The three of us were standing in the bushes outside the church on Roedeliusplatz, and even at this distance we could hear the demo outside Magdalenenstrasse prison.
“C’mon you lazy gits!” I murmured. The cops were taking their time—the demo had been going on for at least ten minutes already but not a single squad had left Schottstrasse police station.
“Here they come,” Erika sounded excited, and who could blame her? “And another lot—three lorries. Great, the police station should be practically empty.”
We waited for the trucks to disappear, one down the hill to the Magda prison, the others heading west to Rathaus Lichtenberg where the local Round Table was demonstrating against Kaminsky’s bill.
“They were tooled up, did you see them?” asked Schimmel. “They’re ready for a fight.”
Nobody answered, I think we were all trying hard not to think about what might be happening at the demos. The only thing we could do was to carry out our plan. And so far it was working: we’d organised the demo outside Magda prison and roped our mates into coming along. The Round Table demo outside Lichtenberg Town Hall was lucky coincidence.
“OK, Laura’s here, she’s going in. Now it’s our turn.”
We legged across the road, trying not to trip over the buckets and mops we were carrying. I had to giggle at the sight of Schimmel, wearing a dress and a nylon pinny, a scarf covering his spiky hair. His lean body and face had an androgynous quality; he suited his disguise. Erika and I had the same get-up, but somehow I didn’t find it half as funny.
We entered the police station, moving with self-assurance past the front desk where Laura was playing a bothersome neighbour complaining about the noise from the demo down the road. She was giving the desk officer a hard time, not letting him get a word in edgeways. I think she was enjoying her role.
I guided my cleaning posse through the glass doors towards the back of the building where the Kripo had their offices. The whole place felt deserted, the Kripo had long since gone home, and the uniformed officers were out hassling demonstrators. I was whistling, starting to relax, actually looking forward to the task ahead. Down one corridor, through a door on to the next. Except a cop was there, coming towards us. A shove in my back, and I realised I’d stopped dead. I’d stopped whistling too, shock rooting me to the scuffed lino. Another shove, and my limbs mobilised. The three of us shuffled past the cop, who didn’t even register our presence. A door swung shut behind us and he was gone.
“Fuck!” I breathed.
“C’mon, no big surprise,” whispered Schimmel in my ear. “Just a cop in a cop shop. But be careful, we may find a typewriter in one of the offices—they can be really scary!”
I appreciated Schimmel’s attempt to bolster my confidence, and just a few paces later I stopped outside Neumann’s office. “This is us, time to do your magic.”
Schimmel took a key wallet out of his pocket, opening it up and taking a couple of picks out as he dropped to his knees. Erika and I went to either end of the corridor to keep an eye open for any intruders.
I stood there, holding a mop across my body, listening to my pulse booming in my ears. It was so loud that I was sure I wouldn’t hear anyone approaching. I was there for ages, concentrating on the door at the end of the next corridor, hoping no-one would come, wondering what I’d say if they did.
“Psst!” Schimmel had cracked the lock, and Erika and I scurried into Neumann’s office. We shut the door behind us and let our eyes take everything in. The desk with a glass ashtray on it, a lamp, a blotter. Window opposite us, floor to ceiling cupboards covering one wall, Party and Volkspolizei pennants and certificates on the other.
Schimmel closed the curtains and turned the light on, then moved back to the door, gazing at us expectantly.
“You take the drawers, I’ll do the cupboards,” suggested Erika.
I tried the first drawer, locked. I gestured Schimmel over and he got to work while I took his place next to the door. It was a small office and there wasn’t anywhere else to stand.
Erika had a cupboard open, revealing a rack of uniforms and a set of shelves full of ring-binders. She was patting down the pockets of a uniform jacket when I heard footsteps in the corridor outside. I flipped the light off and held my breath.
I could hear the tapping of feet on lino and the grumble of two men talking. The noises grew louder and clearer as they approached, punctuated by the rattle of door handles.
With a single stride I reached Erika, her shadowy form just visible in the dim light leaking through the threadbare curtains. I pushed her into the cupboard, pulling the doors shut as I followed her in. The last thing I saw through the narrowing gap was Schimmel disappearing into the knee hole of the desk.
The cupboard was tiny. Every time I breathed in I could feel the door shudder outwards a fraction. I tried not to let the dust tickle my nose, or to let the smell of Erika’s perfume scratch at the back of my throat.
“The Captain’s left his door open—that’s not like him.” The two voices were in the office now, they’d switched the light on and must have been standing less than a metre away from us. I had to press my face into one of Neumann’s uniforms to stop myself from giggling with nervousness. Stale smoke and body odour filled my nostrils. I was going to gag.
“You sure it was here that you saw the cleaning ladies?” The voice droned on, but the door had shut now. The lock clicked and the footsteps receded.
***
Schimmel was back on his knees, working on getting the door unlocked again. Every so often I could hear a scratching noise and an almost silent shit!
While he did that, Erika and I were hard at work, but we were getting nowhere. Nothing interesting, just admin crap like duty rosters and sheaves of impenetrable statistics.
“Woot! I got it!” The lock finally clicked and Schimmel got up and swung the office door open. “Ta-da!”
“Oh fuck!” I said it under my breath, but Schimmel heard me. His eyes swivelled in my direction, not understanding what my problem was.
My problem was standing in the doorway, just behind Schimmel.
My problem was a cop named Steinlein.