Markus held out the yellowing scraps. ‘What can I say? You’ve finally turned me into a spy and therefore a good DDR citizen, although I’m not sure I’ll be boasting about that anytime soon. Anyway, these were all I could find for the time between your mother’s return and her wedding. It’s not as much as I hoped. Perhaps he wasn’t so systematic with his records then.’
Karen smoothed the brittle papers out.
The oldest of the two was dated 2 December 1946. It was short, barely a handful of lines, and reported the disappearance of Commandant Fritz Suhren from his Hamburg cell only days before the Ravensbrück War Crimes trial was due to start. Suhren’s name was thickly underlined.
Karen read it through and didn’t know what to make of it.
‘Do you think Michael was following the trial, or Suhren’s escape at least, because of Liese? When he was talking, he kept mentioning protecting her, hinting at the lengths that he and Andrew went to. Do you think they were trying to find Suhren? To bring him to justice?’
Markus waved for more coffee.
‘Maybe. That crossed my mind. But it’s an odd pairing to go Nazi hunting: a British soldier and a German communist.’
Karen waited until the waitress had gone again, her mind whirring.
‘Perhaps it’s not as unlikely as it sounds? My father was in the Royal Military Police and Michael wasn’t short on connections.’
The more she looked at the underlined words, the quicker the storyline started building.
‘And we know my father liked to play the knight in shining armour where my mother was concerned. Maybe finding Suhren was some kind of offering? Or maybe they hoped Suhren would give evidence at the trial about the soldier who killed Lottie. He must have been there, if what Michael said about him pulling Liese out from the other women right after it happened was true. He would have known who the man was: surely even in that place such a brutal act would have stood out? They could have been hoping to identify the killer and get justice. It actually makes sense when you think about it.’
Karen picked up the other cutting, scanning it quickly for a link to Ravensbrück, or the quest she could suddenly see their fathers undertaking. Then she read it again more slowly. The disappointment was the same.
‘I don’t see what this one has got to do with the other.’
The second article, dating from February 1947, was longer – a plea from the Berlin police for help with identifying a body which had been recovered from the River Spree. Karen read the details aloud, hoping Markus might stop her when she reached the connection.
‘“The woman’s body, which was dislodged from a patch of reeds when the river thawed, was wrapped in sacking and weighed down with a large stone. Preliminary identification has been hampered by what the Berlin Police refer to as ‘substantial facial injuries’. A post-mortem is scheduled for next week. It is hoped this will help establish the exact cause of death and furnish some clues to the victim’s identity. The victim was well dressed and wearing a wedding ring. Providing useful information in this case may lead to a reward.”’
She stopped and waited, but Markus said nothing.
‘I don’t get it, I’m sorry. What has this got to do with the Ravensbrück trial or my mother? Unless something had happened – maybe my mother had gone missing? Do you think that might be it: she had disappeared and Michael thought the body was hers?’
She was in danger of crumpling the paper. Markus took the articles back and folded them carefully into an envelope.
‘That’s possible. Or perhaps, given the trial was coming and all kinds of secrets might have been about to spill out, he thought it was another prisoner from Ravensbrück who had been disposed of, and he wanted to prepare her, or keep her safe. I’ve no more clue to how these are connected than you. Or even if they are. But whether there’s a link or not, I think you should take them back to England. Show them to your father and see where, if anywhere, that leads. In the meantime, I’ll do some digging, see if the newspaper the second one came from still exists and has archives. It’s not much, but surely it’s something new to push Andrew with?’
Karen wasn’t convinced, but she put the envelope into her bag.
‘What if Michael notices they’re missing?’
For the first time since he arrived at the hotel, Markus smiled.
‘Then we’ll know that they matter.’
The dining room had emptied while they were talking; theirs was the last table waiting to be cleared. Karen checked her watch. Ten o’clock. She had hours before her flight. The trip had been exhausting – the demands of new clients and old mysteries had drained her. She felt old, lost in other people’s emotions. She glanced over at Markus, at the face which was as kind as it was handsome. His feelings hadn’t seemed important to her when she first arrived; that wasn’t true anymore. There was a connection between them she knew she hadn’t imagined. Something good could come out of this, if she was brave enough to try.
‘Would you like to be just Markus and Karen for the day?’
He sat back, watching her carefully. ‘Explain.’
‘Two people who’ve recently met, who find each other… interesting. Who’ve had enough of the past and not enough of the present.’
He grinned. ‘Who live in the West and have never heard of the East? Who listen to music some people might call decadent? Who spend money without thinking on frivolous things and kiss in the street without caring?’
‘If you like.’
He jumped up, grabbed her hand.
‘I like it, Karen Cartwright. I really, really like it.’
This time, when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, she didn’t hesitate.
He looks happy and even better than the nurses said.
There was a croquet match in progress on the lawn behind The Mountbank and Andrew was in the thick of it – laughing at a misplaced shot, bowing in mock deference to a more skilful player.
Perhaps this is who he is when I’m not around: popular, carefree.
It was a sobering thought.
Someone must have spotted her, alerted him. Andrew turned to the edge of the lawn, where Karen was hovering, and put down his mallet. Karen waved and was saddened, but not surprised, when he hesitated and took his time walking over.
‘I stayed away because everyone seemed to think that was for the best, but I’ve been keeping up with your progress. You look even better than I thought you would – you look really well.’
She meant it. In the nearly two months since she had seen him, the hollows in his cheeks had plumped out and his face had recaptured its colour.
‘I know you have. Thank you. And yes, I tire quicker than I would like and I need to take care, but the doctor is happy with my progress. I have my own flat in the complex now – it’s very pleasant.’
He paused, but not long enough for her to speak.
‘I trust your visit to Berlin was what you hoped it would be?’
His eyes were wary, his manner formal. She sensed he would wave her goodbye if she let him.
Karen took a steadying breath: this could not come out rushed and garbled.
‘I’m sorry. For everything. For not being kinder. For the things I accused you of. For not being a better daughter.’