Stasi Child Read Free Page B

Müller, shivering as the wind whipped the top of the platform.
    ‘I don’t think you would give a lot of thought to that if you were being shot at and running for your life,’ said Jäger. ‘In any case, the strip isn’t mined – that’s all just an unsubstantiated rumour.’ Despite the cold, Müller felt a blush warm her face.
    ‘And the bullets? Or bullet marks?’ asked Schmidt. ‘Will I be able to get permission to go inside between the two walls to check there, Comrade Oberstleutnant ? Is that why you needed me?’
    Jäger snorted. ‘No, Comrade Kriminaltechniker , it’s not, and no, you cannot go inside the restricted zone.’ He turned and gestured with his hand towards the side of the cemetery path. ‘Your work is here. There are footprints, presumably hers, on this side of the Wall. Bloodstains as well.’ Then he lowered his voice, although there was no one else on the platform, and the officers near the body were too far away to hear in any case. Müller wondered why. ‘There are some tyre tracks too. Make sure you take photographs of those. Check them against any vehicle the church gardener uses.’
    Müller was about to ask why, but then met Jäger’s gaze, and received a look that made it very clear he didn’t want to be asked.

    When they got back down to ground level, Schmidt started busying himself with a Praktica camera, snapping shots of both the footprints and the tyre tracks. Müller and Tilsner wandered around the various graves together, as though the long-buried dead might give them inspiration about the girl’s killing. Jäger meanwhile had returned to the scene of the body.
    ‘I’m not sure how much of an investigation this is,’ said Tilsner. ‘It seems it’s all wrapped up, and we’re an afterthought.’
    Müller shrugged. ‘We’ll just have to do the best we can. Did it look to you as though she could have been shot from that building?’
    ‘What, the one over in the West? Maybe. It’s plausible . . . at a stretch.’ He shaped some snow from the top of a granite headstone into a ball, and then threw it to the ground. ‘But then to scale two walls, while injured, without our guards noticing? Were they all asleep? I very much doubt it.’
    After a few minutes, they heard the breathless wheezing of a man behind them. Müller knew who it was without looking. Schmidt. ‘What is it, Jonas?’ she asked, as she turned around to be greeted by his florid features.
    ‘I think . . . you should come . . . and look at this, Comrade Oberleutnant .’

    Schmidt ushered them back towards the protection barrier and over to the tracks made by the footprints, some twenty metres or so from the taped-off area of the body. He knelt down in the snow, and gestured for Müller to do the same.
    ‘Here, Comrade Müller.’ He reached into his pocket, and pulled out an envelope. ‘Look at this photograph of the girl’s shoes on the body.’
    Müller took the picture from the envelope, and frowned. ‘Where did you get that from so quickly?’
    Schmidt smiled and pushed the camera that was hanging round his neck towards her. It was smaller than the Praktica he’d been using earlier, and looked altogether cheaper and flimsier. ‘It’s a Foton. A Soviet instant camera. It might not look up to much but the results are just as good as from those American Polaroids. Anyway, look at the photo. Do you notice anything odd?’ The photograph was a close-up of the soles of the girl’s training shoes, still on her feet.
    Müller shook her head slowly. ‘No, Jonas, I can’t say that I do.’
    Schmidt passed it along to Tilsner, who held it up to shed more light from the leaden sky, but also shook his head.
    ‘Alright. So you’ve had a look at the photo. Now look at the actual prints in the snow. Notice anything strange there?’
    The two detectives bent over the line of prints, puzzled. Tilsner gave a long, slow sigh. ‘Come on, just tell us. We haven’t got time for