‘I suppose it does,’ said Fabel. At the end of the Second World War more than a million, maybe as many as two million East German women had been raped by the invading Soviet troops, many of them repeatedly. In some towns and villages, every female between the ages of ten and eighty had been raped, often in front of their families. Since the Wall had come down, it had become well known that the Soviet War Memorial in East Berlin had been known for decades as “The Tomb of the Unknown Rapist”.
‘It’s possible to argue that the former East Germany was a child of rape,’ said Meissner. ‘While it existed, the GDR was a nation haunted by the violation of its women. I know what I am talking about: I was born in Dresden. Both my mother and grandmother were victims. My mother was twelve at the time. So there you have it, Herr Fabel — my reason for fighting against war rape.’
‘I see.’ There was an awkward silence. Fabel found he didn’t know what to say to Meissner about her violated mother and grandmother, just as he would have struggled to respond to Jespersen if they had met and he had told Fabel first-hand about the fate of his father and grandfather. ‘Have you ever heard of a Bosnian called Vuja i c?’ Fabel said eventually and scrabbled in his pocket for his notebook to check the first name.
‘Goran Vuja i c?’ Meissner beat him to it. ‘Of course I have. He was lucky to slime his way out of prosecution. The dodgiest defence of alibi I’ve ever come across. Vuja i c was a particularly sadistic son of a bitch. And son of a bitch is right: he led a paramilitary gang who called themselves Psoglav. It means “Doghead” in Serbian, but it’s got some deep cultural meaning amongst Bosnian Serbs, apparently. In any different context, in a peacetime European city, the crimes he committed would have him condemned as a sex criminal and paedophile. But for some reason, in a war situation, some men behave in a way they maybe wouldn’t otherwise believe themselves capable.’
‘Not all men.’
‘No… not all. Perhaps. But in a military context it seems there is a new set of values, a different morality. War rape is an act of cultural humiliation and sometimes, as in Bosnia, of genocide: a deliberate attempt to destroy the enemy’s genetic pool by forcing pregnancy and birth on the female population. In Bosnia it was so clearly a military strategy that the UN declared it a crime against humanity. But there is research that suggests that there is another side to it: that participation in mass rape is a bonding mechanism for men within a military community. There was evidence — not hard evidence, more rumour and hearsay — that Vuja i c used it in exactly that way. That’s what made him worse. Vuja i c rationalised it and used it as a tool. But, like I said, we never got to prove it in a court of law.’
‘Well, he might have wriggled his way out of prosecution, but somebody certainly caught up with him in Copenhagen.’
‘I know. It was too quick a death. From what I read about it, anyway. What’s Vuja i c got to do with Jake?’
‘Nothing,’ said Fabel and smiled. ‘Nothing at all, in fact. It was just that his name came up in connection with something else. I knew he’d been involved in the Bosnian War and had been implicated in the rape camps.’
‘Unfortunately, the case on Vuja i c is closed. Like I said, a quick death with a knife in the heart is no just punishment for all the crimes he committed. Although I do understand why it was done.’
‘Actually, it was probably unconnected. More to do with rivalry between organised-crime bosses.’ Fabel drained his cup and stood up. ‘Thanks for your time, Frau Meissner. If anything else comes to you that you think is relevant, even if you don’t think it’s that important, please give me a ring.’
He handed her his Polizei Hamburg business card with the Murder Commission number on it.
Meissner smiled. ‘I’ll do that.’
10
Hamburg was a low-rise city. With the exception of the Fernsehturm TV tower, the five spires of its Protestant churches, the single Catholic cathedral and the Rathaus had been allowed to retain their dominance of the city-centre skyline. Over the years, the city planners had ensured that almost nothing in the heart of the city exceeded the height of the established Kontorhaus buildings.
There had, however, been the occasional glaring slip-up and the odd monolithic hotel glowered over Hamburg from the fringe of the city centre. But, unlike Frankfurt or London, there would be no attempt to ape an American skyline: there was to be no Canary Wharf for Hamburg. Instead, architects met the creative challenge of developing striking buildings that sat well with the character and history of the city. The HanSat building was not one of them. Sitting in the Neustadt quarter of the city, the satellite TV station’s gleaming glass and steel headquarters was the type of restrained corporate tower one found in Hamburg. This building had had its skyscraper ambitions cut short, literally. Sylvie Achtenhagen’s office was on the third of ten floors. She had just returned to her office after filming her piece for that night’s show when the door opened and Andreas Knabbe walked in without knocking.
‘How are you?’ Knabbe asked in his usual manner that suggested he did not really give a damn how the hell she or anyone else was. He sat down on the edge of her desk.
‘What can I do for you, Herr Knabbe?’ Sylvie smiled with the same level of sincerity.
‘I’ve just seen the piece you’ve done for tonight. The woman-trafficking stuff.’
‘And?’
‘And it was very good. Very…’ Knabbe made a show of struggling for the right word, searching for it somewhere on her office ceiling. ‘Very worthy. But you know…’
‘What?’
‘To be honest it was, well, depressing.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Sylvie’s smile had become a rictus grin. ‘You’re probably right that I underplayed the comedy element of fourteen-year-old East European and Asian girls being sold into sex slavery.’
‘Quite.’ Sylvie Achtenhagen’s irony passed cleanly over Knabbe’s expensively barbered head. ‘I just think it isn’t our kind of thing. I think stories like that have more of a natural home on ARD or ZDF. What we need is something with a bit of zing to it. You know, like this Angel thing in St Pauli. Now that really was-’
‘Yes, I know — you’ve already made it clear you think that was my shining hour. I am following that up, you know. It’s just I have to get other stuff out as well.’
‘Maybe, Sylvie — and this is just an idea — but maybe we should let someone else have a run with this particular ball…’
Sylvie Achtenhagen stood up so suddenly that Knabbe was taken aback. She leaned forward, her face close to his, forcing him off the edge of her desk. ‘Don’t you dare take that story from me. I told you I’ve been working on it. And I’m making progress. When that story breaks it’ll be me who breaks it. Big time. And if you put anyone else near it I’ll quit and take it to another broadcaster. Am I clear on that, Andreas?’
Knabbe stared at her for a moment. Shocked. Alarmed by something he had seen in her face. ‘There’s no need to get heated,’ he said at last. ‘I was just thinking what would be best.’
‘What’s best is for me to finish the job I started.’ She was calm again, but something smouldered after the flash fire. ‘I guarantee you it will be a killer of a story.’
‘Okay,’ Knabbe said, some of his composure restored. ‘But if this story doesn’t break…’
‘It will. I promise you that.’
There was an awkward silence for a moment.
‘Anyway, speaking of the Angel case, there’s something you can perhaps help me with,’ Sylvie said eventually.
‘Oh?’ Knabbe’s voice was laden with suspicion. ‘What?’
‘Your business partner. The lovely Frau Bronsted. Or more specifically her corporation, the NeuHansa Group.’
‘What about it?’
‘Well, the latest victim of the St Pauli killer…’
‘The Angel?’
‘Well, yes, for the moment let’s say it is the same killer as before. This latest victim of the Angel worked for a company called Norivon Environmental. Apparently it’s a subsidiary of the NeuHansa Group.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ The suspicion hadn’t left Knabbe’s tone.
‘Fix up an appointment for me with the CEO of Norivon. And maybe even with Gina Bronsted. But don’t say
