Stasi Child Read Free Page A

It was clearly supposed to resemble nail polish, but the coating had a matt, streaky appearance. Müller knelt down. Up close, she could tell the nails had been inked in, like a schoolchild might with a felt-tip pen. It was a sharp reminder of how young she was. Mid- or early teens. Someone’s daughter. The same age as her own daughter would have been, if . . . She stopped the thought. Her throat tightened again, her eyes moistened. She met Jäger’s gaze. Throwing up had been bad enough, but she wasn’t going to cry – not in front of a senior officer from the Ministry for State Security.

    It took the arrival of People’s Police forensic scientist Jonas Schmidt to lighten the mood. He was half-running – which was about as fast as he could manage – and panting, his flabby body threatening to burst out of his white overalls, with a brown kit bag swinging over his shoulder. Müller’s stomach spasmed as the Kriminaltechniker stuffed the remains of a sausage sandwich into his mouth, wiping the grease from his face with the back of his hand.
    ‘Many apologies if I’m late, Comrade Oberleutnant ,’ he spluttered through the food. ‘I came as quickly as I could.’
    Still not trusting herself to speak after her examination of the girl’s body, Müller simply nodded, leaving Jäger to make his own introduction. As he did so, Schmidt made a strange little bow towards the Stasi officer.
    ‘I hope we might be able to use the Ministry’s own forensic laboratories, should the need arise, Comrade Oberstleutnant . Your facilities are so much better than those of the People’s Police. Will there be any State Security forensic officers working with me?’
    ‘No, Comrade Schmidt. This is now a police investigation. You will report to Oberleutnant Müller as usual. We have already photographed the body, but there are some other photos we need you to take.’ Jäger looked up at the ever-darkening sky. ‘And we’d better do it quickly, before it starts snowing again. First, let’s go over to the platform.’ Jäger gestured with his head towards a small temporary scaffold with a ladder alongside, which had been built next to the Wall – presumably by the border guards earlier that morning as part of the initial examination of the incident. They followed him towards it, careful to stay on the gritted tarmac of the pathway, stretching like a ribbon of liquorice through the otherwise pristine whiteness of the cemetery. Müller smiled to herself. Jäger might say this was a police investigation, but the way he was acting, only one person was in charge.
    Jäger, Müller and Tilsner climbed to the top of the platform, followed a few moments later by Schmidt, now even more out of breath.
    ‘Well . . . this is a view . . . you . . . don’t often see,’ he said between gasps. ‘Not without risk of . . . getting shot.’ Müller threw Schmidt a withering look, but Jäger merely smiled.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘The border guards know we’re here. We have clearance. No one will be shooting anyone. At least not today. But last night –’ Jäger stopped mid-sentence, and Müller followed his gaze to a building that looked like a rundown warehouse, on the western side of the barrier. ‘Up there.’ He pointed. ‘Fourth floor. See the broken window?’ Müller nodded. ‘That’s where the gunmen are said to have been shooting from.’ She noted the slight equivocation in his words. He doesn’t believe it either, she thought.
    ‘Was it witnessed by our border guards?’ asked Tilsner.
    Jäger gave a small shake of his head. ‘No. It’s from the calculations of line of sight. And the blood patterns in the snow. Look there.’ The Stasi officer pointed to the centre of the anti-fascist barrier’s defences – between the inner and outer wall. ‘You can see her footprints.’ He gestured between the line of the two walls.
    ‘How did she know that she wouldn’t get blown up by a mine?’ asked