The Stasi Game by David Young

Author:David Young [Young, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bonnier Publishing Fiction
Published: 2020-11-11T16:00:00+00:00

27

Schmidt had – as agreed – stayed at the observation point on the northern bank of the Elbe, rather than follow the woman he’d identified as Lotti over on the ferry to the southern side.

Müller chewed over the wisdom of that in her head as they waited for the ferry to come back with its return passengers.

‘I saw her get off and head downstream, Comrade Hauptmann, along the river bank,’ said Schmidt. ‘She was carrying a shopping bag and also had a rucksack on her back.’

‘What is there that way?’ asked Tilsner.

‘Nothing much,’ said Müller. ‘If she was heading back to civilisation then by going straight on or turning left she’d have ended up in Laubegast. The other way it’s the water meadows – for about a kilometre or so. Then you reach a few apartment blocks, opposite the cemetery.’

‘Cemetery?’ echoed Tilsner. ‘That might be somewhere of interest.’

‘For what?’ asked Müller.

‘For hiding out.’

‘But she doesn’t seem to be hiding out, does she? She was in plain sight on the ferry.’

‘Well, not quite,’ said Schmidt. ‘She seemed to have changed her appearance from the photographs you gave us to recognise her by. She’s dyed her hair dark, and was wearing glasses.’

‘So how did you recognise her? Are you even sure it was her?’ asked Tilsner.

‘The disfigurement to her face. She’d tried to disguise that too, with make-up. But I could tell it was the result of serious burns.’

‘The question is,’ said Müller, ‘do we wait for the ferry to come back, or do we take the car round to the other side?’

‘Might as well wait,’ said Tilsner. ‘It’ll be quicker and we might be able to pick up some info from the staff. Look, here it comes now.’

*

The two members of staff operating the ferry seemed particularly unobservant. Either that, or they were in no mood to help the police. Whichever it was, they failed to even recognise or remember Lotti – despite the fact that, according to Bahlow, this was one of her regular routes.

‘We just mind our own business,’ said the older of the two. ‘It’s no concern of ours who goes where or when, as long as they’ve got a ticket.’

‘This is a murder inquiry,’ countered Müller.

‘Well, I didn’t think you were just off for a picnic, officer. Whether you’re chasing murderers or fare dodgers, my answer’s the same. I don’t know who you’re on about. And you’re not the first to be asking, either.’

Müller’s ears pricked up. ‘I don’t suppose you can tell me what the other person questioning you looked like?’

‘Ah, well that’s where you’re in luck. If people actually talk to me, I always remember their faces.’ It turned out that lack of observation skill certainly wasn’t one of the boatman’s faults, even if general disinterest was. He proceeded to give a perfect description of the man identifying himself as Stasi officer Hauptmann Gustav Weiß – the man who, if Bahlow was to be believed, was in fact a British agent.

‘When was he here?’ asked Müller.

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