Stasi Wolf

by David Young

Müller nodded.

  ‘I . . . I would have been at the hospital. I always help out in the ward on Tuesday evenings. I used to be a nurse.’

  Drumming his fingers on the table in a fast rhythm, Tilsner took up the attack. ‘Do you get a meal break, anything like that? Where would you have been at seven p.m.?’

  The woman seemed to relax slightly, knowing she had an alibi for that time. ‘In the ward. I would have only started at six p.m. I don’t usually take a break until about nine.’

  ‘And can anyone verify that?’ asked Müller.

  ‘Yes, of course. We clock in and out.’

  Tilsner snorted. ‘It’s easy enough to get someone to clock in for you, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’ asked the woman. Müller noticed the beginning of anger, rather than fear, creeping into her tone. The detective reached into her briefcase and took out a pen and a blank piece of paper.

  ‘Can you write the word “DEZEMBER” please, in capitals, in your usual handwriting. And don’t try to fake different writing, we will cross-check it against other documents you’ve filled in.’

  The woman’s face creased in puzzlement, but she took up the pen and began to write.

  ‘In capitals, Citizen Rosenbaum!’ shouted Tilsner. ‘Didn’t you hear what the Comrade Oberleutnant said?’

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ said the woman. ‘I’ll try again.’ She crossed out her first effort and Müller watched the pen shake as – this time – she completed the simple task. They’d compare it later with the control sample copied from the newspaper wrapped around Karsten’s body. But from memory, Müller knew it was almost identical.

  Even if the woman herself had an alibi, had someone from her flat picked up a newspaper containing one of her discarded crosswords? Or had they deliberately taken a thrown-away paper, to try to deflect the blame onto an innocent old woman? Müller softened her voice as she asked her next question.

  ‘Let’s assume for a moment that your story checks out, Frau Rosenbaum. What we’re interested in is a crossword, completed in a copy of the Neues Deutschland newspaper, that is linked to the disappearance of a baby. Possibly a number of babies.’

  The woman gasped.

  Tilsner banged his hand down on the table again. ‘Never repeat that beyond the confines of this room. Not to your husband. Not to anyone.’

  ‘So,’ continued Müller, ‘do you ever do the newspaper crossword when you’re in the hospital?’

  Frau Rosenbaum shook her head vigorously. ‘No. Never. There’s never enough time, really. Apart from a short meal break – when I just go and get a cup of coffee or something – we’re busy all the time. Changing nappies, changing bedding, helping the nurses out with whatever they need.’

  Tilsner drew in a deep breath. ‘OK, Citizen Rosenbaum. What about your husband?’

  ‘What about him?’

  Tilsner rolled his eyes. ‘Where would he have been on the evening of Tuesday, October the twenty-first?’

  The woman shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t know for definite, not without asking him. But Tuesday is skittle night. He plays for a team attached to a bar in Halle Nietleben. The Grüne Tanne.’ Müller remembered it as the guest house where she, Vogel and Eschler had held one of their first meetings about the Salzmann twins case. ‘So,’ said the woman, ‘I expect he’d be there. Unless they were playing a team from a different town or village. I can check with him if you like.’

  Müller folded her arms across her stomach and sighed. The baby kicked in response. Frau Rosenbaum noticed her grimace.

  ‘Is it a girl, or a boy? . . . That is? . . .’ Müller watched her pause as she realised it wasn’t her place to be asking the question, her face reddening – obviously wondering if she was mistaken, despite Müller’s obviously distended stomach.

  ‘It’s OK, Frau Rosenbaum. I am pregnant, yes.’ She smiled at the woman. If her story checked out – and Müller’s instinct was that it would – then, despite the handwriting match, they were no nearer to solving the case. Inside she felt desperate, but it wasn’t poor Frau Rosenbaum’s fault. ‘But I don’t want to know what sex the baby is. It’ll be a nice surprise.’ Müller started gathering her papers together, and placed them back in her briefcase.

  ‘Is that it, then?’ asked the woman.

  ‘If your story and your husband’s movements check out, then yes,’ said Tilsner. ‘You both appear to have alibis for the time frame we’re looking at. You’re free to go.’

  Müller gave the woman another smile. ‘Thank you for your assistance, Frau Rosenbaum. I’m sorry that some of our initial questioning may have seemed a little tough. As you can appreciate, this is a serious case. And as the Comrade Unterleutnant said, do not under any circumstances mention anything about our inquiry to anyone, not even your husband. Otherwise you could get into serious trouble.’

  ‘I understand, Oberleutnant. I want to help. I love little children. It’s strange that I’ve been brought in because of a crossword I completed in Neues Deutschland. We only buy it on special occasions. I’d wanted a keepsake of Prime Minister Castro’s visit. I certainly didn’t mean to put it out with the rubbish. My husband must have done it by mistake.’

  Müller nodded. She’d hoped it would provide a breakthrough at last. But she couldn’t believe the old woman was a child-snatcher.

  *

  Frau Rosenbaum’s alibi – once checked – seemed watertight. Müller examined the clocking-in records at the hospital’s paediatric unit. They did indeed show that the elderly woman volunteer was on duty the evening Tanja’s baby had been snatched from outside the bar in Halle. Yet she hadn’t been there when the Salzmann twins were taken. Tilsner had a more difficult job pinning down exactly where the Grüne Tanne’s skittle team had been that night. But, eventually, he established that Herr Rosenbaum had been playing that evening – helping the team to a win in an away match in Merseburg. Although old man Rosenbaum wasn’t always selected for the team, making way for younger members, teammates remembered that night because he’d been on fire – achieving the highest score of the night, with several clearances.

  It left Müller and Tilsner despondent. Not only had another lead turned into a dead end, but they were, if anything, further away than ever from solving the case. If Frau Rosenbaum wasn’t the person they were hunting – and it seemed clear she wasn’t – then Professor Morgenstern’s contention that the handwriting style was highly unusual was wide of the mark.

  46

  January 1976

  Halle

  The New Year promised to be a significant one in Müller’s home life, as her pregnancy bump grew ever larger. But at work, things were stagnating. They’d exhausted every lead they could think of in searching for Tanja Haase or her abductor. The Salzmann twins investigation now assumed less significance, with Maddelena safe and Karsten’s death now confirmed as not a result of murder. As for the ‘cold’ case of the Andereggs’ twins, Müller and Tilsner could find nothing to directly link it to the wider investigation. Müller herself felt exhausted most of the time, as her belly expanded at the same time as her appetite. Never mind eating for two, she felt as though she was eating for a whole family.

  As she and Emil packed the Christmas decorations away in the flat – his flat – that they now shared, she could tell her boyfriend had something on his mind. He’d been unnaturally quiet, but now – hesitantly – he broke the silence.

  ‘You’re struggling with that box, Karin. Just let me do it. You need to rest more. I was thinking the other day that it might be time to –’

  ‘Don’t say it, Emil.’

  ‘Well, you’re nearly six months gone now. You’re exhausted every evening after work. Exhausted and depressed. If the inquiry isn’t getting anywhere, perhaps you should consider . . . well, slowing down at least.’

  Müller pulled a face and sighed. The problem was, she knew he was right. ‘We’ve been called to a meeting tomorrow. I think my decision may be taken for me. But
you might not like it. There’s a good chance they’ll wind things up here, and send me back to the Hauptstadt.’

  ‘Well, we don’t want that. At least, I don’t want that. I won’t be able to free myself from my work here immediately. I can ask for a transfer back to a hospital in Berlin, but it would take time.’

  ‘I don’t want it either. Not yet. Although I want to bring up our child in Berlin, not here.’

  Emil took the box of decorations out of her hands, placed it on the dining table, and then coaxed Müller down next to him on the sofa. He held both her hands in his, and she found herself staring into his blue eyes. Blue like Tilsner’s, blue like her own.

  ‘Why don’t you take the initiative? Say you’re feeling ill – it’s not a lie, I can tell – and ask for some time off.’

  ‘And what about Tilsner?’

  ‘He’s still officially recuperating too, isn’t he? Perhaps they’d let him keep things going on a semi-mothballed basis. He’s probably not fully ready to get back into the thick of things in the Hauptstadt anyway, is he?’

  *

  The meeting was scheduled for 9 a.m. the next day at Halle district People’s Police HQ, rather than the Ha-Neu police office. Tilsner – who basically had Müller and Schmidt’s Wohnkomplex VI apartment to himself now Schmidt had gone back to Berlin – picked Müller up from her boyfriend’s apartment in the Wartburg. The rush hour traffic was surprisingly heavy, so they had to park quickly and run to the meeting room.

  ‘Hang on!’ shouted Müller, leaning against the corridor wall and panting. ‘You’re forgetting I’m nearly six months gone.’

  Tilsner raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t think I could forget, Karin. Shall I go on ahead and make your excuses?’

  ‘No, just give me a second to get my breath back.’

  When they arrived, the Halle police chief, Oberst Frenzel, was sitting behind a long table, flanked by Malkus and Janowitz. Jäger had now returned to Berlin – and possibly back to Cuba, as far as Müller knew – all without providing any of the promised information about her natural mother or father. She’d set that to one side for the moment; her baby had to take precedence.

  ‘Ah, Karin, Werner. Many thanks for joining us,’ said Frenzel. His greeting appeared genuinely warm. Malkus wore a thin, unconvincing smile. Janowitz sat there glowering, as usual. How much better it had been for those few weeks when Jäger had been in charge of the Stasi side of things. She didn’t think she would ever see eye to eye with Malkus or Janowitz. Maybe they just didn’t like women in positions of authority. ‘So,’ continued Frenzel, ‘I wanted us to have a catch-up because I think we need to make some difficult decisions about your investigation. As you know, Major Malkus has been very generous in providing manpower, but that’s got to come to an end now. And the Ministry for State Security has been given a report by Hauptmann Janowitz saying that – in effect – your team doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere very quickly. ’

  ‘But –’ Müller’s attempts to interject were cut short by Frenzel raising his hand, palm outwards, and throwing her a fierce stare. But she was angry too – angry that Janowitz was trying to undermine everything.

  ‘As I say, we need to take some difficult decisions. What I’ve decided is –’

  Frenzel was in turn interrupted by someone rapping hard on the office door. He sighed. ‘Enter!’

  A uniformed officer who looked as though he’d been running all the way from the control room stood panting in the doorway.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Comrade Oberst, but Hauptmann Eschler’s on the telephone wanting to speak to Oberleutnant Müller.’

  Frenzel closed his eyes in annoyance, then drew his hands down over his face. ‘You’d better go, Karin. And you, I suppose, Comrade Tilsner. We’ll take this up again later today – if we can. And if it’s still relevant.’

  As they left the room, out of the corner of her eye Karin saw Tilsner wink at Janowitz. It didn’t raise a smile.

  *

  Eschler told Müller to meet him at the boathouse on Rabeninsel – an island in the Saale, south of Peissnitz, and – like its larger cousin – bordered by the wild Saale river to the west, and the navigable watercourse to the east. The only access was from a footbridge in the Böelberg district in Halle city. Members of the rowing club there had reported seeing something suspicious at the back of their clubhouse.

  By the time the two Berlin detectives arrived, uniformed officers – led by Eschler and Fernbach – had sealed off the whole of Rabeninsel, and evacuated the café next to the boathouse. They’d cordoned off the back of the building with police tape, and had started to dig, struggling with the semi-frozen ground. Eschler proffered a plastic evidence bag. Müller took it, and almost immediately knew what it was: Tanja Haase’s rabbit soft toy – the one she’d seen when they’d first visited Tanja and her mother back in July. The one Anneliese had said was with Tanja in her pram, outside the bar, at the time she disappeared.

  ‘On its own,’ said Eschler, ‘it wouldn’t have been enough to make anyone suspicious or raise the alarm. But it looked like the ground nearby had been freshly dug over. Seeing this, one of the rowers had taken matters into his own hands, got a shovel, and started to dig, even though the ground was partly frozen. His spade hit something solid, he tried to dig through it, and heard a slight crunching sound. As though he’d hit a stone or something. So he reached with his hand into the soil, and pulled this out.’

  Eschler held up a second evidence bag. Inside it, severed at the wrist, with soil mixed in with blood, was a human hand. A perfectly formed, dainty, infant child’s hand. Despite the dirt, Müller could immediately see the slightly olive, tanned look to the skin. The hand of a mixed-race child. The hand – she was almost certain – of Tanja Haase.

  *

  Müller didn’t want to take Anneliese to the morgue, but knew it was something she had to do. It wasn’t a job she relished at the best of times, getting a parent to identify their dead child. In this case, the pathologist had been able to give an early – and fairly definite – cause of death. Asphyxiation. By manual strangulation. The bruise marks were obvious around the child’s neck.

  As the baby’s body was wheeled out of the cooler on a trolley, Anneliese held on to Muller’s right hand tightly, leaning her body against the detective. When the murdered infant’s face was uncovered, Anneliese’s weight collapsed against Müller. The pregnant detective struggled to hold her up.

  ‘Can you confirm this is Tanja?’

  The girl didn’t reply.

  ‘Anneliese?’ coaxed Müller.

  The detective felt as much as saw the slight nod of Anneliese’s head. Müller had warned the mortuary assistant ahead of time to make sure the neck was covered – that only the face was showing. She didn’t want to add to Anneliese’s distress.

  ‘Just to make this absolutely clear, Anneliese. Can you confirm this is the body of your daughter?’

  The girl tried to pull forward, to get to her dead baby. Müller struggled to hold her back, and the mortuary assistant intervened.

  ‘I need you to actually answer the question, Anneliese. I’m sorry.’

  In between her crying, her attempts to pull away from Müller and the assistant, the girl finally uttered a weak and plaintive ‘Yes’.

  47

  March 1976

  Halle-Neustadt

  Perhaps as soon as Colonel Frenzel had heard about Eschler’s urgent call for Müller he’d known that the decision of the People’s Police and the Stasi – to scale back Müller and Tilsner’s inquiry – would have to be put on hold. The discovery of Tanja’s body on an island in the Saale, one used by walkers, canoeists and rowers, meant that any efforts to maintain a news blackout would prove futile. Once again, Müller was conflicted in the way that only a homicide detective could be: the discovery that baby Tanja had been killed was tragic. The devastation wreaked on Anneliese Haase was cruel beyond words and had Müller stroking her stomach every few minutes, willing her own baby
to be safe. But it also offered the hope of new leads. The fact that Rabeninsel was such a popular leisure area – it even had a passenger ferry terminal – gave Müller and Tilsner the hope that someone would have seen the baby either being killed, or being buried.

  So while the Stasi team checking for matching handwriting in the Salzmann case redoubled their efforts, Müller, Tilsner and Eschler organised uniformed officers to perform an exhaustive audit of who used Rabeninsel – concentrating particularly on the boathouse.

  But as hours became days, and days became weeks, they failed to find anything of significance. This was despite a thorough examination by forensic officers of the area where the body had been found, and of everything that had been buried with Tanja – or accidentally dropped or deliberately planted nearby, such as the toy rabbit. The rabbit became a symbol of the frustrations of the case – or cases – to Müller. An autopsy confirmed that Tanja had been strangled some hours before being buried. But if the killer had managed to cover his or her tracks so well – so that there was no significant forensic evidence, and no witnesses to the dumping and burying of the body – why had the child’s soft toy been left in such an obvious place? Did the killer want to be caught? And the only links – so far – to the Salzmann case were tenuous ones of geography and timing. The only link to the Andereggs’ twins was . . . what? A Halle-Neustadt bus ticket.

  A well-aimed kick from her ever-growing baby inside her womb broke Müller’s train of thought.

  ‘Are you OK?’ asked Tilsner. ‘Maybe –’

  ‘Don’t you start, Werner. I’ve been getting that all the time at the apartment from Emil. Don’t worry, I’ll know when it’s time to stop working.’

  They were in the fire station, in the hangar-like room set aside for Tilsner and his Stasi operatives to trawl through the piles of waste newspapers. It was where they came when all other leads had resulted in dead ends, their fallback hope that one of these newspapers would be the golden ticket – containing a crossword completed by someone who wrote their capital ‘E’s in the same way as whoever had wrapped up Karsten’s tiny body. The trouble was, Frau Rosenbaum’s handwriting had already looked exactly like that ‘golden ticket’ – only for her and her husband to have solid alibis.