The Checkpoint, Berlin Detective Series Box Set

by Michele E. Gwynn

  Meyer’s frame lost some of its rigidity. He turned to duck into the driver’s seat, appearing relieved. His relief was short-lived. A muffled sneeze broke the silence. Meyer froze, and then reached to slam the door shut while trying to start the car.

  The officer cursed, pulled his gun once again, and aimed it precisely at Meyer’s head. “Stop! I will shoot!”

  Meyer was caught between his panic to flee, and the inner voice shouting at him to stay still, don’t do anything to cause the officer to pull that trigger.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them! Slowly exit the vehicle, and lay down on the ground, face first!”

  The banker hesitated.

  “Now!”

  Defeat filled Meyer’s large, dark eyes. He lifted both hands, and did as bid, at a pace he hoped would not antagonize the police officer. “Please, just please be calm.”

  “Shut up! Get down!” The officer came around to Meyer’s side, and when he’d fully complied, found himself quickly handcuffed. He lay on the road unable to rise with any ease. “Stay there, or by God, I will shoot you like a dog!”

  The officer searched the car. The sedan had a small backseat, barely any room for a person to sit comfortably, and no one was sitting there. The officer pushed and prodded the cushions. At the last tug, the entire back seat popped up revealing a hidden nook. Lying inside the hollowed-out space was a woman. She looked to be in her early thirties with long, dark hair, and large brown eyes. She blinked at the German officer staring down at her.

  “Please,” came Meyer’s plea. “She’s my sister. Don’t hurt her.”

  The officer huffed. He’d seen this a dozen times already. Since his first few days out of the academy, he’d witnessed people being smuggled out of East Germany. He didn’t even know how they managed it since the guards inside the DDR were not only thorough, but brutal if they came across anyone trying to escape. Most of those who attempted it ended up shot right where they stood. Those that weren’t killed on the spot wished they had been by the time the Stasi were finished with them. But the ones who made it, never expected kindness from police. It was foreign to them.

  “I’m not going to hurt her, you fool. I’m not the Stasi. This isn’t East Germany.” He turned back to the woman and extended his hand. “You can come out.”

  She took his hand with some hesitation, gingerly climbing out of the hidden well beneath the bench seat. When she stood on the pavement, he holstered his gun, and introduced himself.

  “I’m Officer Herman Faust. Welcome to West Germany, Miss?”

  “Edith Meyer Hoffmann.” She gave her full name.

  “And where is Herr Hoffmann?” Faust inquired after her husband. “Is he somewhere in the car too?” He lifted one thick eyebrow.

  Her expression fell. “No. He’s dead. Shot down not two hours ago.” Tears welled in her eyes and began to fall down her gaunt cheeks.

  “Edith...” Meyer’s voice tried to offer comfort.

  Faust sighed. “I’m sorry, Frau Hoffmann. You have my condolences.” He turned to Meyer, bending down to release him from the cuffs. “No funny business from you, Meyer.” Faust unlocked the wrist cuffs, and stood, reaching a hand out to help the man up. “You both will, of course, need to come down to the station and give a statement.”

  “Is that really necessary?” Meyer looked at his sister who was shaking visibly with grief.

  “I’m afraid so. Come. You’ll ride with me. I’ll send someone to pick up your car and bring it to the station house.”

  Faust guided them to his own vehicle. Frau Hoffmann slid into the back seat of the police cruiser. Her brother reluctantly climbed in beside her.

  “Will this take long?” Meyer asked. “My sister is, as you can see, not well.”

  Edith Hoffmann patted her brother’s arm, a wan smile on her lips. “I’ll be okay, Gunter.” She coughed.

  Faust looked in the rearview mirror. “It will take as long as it takes, I’m afraid, but we will be sure to bring in a physician if that is what she requires.”

  “That won’t be necessary, officer,” she said, looking out the window into the dark of night.

  “Edith—”

  “I’ll be all right. Just let’s get on with this. We’re safe now, brother. We’re safe.” She spoke softly, seeming unconcerned.

  Faust heard the resignation in her voice, and also the relief. Even if her brother didn’t realize it yet, Edith Meyer Hoffmann was correct. They were, indeed, safe now. He cranked the ignition, and pulled onto the road. The ride back to the station was slow-going as the rain began to fall in sheets. With the December temperatures dropping below freezing overnight, there would be nothing but ice covering the roads by morning. Herman was glad he’d remembered to put the chains on the tires. His wife, Helga, would need all the traction she could get to make it into work. He would be getting off shift only an hour before, just in time to make it home to take care of Therese, their daughter. At three, she was the apple of his eye, had papa wrapped around her dainty finger. Still, she was a handful, especially when he had to work overnight. At least his mother-in-law, Margaret, would be around by mid-morning to watch the tike while he got some sleep.

  Margaret stayed until Helga came home, and by then, Herman was getting up and ready for his next shift. It wasn’t an easy schedule, but it worked for them, for now.

  Before he knew it, they’d arrived at the station. Faust pulled into the parking lot and found a spot. He had no umbrella on hand, but he did carry an extra jacket. He handed it to Frau Hoffmann after opening the back door to let her and her brother out.

  “Here,” he said, throwing the coat over her shoulders, and flipping the hood up, “this should help keep you dry.”

  Meyer exited the vehicle, and they ran for the front doors. Inside, the station house was quiet. Faust took Meyer and his sister to in-processing. He left them both in the desk Sergeant’s hands while he reported in to his Captain.

  “Another made it across. She’s in with Herring right now.”

  Captain Rolf Rheinhardt looked up, his keen green eyes locking with Faust’s as his dark eyebrows lowered. “She?”

  “Yes, a widow. Recent widow. Her husband did not make it.”

  “I see. She had help?”

  Faust nodded. “Yes, her brother. He’s one of ours, a Jewish banker.”

  Rheinhardt grunted. “Have you run his background check yet?”

  “Nein. I’m on my way to my desk now. I’ll run it and fill out my report.”

  The Captain nodded, dismissing Faust who turned to leave.

  “Faust.”

  Herman paused, looking back.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Hoffmann. Edith Meyer Hoffmann. Her brother is Gunter Meyer.”

  Rheinhardt froze. “And her husband?”

  Faust returned to the doorway. “Herr Hoffmann?” he offered.

  The Captain rummaged through his desk, finding a file folder. He pulled it out, flipping through the pages. Finally, he stopped, and pointed at the two pictures on the page. “Is this her?” He turned the folder toward Faust.

  Hermann approached, looking down. On the page were two faded photographs. One was of a tall, good-looking man with prominent cheekbones and a thin mustache. He wore wire-rimmed glasses over his blue eyes and was dressed in a dark suit. The other picture showed a young woman with long, dark hair and creamy cheeks, smiling, wearing a wedding gown. She was the picture of health and happiness standing there holding a modest bouquet of white roses. Despite the difference in age and obvious declining health now, there was no doubt this was a picture of Edith Meyer on her wedding day.

  “Yes, that’s her. Why? Who is she?”

  Rheinhardt ran his hand over his mouth. “She is the wife of one of the top microbiologists in the world. Solomon Hoffmann. Back in the early ‘70s, Hoffmann was caught on the wrong side of the wall while on a special dispensation to visit his dying grandmother. He was recruited by Vector to help develop biological weap
ons for the Soviets. Since then, we’ve lost track, but he more than likely moved on from Vector to Obolensk, the newest branch of their germ warfare division. You said he didn’t make it?” He looked at Faust.

  “Frau Hoffmann said he died not more than two hours before I came upon them. What does this mean?”

  “I don’t exactly know yet, but now we have her. She was his wife. She’ll have information.” He picked up the phone.

  “Who are you calling?” Faust asked. His Captain seemed agitated, a clear change from his usually calm demeanor.

  Rheinhardt chewed his lip. “The Landeskriminalamt will want her.” Dialing, he glanced over his shoulder. “Good work, Faust. Now, go write that report.”

  Chapter Two

  AN HOUR LATER, FAUST had finished off his report, printed it out, and dropped it into the inbox on his Captain’s desk to be signed off. Rheinhardt was away from his office. Faust sighed, knowing he would need to return to patrol now that his paperwork was completed. He thought about what his Captain said. Frau Hoffmann’s husband was apparently a high priority acquisition for the west. In Hoffmann’s absence, his wife became second prize. After all, as his spouse, she would most likely have knowledge of his work, might even be in possession of his research, whatever it happened to be, although Faust had not searched her person himself. She wasn’t a criminal. Her lack of criminal status, and her non-threatening appearance had made him complacent, allowing her to escape a pat down. Still, he was curious if Sgt. Herring had discovered anything. He decided to stop by the holding cells on his way out. It wasn’t often something this intriguing happened.

  It was quiet save for the sound of rain slapping the tin roof of the small station house. Herring was nowhere to be found. Faust sniffed, raising his eyebrow as he bypassed the Sergeant’s desk and headed back to the holding cells. He felt quite alone, what with no one about. It appeared the night shift had it far easier than the daytime crew, at least, the ones who weren’t assigned to patrol. Faust entered the back rooms and came to the secured door that led to the cells. He punched in the authorization code and waited as the light on the lock turned green, buzzing. He turned the knob and entered.

  Inside, there were six independent cells, all 4 x 8 feet in size. Just enough room for a cot, a toilet, and a sink. Each also contained a small window approximately 12 inches wide and 18 inches long. The glass was unbreakable, but at least it allowed for the smallest of views outside. The grayish-green paint on the concrete walls was peeling away showing the age spots of an old building and revealing its lack of funding.

  He didn’t know which cell she was in, so began peering through the small windows of each door. The first three cells were empty. The next contained a gray-haired man loudly snoring off a beer-bender. The fifth cell was also empty leaving the last cell on the left the only likely spot where Frau Hoffmann would be held. Faust peeked into the window, speaking before he realized what he was seeing.

  “Are you okay in there, Frau...?” The words died on his lips.

  Edith Meyer Hoffmann’s body was sprawled across the cold concrete floor. Blood oozed from her nose, lips, and one exposed ear.

  “Guard!” Faust shouted, running back to the security box by the main doorway to punch in the code that would open that door. “Guard!” He yelled again, throwing the steel door wide.

  Herring came running from the bathroom. “What is it, Faust?”

  “Frau Hoffmann, she’s unconscious on the floor! Call an ambulance!” He ran back in, punching another code. Cell Six’s door slid open. Herman Faust ran inside, dropping to his knees beside the woman.

  “Frau Hoffman,” he pushed two fingers against her carotid artery, feeling for a pulse. “Edith! Can you hear me?” With no pulse found, he straightened her neck and leaned down, turning his ear toward her nose and mouth. There was no breath. Not waiting one minute more, Faust began chest compressions.

  “Well?” Sergeant Herring stood in the doorway, another officer behind him peeking over his shoulder.

  “No pulse, not breathing. Did you call for help?” Faust continued to depress.

  Herring turned to the lackey behind him. “Call the ambulance! Schnell!”

  “Get over here, Herring, and do the breaths. Hurry!” Faust directed the Sergeant in CPR, telling him to check quickly for any obstruction in her airway. “Pinch her nose and blow in two breaths.”

  Herring wiped the excess blood from her mouth and did as bid. Faust began counting out compressions once again. “Where the hell is the Captain? We need to inform her brother. She may have a medical condition we don’t know about. He’s here still, yes?”

  Herring blinked, clearly confused and rattled by the situation. “No. Rheinhardt took him out of here about an hour ago.”

  “What, why?” Faust pointed, and Herring blew in two more breaths.

  The Sergeant sat back up. “I don’t know. He didn’t say. I figured he was taking him home. We didn’t have any reason to hold him.”

  “Shit! A fine time to take off.” Faust and Herring kept up the life-saving measures until the emergency medical responders showed up. One short man in his late thirties, and a tall, young woman who looked fresh out of school took over, checking again for a pulse.

  The young woman opened Frau Hoffmann’s shirt, pushed her bra straps out of the way, and grabbed a defibrillator. Lifting the paddles, she said, “Clear!” before shocking Hoffmann’s heart. The machine continued its monotone. She increased the amplitude and repeated the task. Still nothing. The man filled a syringe and injected the intravenous line he’d only just put in. Once complete, the woman, again, tried to shock Frau Hoffmann’s heart back to life. The monotone stretched out like a siren in the silence, never once breaking off into a steady beat.

  “I’ll need to inform her brother. Which hospital will you be taking her to?” Faust stood back, looking around.

  The short EMS technician sat back on his heels. “Whichever one has an open morgue.” His partner, the tall, young woman, set the paddles back on the defibrillator, and pulled out a sheet from her bag. She shook it out and laid it over the body of Edith Meyer Hoffmann.

  “What? Why did you stop?” Faust looked down at them, eyes wide and full of anxiety.

  “She’s gone, officer. I’m sorry, but it took us more than thirty minutes to get here, and despite all your efforts, and ours, we’ve been unable to revive her. She’s been down too long. She’s gone.”

  Herman Faust stood, unsure what to do next. This was his first death on the job. He ran his hand over his face, chewing the inside of his cheek - a nervous habit that helped him think. His wife, Helga, often joked he would one day chew a hole right through his face.

  “I need to contact the Captain. If he’s still with Herr Meyer...” Faust walked out of the cell and left the block. Herring followed.

  “I can’t believe it. She was fine when I put her in there. Maybe a little cough, and she looked rather thin, but otherwise, she seemed okay. Normal for those from the other side of the wall. And what do you think was with all that blood coming out of her nose and ears?”

  “Maybe a brain hemorrhage? I don’t know, Herring. That’s for the coroner to figure out now.”

  Herring went behind his desk, wiping blood off his hands with a towel. “Well, at least you didn’t get blood all over you.” He picked up the phone. “I’ll call the Captain. As soon as I get him on the line, I’ll transfer him to your desk.”

  Faust stood, looking unsure of how to take the next step. “Okay. I guess I’ll be at my desk.” He wandered off to his area in the back corner of the quadrant.

  He sat down, stunned. Only once before had he been involved in a life or death situation, a choking. A perp he’d picked up for drug possession had tried to swallow down the bag of drugs he carried. The bag got stuck, and the fool began to choke. Faust had immediately grabbed him around the waist, applying pressure just below the breastbone. The Heimlich maneuver was successful. The baggie of drugs was expelled, and the dealer w
ent to jail. Alive. But this was the first death. The silence in the station house was briefly interrupted by the paramedics wheeling the body out to the ambulance. He couldn’t see her face, but she was there, under the white sheet, dead.

  The junior officer followed, a Polaroid camera in hand. He’d been taking pictures before the body was removed. Standard procedure. There was also closed-circuit footage inside the holding area. All of it would be collected as part of the evidence to close her case. A woman who’d escaped communist rule, found fleeting freedom, only to be jailed, dies inside a cell all alone. It was a fucking tragedy. Such shouldn’t happen to anyone in Faust’s opinion.

  He realized he’d been sitting there for quite some time, and still, the phone hadn’t rung. He looked up, seeking out Herring. The man was leaning over the front desk, rubbing his temples.

  “Hey, Herring. Any luck yet?”

  Herring straightened. “No, not yet.”

  “Keep trying.” Faust sat forward. The clock on the wall said it was 0437. His shift would end in less than three hours. There was still much to do beginning with informing her family, which they were trying to do.

  “Where are you, Captain?” he muttered under his breath. No longer capable of sitting still, Herman Faust pulled out the requisite forms for an inmate death and began filling them out.

  Chapter Three

  MORNING SHIFT CHANGE arrived with still no word from Captain Rheinhardt. Faust walked to the front desk, his jacket slung over his arm.

  “I’ve put all the paperwork in the Captain’s desk. Where on earth do you think he is? Why isn’t he answering his pages?”

  Sergeant Herring looked up, appearing the worse for wear, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Faust. Maybe he just went home after dropping Meyer off. We’re all exhausted, and something seems to be going around.” He coughed. “He’s probably home and in bed, which is where I’m going, and you should too. We’ve done all we can. The rest is up to the Captain when he comes in tonight.”