Deception

TWENTY-FOUR

When he returned to the flat, Harry found a bear of a man sitting at the table drinking coffee. Although several years younger than the woman, he looked drawn, as if he had not slept in a long time. But he stood up readily enough and offered his hand.

‘Ulf Hefflin,’ he said, and looked awkward, as though he wasn’t sure what to say next. He shrugged and murmured to the old woman, who poured more coffee for Harry before slipping into her coat and leaving.

Hefflin studied Harry from beneath heavy eyebrows. The look was steady, and gave Harry the impression of a sharp mind, in spite of the tired exterior.

‘Did you bring money?’

Harry nodded, relieved that the man was getting to the point. The coffee was strong enough to float a brick and he was already beginning to feel the effects of the caffeine pounding through his system.

Hefflin stood and took a small cardboard box from the top of a cupboard near the kitchen sink. He took out a burgundy-coloured passport and placed it on the table with what seemed almost reverence, then took a mobile from his pocket and placed it alongside.

Harry picked up the passport and turned to the back. Barrow’s photo stared up at him.

‘Where did you get them?’ he asked quietly.

Hefflin motioned him to sit down. ‘Please. . I will tell you what I know.’ He crossed his hands on the table in front of him and looked squarely at Harry. ‘Sylvia, my sister,’ he said, nodding towards the door, ‘has cancer. She needs drugs. Drugs we do not have here. I can get them. . but not easily.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. Is that why you want money?’

‘Harry — I may call you Harry?’

‘Of course.’

‘Thank you. I am Ulf. You have heard of the Staatssicherheitsdienst, Harry?’

‘The Stasi? Yes.’

‘They employed many people. Young, old. . ordinary people, some of them. Their job was to watch others. Spies for the state, spying on foreigners, on travellers, dissidents, artists. . but mostly each other.’ He tapped the table nervously. His fingers were strong but clean and smooth, Harry noticed. Not a labourer’s hands.

‘Sylvia and Claus — her husband — both worked for the Stasi,’ Ulf continued. ‘Until the change, of course.’

Harry nodded. ‘They were disbanded. I know.’

‘Disbanded, yes. But life for them is not easy. Many became known after the Wall came down. They suffered — some disappeared. Sure, they did wrong. . they spied on their friends, even their own families. But it was the way of life here. You worked for the state. . and sometimes you found you were working for the Stasi, also.’

‘What has this to do with this passport?’

‘Sylvia worked in a weapons factory. Research and development. The safety systems were non-existent. They were exposed to chemicals.’ He sighed deeply and stared through Harry, remembering.

‘What about you?’ Harry asked.

‘Me?’ Ulf grunted. ‘I was a doctor in the army. Sometimes with the East German army, sometimes with the Russians. . we went where we were told.’ He studied Harry’s face. ‘You were military, too, I think?’

Harry nodded. ‘Yes.’ Ulf being a doctor explained his command of English and the smooth skin of his hands. ‘How much do you want for these?’ he asked, indicating the passport and mobile.

‘Five hundred dollars.’ The answer was calm, unemotional, with just a hint of a reservation in the tone, as if it might be asking too much. . or too little.

Harry counted out the money and pushed it across the table. Added another two hundred. Ulf let it lie, as if good manners wouldn’t allow him to touch it.

‘It is for Sylvia,’ he explained. ‘You understand?’

Harry nodded. ‘Of course.’ He gathered up the passport and phone, adding, ‘For the extra money, I need to know exactly where they were found. Can you take me?’

Ulf looked puzzled and wary. ‘Of course. But why do you want to go there?’

‘Because things like these don’t just appear as if by magic. Someone left them, lost them or threw them away. I’d like to find out which it was.’

On the other side of the street, in the shadow of a doorway, the driver of the Passat watched as Harry Tate and another man came out of the block of flats and walked back towards where Tate had parked his Golf. The watcher hurried back to his car. He was already dialling the number of the man who had hired him.

Ulf refused to say more as Harry drove, other than giving directions. Towards the river, he said. Towards the border. Other than that, he slumped in his seat, rubbing his hands on his knees and staring out at the passing countryside, his expression troubled.

A few minutes later, they left the streets behind them and entered a narrow track leading into open countryside. The land was lower here, and Harry caught a glimpse of water in the distance. The surface was deeply rutted and puddled by recent rain, and the vegetation on either side brushed against the wings of the Golf with a soft hissing sound. When they came in sight of some trees, Ulf signalled for Harry to stop.

‘People do not come down here now,’ Ulf said quietly. ‘Only the young who do not care for history. For others there are too many bad memories still. Just beyond the trees is the border and the river Oder. It is not encouraged to approach. But there is one man named Wilhelm who walks here often. He found a coat containing the phone and the passport. Someone had thrown it away.’ He looked at Harry. ‘We should not be here, Harry. For Wilhelm, who found the coat, it is OK. . because everyone knows he is a little mad.’

Harry got out of the car and stood for a moment, scanning the surrounding countryside. It was pleasant enough, although a little bleak compared with the other side of Schwedt, but that may have been due to the circumstances. He tried to imagine what would have brought Barrow and his passport and phone down here, and where he’d been going.

There was only one way to find out.

He walked along the track away from the car. It was overgrown and showed signs of little use, and any tyre tracks further back were no longer evident. Behind him, he heard Ulf open and close the car door.

‘Where did he find the jacket?’

Ulf explained, pointing towards some bushes near a strand of pine trees. A clutch of crows in the upper branches watched as Harry approached, then took off with a clatter of wings and coarse cries of alarm.

Harry checked the bush, but saw nothing to indicate why the jacket had been left here. He shivered. It wasn’t cold, but the atmosphere here, close to the pine trees, was suddenly gloomy, as if a dark cloud had drifted across the sky above them.

Or maybe it was the crows, and what might have happened here.

He turned as Ulf joined him, and walked towards the trees. Trees and crows, he thought, remembering a small village in south-western Kosovo. That had been a pleasant place, once. A place for picnics and children playing, a secluded spot in the evenings for lovers to walk and find each other. But horror had come calling early one morning as dawn was breaking, and everyone in the village had disappeared. Several days later, in a copse of pine trees just outside the village, someone from a neighbouring hamlet scouting for pine cones had reported a gathering of crows. An investigation by UN personnel had found the trees were now concealing a mass grave.

Harry found the body moments later. The grass leading up to it had been disturbed, the flattened path pointing like an arrow. The first thing he saw was the blaze of pale flesh and the darkened crust of dried blood where the birds had been feasting on the soft tissue of the face and chest. There had been no real attempt to bury the man or conceal what had been done here.

‘Ulf,’ he called, and pointed to the flattened area leading up to the body. The doctor joined him, treading carefully, and muttered an oath.

‘This is the man?’

Harry nodded. ‘It’s him.’