Free Stasi Child by David Young Page A

other side of the anti-fascist barrier. She could tell that from Gottfried’s infernal western news programmes and their never-ending reports of strikes and workers’ disaffection.
    The snow here, on the outskirts of the Hauptstadt, hadn’t melted into a muddy morass of sludge like that next to the Eisenbergs’ apartment block in Friedrichshain. With colder temperatures overnight, their footsteps crunched along the path, making enough noise almost for a whole column of People’s Army soldiers, even though there were just the three of them.
    As they turned a corner, Jäger pointed to the swan boats lined up on the banks of the lake, out of action for the winter. ‘Have you been here at the height of the season, Oberleutnant Müller? My children love it.’
    ‘I don’t have children, Oberstleutnant . And no, I haven’t.’ The admission was accompanied by a sharp stab of regret, and then the sudden memory of the murdered girl, lying dead in St Elisabeth’s cemetery. That girl wouldn’t be coming to sample the rides of the Kulturpark anytime soon either.
    They lapsed into silence for the rest of their walk behind the caretaker, Jäger appearing embarrassed by the exchange. Müller saw they were heading towards the park’s iconic Ferris wheel. When they reached it, the caretaker took a set of keys from his pocket and opened the control room.
    ‘We’re going to get a free ride,’ said Jäger. ‘I hope you’ve a good head for heights.’ Müller nodded. She wasn’t going to admit that she hadn’t. ‘Not to mention a sterner stomach than the other day at the cemetery.’ Although his teasing was gentle, Müller felt her cheeks flush at the reminder.
    The electric motor hummed into action as Köhler started up the mechanism, the groaning grind of un-oiled metal slowly replacing the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. Müller counted six cabins go past, before Jäger held up his hand for Köhler to bring the ride to a stop. The cabin selected by Jäger swung gently on its hinges as he opened the safety bar and stood to one side to let her in. They sat down opposite one another; Müller felt her stomach lurch as Köhler released the brake. As the giant wheel slowly began to turn, Müller watched the Stasi officer run his fingers along each edge of the cabin, then peer under each bench seat.
    Jäger raised his head to look straight into her eyes. ‘This is my usual meeting spot for quiet talks,’ he explained, ‘and so our agents have checked it over already. But you can never be too careful, and what we have to discuss is quite . . . sensitive, shall we say.’
    Müller nodded, hunching down into her coat as the cabin climbed and the temperature dropped. She risked a glance out at the city, and instantly felt queasy. She shouldn’t. She was a mountain girl. Well, if the hills of the Thuringian Forest could really be called mountains. The mountain girl who’d never had a head for heights. Who’d been a promising winter sports athlete at school, until . . .
    She stopped the thought. Tried to pull herself together, and focus on Jäger, who seemed oblivious to her fear.
    ‘The full autopsy report has some interesting findings, things I didn’t want to discuss in front of Tilsner and Schmidt – at least not until I’ve gone over them with you.’ He drew out a folder from his briefcase, and then rose to join Müller on her bench. The cabin rocked with the sudden movement, and Müller kept her eyes to the floor to avoid reminding herself how high they were. She knew that under her gloves her knuckles would be turning white as she gripped the end of the wooden seat ever tighter. They seemed to have reached the apex of the wheel now. Its forward motion had stopped, and the cabin settled into a gentle swing from the wind and the residual energy of Jäger’s decision to play musical chairs several hundred feet above ground. Was he deliberately trying to unnerve her?
    Jäger had clearly noticed