‘Yes. So, I wonder which of our Republic’s wonderful state institutions was informed? Or perhaps, even, knew already? I believe I can hazard a guess, can’t you, Hauptmann Müller? Sorry, I should say Comrade Müller. How very remiss of me.’

The sarcasm dripping from the man’s words was not that uncommon these days. Ever since martial law had been imposed in Poland the previous December in an attempt to crush the Solidarity movement it seemed as though citizens had started sniffing a whiff of change, and were more prepared to speak their mind.

Dr Giesler hadn’t actually uttered the words, but there was no subtlety in what he was implying.

The crime scene had already been discovered and covered up, then ‘rediscovered’ a day later by the police.

But those first at the scene had almost certainly been members of the Ministry for State Security.

The Stasi.

They were in it up to their necks and beyond, just as Concrete Man had been.

Chapter 5

5

The three Berlin officers arranged to meet Hauptmann Schriver in the HO restaurant Am Zwinger back in the Altstadt. The restaurant was on Ernst Thälmann Straße, opposite the Zwinger itself – the Baroque orangery, gardens and ornate buildings constructed during the reign of Augustus the Strong. Old-style imperialism and functional, modernist socialist architecture sitting as uncomfortable neighbours on the street named after Germany’s former communist leader. Thälmann had been executed on Hitler’s order in Buchenwald in 1944. Virtually every other street in the Republic seemed to be named after him – it was a favourite game of Müller and the twins on long car journeys: whoever counted the most Ernst Thälmann streets or buildings was declared the winner.

Just before they parked the car, Tilsner voiced his plans for the Dresden uniform captain.

‘If it’s a Stasi set-up, and Schriver’s involved, we need to shake him up a bit. I don’t like being messed about like this.’

Müller rolled her eyes, and glanced at the western watch glistening on her deputy’s wrist. It had always been beyond the means of a lowly Unterleutnant – Tilsner’s rank when the timepiece had first appeared. Immediately it had raised Müller’s suspicions, suspicions that had later been confirmed. Tilsner had, at some stage, been an unofficial informer for the Stasi. To hear him moaning now about being ‘messed about’ by them smacked at the very least of hypocrisy. Of course, it could be something worse. Tilsner might know very well what was going on, might have already been given the inside track by his contacts at the Ministry for State Security. He could just be playing her and Schmidt. Müller hoped not. She hoped his loyalty to her trumped that – even though there had been plenty of times when he’d more than stretched her patience.