Hamburg, October 20th, 1944, 7:15:
The best thing about commuting to work was the short trip with their ferry. At least Martina Kleber thought so. She loved to watch the dawn, when the first rays of the sun reached the sky, illuminating Hamburg and the Elbe river. As always there were few passengers on the ferry at this early time. And as always Martina was looking from the roof railing. Soon they would reach Landungsbrücken, where she would disembark. She could see the Elbphilharmonie, where work had been suspended for the time being due to the war, the museum ships Rickmer Rickmers and Cap San Diego and a swimmer who seemed daring enough to brave the cold water of the river.
‘No,’ she suddenly realised, ‘that isn't a swimmer. He doesn't move.’
***
For Kommissar Eduard Tramsen the Event had brought little good into his life. He had joined the NSDAP in March 1933 only because it made it easier to make career. He didn't believe in their ideology at all, which was why he never partook in any ceremonies beyond what was expected of the normal citizen, therefore ‘saving’ him from ever receiving an official rank in the party. He was a so called ‘Mitläufer’. However, that had still been enough to demote him. He was now a simple Kommissar, who also lost his comfy post in the bureau and had to actually go out on the streets. He was back in the homicide department in the harbour area of St. Pauli with a new partner, Ali Yüksel. An uptimer, who seemed to think he knew everything. Well, it definitely could have been worse: Some of his former colleagues had been fired and lost their pension.
"Hei..." he started but caught himself just in time. "Guten Morgen." He desperately hoped that no one had noticed his slip.
"Heil Hitler, Genosse Tramsen!" Ali of course had noticed and didn’t care much for the scandalised looks his greeting earned him from the onlookers. "You can keep your coat on. We have a body."
"Okay, where do we have to go to?" he asked while they both went outside to their car. It was an old blue VW Passat with over 300.000 km driven. A wonder it still worked. Both didn't like it, but it was still better to drive than the alternative. A VW Beetle, built in 1939, without heater.
"Landungsbrücken. It seems, someone wanted to go swimming this morning and underestimated the danger." Ali replied.
**
They arrived there five minutes later. The dead body was lying on the stretcher of an ambulance.
"Good morning, Dr. Müller." Eduard greeted the coroner, a woman of about 50 years with red hair and glasses that magnified her eyes so much that it made her look like a beetle. Ali just said "Moin” and walked up towards one of the police men standing nearby, leaving it to Eduard to talk to the woman.
"So, who do we have here?" he inquired.
"We don't know yet,” Dr. Müller replied, lips pursed into a thin line as if it was an insult to her professional integrity. “The face is severely mutilated and his stint in the Elbe certainly didn’t help, either. However, it looks like he was shot, as there is this hole on the side of his head. Whether he was alive or already dead when it happened, I can tell you later."
”Effective as always,” Eduard complimented her. Before he could continue, Ali interrupted them, having finished talking to the police man.
"Ede, I talked to the policemen of the harbour police and they were able to find the wallet that they seemed to think belonged to the dead. The name of the dead is Ernst Thälmann." Suddenly both Dr. Müller and Eduard looked at him. Ali was silent for the moment.
"Do you know who he is?" he asked.
"Yes," both replied somehow simultaneously.
"Ernst Thälmann was the head of the KPD. He was killed by the Nazis in 1944, I think. Erm, in OTL." Dr. Müller told them. "Thälmann tried to re-establish the KPD, but the functionaries in Moscow forbade it."
“How do you know that?" Eduard asked
"It was a big story in DER SPIEGEL a while back,” she replied. "It seems that Moscow wasn't very fond of him. They prefer Ulbricht."
“Well, it seems that someone certainly stopped him. But why did they destroy his face?" Ali asked.
"Maybe whoever murdered him didn’t actually do it,” Dr. Müller mused. “Maybe they just threw him into the Elbe and he, I don´t know, got stuck in a ship´s screw. I´d need to do some further testing in the labs to be certain."
"So, we have an acute case of lead poisoning." Ali remarked. "Good. If it had been some creepy murderer with occult reasons to destroy faces, this would have become so much more difficult."
"There is another thing,” Dr. Müller remarked and pointed towards the legs of the victim. “The rope at his legs. It seems they were tied to something heavy.”
“Ah, I see,” Ali murmured. “So, the Al-Capone-method of getting rid of a body. Ah, I have a theory. It was the Mafia. He borrowed money from the Mafia and could not pay it back."
‘Typical. Another wild theory that he announces as soon as there are some clues in one direction. Well, to be fair, he is joking.’ Eduard thought. He was interrupted in his thoughts by voices from behind.
"All right gentlemen. This is a case for the Staatsschutz, as this may be a political murder," a man in a black suit said. He showed them his badge and with that Eduard and Ali were off the case.
"Well, at least we don’t have to deal with the politicians. Let them have the case," Eduard said.
“I really want to get this case, though," Ali said mournfully. “Would have been fun.”
"We will get a new case soon," Eduard assured him. “Maybe with hot hookers, or something.” In the comforts of his mind he could admit, though, that he was quite happy to not be involved in this case anymore which players seemed to be involved as far as Moscow.
"Are you okay?" Ali asked.
"Yes, I am okay. No problems," Eduard replied.
"I think the best is to get a second breakfast." Ali said. "I think a minced meat roll would do it."
"Hrmpf." Eduard said while Ali was joking.
It was in this moment that they got a call from their boss: They should return to the harbour. Another dead body had been found near the Elbphilharmonie. And this time the Staatsschutz did not want the case, because the dead was only just a tramp.
When they arrived at the scene, the coroner was already there in the person of Dr. Helmuth Lange, a downtimer and ardent Nazi-supporter. Nobody knew why, but somehow, he had managed make it through the "Purge” – as it was called by the Nazis who had been incarcerated during it. He kept quiet now, well aware of his precarious situation, but nobody liked him every much. Eduard certainly didn’t, as did Ali. He took on his uttermost professional behaviour and began asking his questions.
"Good morning Dr. Lange,” Ali greeted him gruffly. “So who is the dead?”
"He´s a gipsy from Romania,” Lange replied, an ugly sneer marring his face. “I used to see him quite frequently around Kennedy Bridge, where he was asking the car drivers for money at the traffic lights. He claimed to be invalid but I was always sure that he was just pretending and now I can finally prove it! Look here. His legs are completely healthy!"
"And how did he die?" Eduard inquired. It was a stupid question, because, well, the victim´s throat had been slashed, but it was part of the procedure.
"Well, you´d be the worst cop I´ve ever met if you can´t tell me,” Lange replied. "Maybe someone he played felt betrayed and ended his charade. At least he´s not a proper German…”
Eduard coughed, trying to interrupt Lange´s no doubt rant about racial purity of the Arians. True, he had been in the NSDAP as well, but only because of the societal pressure: Good jobs had only been available to party members, but he had never been able to stomach their more inhuman opinions. Knowing what would later become of those people that the Nazis saw as ‘sub-human’ kept him awake at night. It would continue to do so until the day he would die.
"Erm," he said, "can you tell me when he died?"
"Well... I would say between 20 o`clock and 4 o'clock. Hmm. I bet he died later, between 1 o'clock and 4. The temperature of the Elbe makes it a bit difficult to say for now. I can give you more later." Lange replied.
"Is there anything else?" Eduard asked, every second he had to spend in the other person´s presence making his skin crawl.
"There is, indeed!” Lange exclaimed. “The rope was tight to the feet. The knot wasn’t very professional, so I guess he was tight to something heavy."
Ali and Eduard looked at each other, communicating without words. Were there more similarities?
The place where the dead had most likely been thrown into water was the Entenwerder Park at the Elbe as Ali got to know soon after. But due to the Staatsschutz swarming over the whole area, they didn’t enter and drove away, hoping that no one had recognised them.
"That are way too many coincidences," Eduard remarked.
"Yes,” Ali agreed. “Unless you believe two persons not knowing each other, who were killed the same way, is coincidence. I don't think they will find any traces at Entenwerder. If both were chained to something heavy, they couldn’t have been killed there. The river would never have brought them so far downstream.”
"That sounds quite right,” Eduard said. “If I were the killer – or the killers – I would throw them off a bridge. Here. The A-1 bridge. At night, with barely any traffic, they might have done it without being noticed."
"We need a team there. And divers!" Ali exclaimed.
He thought about the situation. As did Eduard. Five minutes later the team for securing the evidences was on the way as was a diver.
"I hope, our friends at the State Protection Department take their time to realize that they were wrong," Ali remarked.
"Since when are the guys there that intelligent?" Eduard chuckled.
"So you do know what jokes are!” Ali exclaimed.
"No, not really,” Eduard replied. “I am a German, so I obviously can´t be good at jokes.”
"Hey, I´m German, too, and my jokes are good!" Ali retorted.
"Well, that just proves my point, because your jokes are horrible!”
Both men laughed.
"Okay, here we are. That's the place where our gypsy used to stay for the night," Ali said. They were standing in front of a small inn that offered cheap accommodations for the desperate. The owner didn’t look very happy when they introduced themselves as officers, but with a lot of grumbling and suspicious glances aimed at them he did unlock the room the victim had used, but except for quite a hefty sum of money hidden under the mattress there was nothing of interest to be found. Nobody at the inn knew anything, but they did get a name of an associate: Another gypsy who could usually be found at Central Station.
When they arrived at the train station, they did indeed find the victim´s friend, but when he saw them, his eyes widened in fear and he started to run. Cursing under their breaths (or in Ali´s case very loudly) they took up pursuit and ran after the man. Several times he nearly managed to evade them, but in the end he tripped over a woman´s umbrella and landed on the ground where Ali managed to put his handcuffs on the man.
A moment later they were at the watch of the Bundespolizei. There they got the possibility for a first interview.
"So who's this? Mircea Ilescu?" Ali said. He looked at the man, who still was enchained with handcuffs. The man didn't say anything and pretended not to understand German. Eduard looked at the identity card and confirmed. "Yes, that's him. His card say so and it looks too good to be forged. At least with the sums he can pay." he added. Ali looked at the card and asked him again. "So you're Mircea Ilescu?" "Ich nix verstehen." the man just said. "Oh, I bet he can understand us very well." Ali said. "I don't bet." At least in this case. You would win." Ede said. "I have an idea. I think, we should arrest him murdering this..." "Adrian Ior... erm." Ali interjected and had to look at a paper with the name of the victim. In the meantime Ede continued. "We have a dead Gypsy. We need a suspect. This is another gypsy. This one here ran away and didn't stop after we called police. He is guilty."
"Wait!" Mircea had become pale. "Wait! Adrian is dead?" "I knew it! You can talk German!" Ali said with a happy sounding. "Yes, he is dead, I fear. If not, well, we might have problems with Zombies." Ali showed him a photo of his dead friend. Mircea nearly vomited. He was clearly shocked. "I didn't do that! He was my friend." Mircea started to cry. "In fact, he was my cousin." He needed some moments, until he finally calmed down a bit. "We left Romania to find work. We are gypsies. There we were nothing. Here..." "What has happened last night?" Ede said with a mild sound. He wanted to stop telling him the whole story. "Well, after work..." "You say begging is working?" Ali interrupted him. Mircea just shrugged and continued. "After work we went to a bar on St. Pauli. We have money, don't do anything, so we are at least tolerated there. I got contact to a Romanian woman, but he didn't. The girl and I left the bar. What happened to him after that, I don't know."
An hour later the story of Mircea was verified and he could go. Ali and Ede knew at least the last place the victim was seen alive.
As it was lunch time, they went into the Schweinske restaurant at the Central Station where both of them ordered a Schnitzel with fries. Eduard already knew that Ali also ate pork. He may be a sunni muslim, but he ate pork and drank alcohol like anyone else.
Just when they were ready to pay, Eduard's mobile rang. After some difficulties he managed to pull it out of his pocket, which left him feeling quite satisfied as it had been not even two weeks ago that he had still needed Ali´s help to do that.
His mood instantly soured, though, when furious colleague from the Staatsschutz started to complain on the other end of the line, asking why his team was working on the bridge. Even explaining their reasons why did not change anything. Eduard was ordered to call them back. Though they had to give up all evidence, the results they had received before handing everything over had been promising: There were traces of a black car or transport being there. It must be damaged, as there was a trace of black car paint on a blood trace at one point on the bridge. The diver had also found two concrete blocks, which he thought to be the relevant pieces. Despite this the Staatsschutz did not take over their case - yet.
After lunch both drove to the place where the victim had been seen alive for the last time, a pub on St. Pauli. It was not meant for rich people. Everyone could see that. But the barkeeper, who was also the owner, knew, that Adrian had left the building as one of the last, moving into direction of Sternschanzenpark. Tracing the way the victim must have waked, they found nothing, but while going back they noticed a freshly broken branch hanging on a tree and some slightly damaged bushes. They followed the traces until they reached a small and secluded clearing where they found traces from blood. They were pretty sure that this was the place where both victims had been murdered murdered. But what happened there in the night?
The only other person around was a junkie sitting on a bench nearby and watching passers-by with a vacant stare. After threatening him with taking him into custody and thus cutting him off his drugs the junkie told them the whole story: He was there because he needed drugs, which had been more difficult to get after the Event; well, only more ‘traditional’ drugs such as Cocain or Heroin. Meth, on the other hand was aplenty and easy to come by. Only stuff produced in Germany was available. New shipping routes and sources had to be put into place and until then the drug business was undergoing big upheavals as some players lost all their money and power while others suddenly surged to the top. Who couldn’t deal with the new situation would end up like Thälmann and the other guy.
The other problem was, that with the German passports and working permits many Africans had received, the number of small-time dealers had been vastly reduced, leading to a supply shortage while the demand was still high as ever.
By now the junkie was panicking. He told them that Bert, his dealer, hadn’t been where he usually received customers on the night the killings had taken place. Instead there had been three thugs with guns waiting at the place. The man told them that he had seen Thälmann and the other man with those criminals before he had hastily retreated. He couldn’t identify all of them, but he was pretty sure that one of the thugs had looked like Honni.
"Honni?" Ali repeated incredulously.
"Yes. But that can't be," Kevin, the junkie, replied. "He was much younger. And Honni is dead, anyway."
"Honni? Who is Honni?" Eduard asked confused.
"The former leader of the so called GDR, the Soviet occupation zone." Ali answered. With his smart phone he googled a picture of Honnecker in the 1950s. Kevin recognized him. They sent Kevin to the department, where he could make an official testament and look to some pictures of known KPD men
"Well, that makes sense." Eduard said. "Thälmann founded his own KPD, a fact with which Moscow is not pleased with. He received a warning but continues anyway. Then he gets an invitation to come here. Perhaps he thought that Stalin finally changed his mind..."
"…and all he gets is a bullet in his brain," Ali finished. "We have no proof, yet. Only this junkie. This is nothing that´s gonna impress a judge."
"I know. But it is enough to get us a talk with Mr. Hohenecker.”
"Honnecker. Erich Honnecker. He was ousted shortly before the Berlin Wall fell in 1989," Ali replied.
"Let's see where he might have been. I call the department. They can talk to the hotels..."
"I already know.”
"How?" Eduard asked, completely confused.
"Facebook. The junkie wasn't the only one who saw him. Here is a picture of him while entering a certain building. But I don't know the building," Ali told him.
"But I do." Eduard said. "It was a house the KPD used for secret meetings. The Gestapo got wind of it and closed it down. They obviously think because of the Gestapo no longer existing they can use it again."
"Then let's have a look there."
While driving to the house Eduard and Ali were privy to a conversation over the police radio:
Voice 1: „This is the Landesamt für Verfassungsschutz. What are you doing at that particular house?”
Voice 2: “This is the Landeskriminalamt, Staatsschutz. We are conducting a razzia aiming to catch several suspected murderers.”
1 (angry): “This house was observed by us to keep an eye on communist agitators. You just destroyed four months of hard work. Mark my words, that will have consequences!”
"Ouff!" Ali exclaimed. "If we had come a little bit earlier, we would have been in some serious Schiet [‘shit’, lower German] now."
"Yes, indeed," Eduard agreed. "It seems the LKA somehow drew the same conclusions as we did, but they haven’t yet made connections we were able to deduce, because if they had we would have been taken off the case long ago."
"Right. But we have another problem now," Ali remarked as he turned the car around and drove back. "We don't have any clue where to look for Honecker. And we simply can't avoid the higher-ups any longer. We need to tell them about what we found." Eduard pursed his lips in disapproval.
"You´re right." He had hoped the case would drag on a little bit longer so that he wouldn’t be forced to go back to the boring and repetitive street patrolling. "You're right. But..."
"I don't believe it! There he is!" Ali interrupted him, pointing animatedly at some passer-by.
"Who?" Eduard wanted to know, confused.
"Honecker! The man over there!" He pointed on a man in his thirties, with a light brown coat and widow's peak walking along street. The man seemed nervous and tried too much not to be noticed which only made him more stand out.
"Then let's take him in and have a little chat.”
Ali parked the car about 30m in front of Honecker. Eduard walked towards Honecker while Ali pretended keen interest in the wares behind a shop´s window before finally entering the shop. Honecker´s gaze flickered over both of them but he seemed to disregard them immediatelly.
He was just past the shop Ali had entered when Eduard´s colleague stepped back on the street behind Honecker. "Moin Honni. Police. We need to schnacken [‘talk’] a bit."
Honecker turned pale and tried to run but Eduard obstructed his way and forced him to an abrupt halt. "Mr Honecker, you are arrested. Everything..."
"I know my rights. I won't tell you anything!" he shouted at them, clearly agitated.
"We'll see," Eduard remarked.
30 minutes later they were sitting in the interrogation room of the nearest police station.
“I won´t say anything before I talked to my attorney." Honecker stated.
"Fair enough. That's your right," Ali agreed.
"Mr. Eduard Thomas is on the way,” Eduard informed Honecker.
"Mörder-Ede? Oh-oh,” Ali commented.
Eduard did not like the attorney as well. He was an attorney that had no morals and defended even the vilest of criminals all the while throwing huge shows at court. More often than not, though, it was not successful and sometimes even counterproductive.
"Well, perhaps you won´t even need him,” Eduard remarked. “We might let you go soon. We have not much against you and the raid should give us enough material to get at the men behind the scenes."
"What men? What do you want from me? What is it even that you accuse me of?” Honecker wanted to know.
"The murder of two people." Ali said. "Yes, I think our position is not good. We have little to keep him here any longer."
"Indeed,” Eduard agreed. “We likely have to set him free."
"Exactly," Ali sighed. "And we should hurry before he´s able to sue us.”
Eduard nodded. "But isn't it dangerous for him?"
"Why?" Ali asked. Eduard noticed Honecker listened to their exchange quite attentively.
"Well, he´s taken in and immediately let go, so maybe whoever´s behind this might think he´s turned,” Eduard guessed.
"Hmm. No. I don't think so. Or is there something we need to know, Honni?"
If someone could become paler than pale, then Honecker did quite an admirable job at it. His "No!" was very silent.
“Well, if the KPD thinks he was our agent..." Eduard started.
"...then he is soon as dead as Thälmann," Ali finished.
"Okay, Herr Honecker, I think you can go," Eduard told the shaking man.
"Wait, aren't you in love with your former prison warden? And didn’t you talk to the Gestapo? We need to know this in order to determine if you need police protection."
"Ali, it is okay,” Eduard interjected. “He said there was nothing. So, he can go."
"Okay, folks, I want a deal," Honecker finally caved in.
A young police officer knocked at the door and told them that Mr. Thomas had arrived.
"Send him away!” Honecker insisted. “He was hired by the KPD!"
Being told that his ‘client’ had no need of his services put an impressive scowl on Mr. Thomas’ face but, alas, there was nothing he could do and so he had to leave the precinct. Fifteen minutes after his departure the case´s prosecutor, Dr. Wilhelmine Meister, arrived as well.
"So, Mr. Honecker,” she started with a no-nonsense attitude that could probably melt steel. “You want to make a deal. Before we can even offer you something we needed to hear what you know."
"But then you have everything!" Honecker exclaimed.
"No, we need to know what you were to say hypothetically if you were to confess,” Meister explained. “It is just a hypothetical story you tell us. If we can make a deal out of it, you would have to officially confess. If we don't, well, nothing will happen. Nothing can be used by court." Honecker licked his lips nervously.
"Okay, hypothetically speaking,” he started. “I would tell you that when I left prison I wanted to get a position in the KPD, but that party is now Ulbricht's. He is the undisputed leader. The party´s leadership had decided that Thälmann needed to go. The man just didn’t listen, even though he had been warned several times.”
"And who gave this order?" Meister asked.
"I don't know,” Honecker shrugged. “But, hypothetically speaking, such an order must come from very high above. I can only think of Ulbricht having the clout to get it through. At the very least he must have agreed with it as without his okay such a course of action would have never been taken."
"I see,” Meister mumbled. Speaking up she asked: “What happened then?"
"Well, I had some, erm, problems getting into good position,” Honecker explained a little ashamed. “So they told me to go to Thälmann and tell him the party leadership changed their mind and he should come to the park at night. He believed that Stalin had fired Ulbricht and that he would take his place. He was so naive..." Honecker paused. "I met him at the east entrance of the park and took him to the place they wanted me to bring him.”
"They?" Meister prodded.
"Mielke,” Honecker answered. “Erich Mielke. And two others I don't know. One was called Hans and the other Franz. I sincerely doubt, though, that those were their true names."
"Mielke. Erich Mielke? From Berlin?" Dr. Meister wanted to know.
"Yes, I think he was from Berlin. And he was also the man, who gave us the order to kill Thälmann."
"And the other two?"
"They could have been twins,” Honecker continued. “Big, muscled, not very intelligent. Hans was about 1,90 and Franz would have crossed the 2m mark easily. I can try to give you more details later."
“If we come to an agreement," Meister said. “What occurred next?”
"As soon as we arrived Thälmann was shackled. He was completely surprised. But so was I."
"In how far?"
"Well, Mielke told me I had to shoot him and he made it very clear that my fate would be the very same as his if I refused. So, I shot him."
"You shot him?" Meister repeated with raised eyebrows.
"Yes, I did,” Honecker swallowed. “I shot him. It was either him or me and, well, I quite like living. I had to tie the body to the concrete block. But then there were some noises. One of the goons – I think it was Hans – went looking for it and came back with the gypsy. But Mielke just nodded towards Hans and he cut the gypsy's throat." Honecker made a slashing gesture over his throat. "They made me tie that body to the other block. Then Hans and Franz took over the bodies while Mielke and I went home.” A long pause followed. "Hypothetically speaking."
"Yes, that's definitely worth something," Dr. Meister said. "I suggest you hire another attorney, so we can finalize a deal. I could offer you three years and parole after two. As a first offer."
Ali and Eduard, who had been silently sitting beside Dr. Meister, hadn’t said anything at all during Honecker´s confession and now that they knew everything there was nothing left for them to do, so they left the room – only to come to face with the officer from the Staatsschutz.
"You idiots!” he cursed. “This was our case.”
"Calm down,” Ali spoke. “We didn't know until now that..."
"Do you take me for a fool!? I..."
It was in this moment that Dr. Meister exited the interrogation room. "Ah, meine Herren, good work. Oh, Hauptkommissar Kiesewetter, it´s so nice to see you. You´re surely here to tell these exceptional officers how happy you are for their success. You have another case closed."
Kiesewetter said nothing and stormed away in contempt.
"Miesewetter. How he has risen so far, I don't know," Dr. Meister said. "Well, thank you, anyway."
Later that day, that Eduard was at home again. His wife was meeting with friends somewhere in town, so it was his duty to watch over the children, which gave him time to ponder the case again. He still wanted to go back to desk duty, but he also could no longer deny that working a case had been a thrill he didn’t know he had missed until now. He emptied his beer and called Ali. He wanted to celebrate their success tomorrow. His wife could watch the children then.
