his request. Relations with what she now knew was her adoptive family were still too raw.
‘But the families of the . . .’ Müller paused. Johannes, and his family, had been good to her. His mother had always spoiled her as a little girl, when love from her own mother was markedly absent. She didn’t want to label them, but she knew what Jäger would expect to hear. ‘Families of the racketeers were bussed out. Well, relocated. I witnessed it as a little girl.’
What Jäger said next sent a chill through Müller. Had her hunching down in the train seat, wanting to hide.
‘I know you did, Karin. Your name is on record. For complaining about it.’
38
Two months earlier: July 1975