Our Festering Hopes

Chapter One

It was a dreary morning, and the clouds rolled ponderously across the steel-grey sky, pregnant with the threat of impending rain. The cold bite of the wind was enough to make Johan tighten the scarf around his neck. But none of this mattered to him, for he was in high spirits.

Today was his first day at work since his promotion. Lieutenant Müller, it did have a nice ring to it, he mused to himself as he strolled down the street. The road was flanked on either side by rows of townhouses; these sanctuaries of the wealthy were uniform in appearance. Each had a neat little lawn enclosed by a corrugated iron fence. Now and then a street vendor was to be seen setting up his stall for the day's bargaining.

Johan had always enjoyed an early morning walk through Berlin. Though the streets weren't exactly paved with gold it was a living, breathing, vibrant city and he took an almost voyeuristic pleasure from observing all the little details and the routines of the people going about their daily activities.

He saw businessmen scurrying about to their appointments, women hurrying off to do some errand, shopkeepers taking deliveries of stock and of course frustrated drivers running late. The air was constantly abuzz with the drone of traffic and the chatter of passerby and occasionally the spicy aroma of soup or the rich scent of coffee could be detected as Johan passed the myriad of cafés. Perhaps it was this element of the voyeur in him that made Johan so good at his job.

Carried on the breeze were a few strains of a violin. Johan turned a corner to see the musician, a ragged tramp wearing a shabby and tattered suit seated on the pavement. His dark hair and beard were wild and unkempt and were tinged with grey. Johan stopped and joined the small throng of onlookers appreciating the music. It was a mournful tune and Johan had to admit the man had skill; he could almost make the instrument weep.

When the song finished, Johan clapped along with the rest, then approached the man. A foetid blast of alcohol and stale body odour assaulted his nostrils as he got closer. Vagrancy was illegal under the new regime, and indeed ever since the crackdown before the recent Berlin Olympics it was rare to see a homeless person at all. He must've only started living on the streets recently.

Johan showed his identification,

"All right, get up. Move on out of here."

The man turned resentful eyes up at him, and shuffled to his feet.

Johan noticed that he was barefoot,

"Here," he said, proffering some Reichsmarks.

"Get a pair of shoes, and some food too."

A gnarled hand extended and secreted the banknotes inside his threadbare jacket.

The man muttered his thanks around a toothless grin and was on his way,

Johan knew that technically speaking he should have arrested the fellow and had him brought down to the station, but he didn't feel like it.

The poor bastard has enough troubles without me adding to them he thought to himself.

He crossed the road through a gap in the line of cars and cyclists, stepping over a rainbow smear of spilt oil as he did so. The window of a butcher shop allowed him to catch a fleeting reflection of himself as he walked by. He was tall and lean with a chiselled jaw and flinty ice-blue eyes, wearing a black pin-striped suit. A trenchcoat, scarf and black fedora completed the outfit. His hair was worn short but as long as regulations would allow.

Finally his destination came into view. The police station towered over the surrounding buildings like a giant among dwarves. It was made entirely of white stone and supported by colossal pillars to symbolise the firm, unyielding nature of the law (Johan supposed). On both sides of the heavy mahogany doors hung huge red banners, depicting the national symbol; the swastika, within a white circle.

Johan ascended the stairs and entered the imposing edifice. The interior was no less grand; the vast entrance hall had fine marble tiling on the floor with an aesthetically pleasing mosaic in the center. The effect he thought, almost made the place resemble a cathedral. This early in the morning with only a handful of policemen and clerks around, an audidble ticking could be heard from the antique wooden clock hanging from the roof. On the far wall was a large portrait of Adolf Hitler, surveying those who entered. The metaphor was clear; nothing could get by the Führer's baleful gaze.

Johan himself was ambivalent about the Nazis. He hadn't forgotten that just a few short years ago they had been considered dangerous radicals; he'd even been tasked with investigating several of them. He wasn't too sure about their racial policies, but they had a no-nonsense stance on law and order which appealed to him.

Crime had certainly gone down since they were elected. Also Johan was inclined to support the efforts to regain territory lost after the Great War, and the economic strategies to make Germany a leading power once more.

"Good morning, Johan.

Congratulations on the promotion."

Johan turned to regard the speaker; it was Major Metzger, the Gestapo liaison officer for the station.

He was an unassuming, bespectacled man of about thirty-five, clean-shaven and dressed in his grey service uniform with white shirt and black tie.

Metzger spent most of his time behind a desk but on occasion, whenever he was bored of the office went out in the field.

"Hello, sir. Thank you."

"Long overdue, if you ask me," said Metzger with a little smile.

After a few minutes worth of small talk, Johan realised he had rather a lot of time to kill before he came on duty.

"Have you seen Clara around?"

Clara Timmermann was the chief's secretary and his best friend here.

He had recently seen Alfred Hitchcock's The Lady Vanishes on her recommendation, and was keen to debate the subtleties of the film over a coffee as was their custom.

"No, I'm afraid not. She rang in sick yesterday though.

May not be in again today."

Johan nodded.

"I'd love to stay here chatting with you Johan, but I really must be going. This paperwork won't do itself" he said genially, hefting the briefcase in his left hand.

"Here, have my newspaper. I'm finished with it anyway."

Johan accepted the paper and bid the Major farewell.

He glanced over the headlines; Czechoslovakia set to be annexed by Germany, new law passed forbidding Jews to marry Germans and a warning about very bad weather which was expected to cause major disruption. Johan didn't really take much of it in; he was too busy wondering if he should call over to Clara after work.

If truth be told he wished she was more than a friend. Intelligent, charming, vivacious and possessed with a rapier wit, in short she ticked all the right boxes.

And that was before one considered her shapely body, luxurious raven hair and soft porcelain skin. Johan had dropped a few hints, but she was depressingly devoted to her loser of a boyfriend.

Crossing the hall came von dem Bach, the chief, to interrupt his thoughts. He was a middle-aged man, broad in the shoulder and his azure eyes held a spark of cunning. He wore the standard grey-green police uniform, militaristic in cut and he walked with a noticeable limp. He was accompanied by another, unfamiliar man.

"Ah, Johan it's good to see you. I'd like you to meet Hans Bauer" said von dem Bach, indicating his companion.

Bauer extended his hand,

"It's a pleasure to meet you Lieutenant," he said with a cordial nod.

He was young, blonde, of average height, but athletically built and was distinctly square-jawed.

Like Johan, Bauer was dressed in a smart civilian suit.

Unlike him, he had a small swastika badge pinned to his lapel, signifying party membership.

"Bauer here has just transferred from uniformed police to plain clothes. I'd like you to work with him, show him all the tricks. And I daresay you'll have ample opportunity to do just that."

Von dem Bach's expression darkened and his heavy mustache seemed to droop as he continued,

"A body has been found over on the outskirts, near Friedrichstrasse. I want you two to go down there and check it out."

"Do you have any details for me, sir?

Von dem Bach shook his head,

"At this time, no. The report just came in."

"Hmm, all right then, we'll take a look."

"Well, don't let me keep you gentlemen. You're in good hands Bauer," said the chief, clapping the younger man on the back.

Johan was about to point out that his shift hadn't officially started yet, but von dem Bach was already halfway across the room. The chief was something of a workholic, and expected his men to share his zeal for the job. Maybe this'll count as overtime and they'll pay me acordingly, he thought somewhat optimistically to himself.

Johan sighed,

"I suppose we might as well go now."

"Right you are sir, I can hardly wait."

This was no exaggeration; he practically had a spring in his step.

The enthusiasm he had had earlier on seemed to evaporate from Johan.

If playing nursemaid to snot-nosed rookies was the sole duty his promotion entailed, he wouldn't be overjoyed at the prospect. He got the impression that this Bauer was the type who was in danger of losing his arm every time he wiped his arse.

Johan struck a match and lit a cigarette, offering one to Bauer, who declined.

He inhaled deeply, savouring the acrid flavour. There was truly nothing in the world like the first cigarette of the day, he noted. Bauer kept pace with Johan's long stride as they walked through the stuffy corridors in the bowels of the building.

"Chief von dem Bach tells me he served with you in the war."

"Yeah, the old son of a bitch even saved my life."

Johan took a perverse pleasure in seeing Bauer's scandalised reaction to hearing his superior referred to in such a way.

"That's how he got the limp, pulling me out of No Man's Land."

"He says you've got all sorts of medals."

Johan wondered if Bauer was going to ask him for his autograoph. He felt like an actor being cooed at by an adoring fan.

"Is it true you won the Iron Cross?"

"Yeah."

Bauer looked positively awestruck now.

"How'd you earn it?

"I don't like talking about it."

His time as a soldier had changed him, of that there was no doubt. Even now years later he'd find himself jumping at loud noises. Sometimes he'd get flashbacks, so vivid he almost felt like he was back in the trenches again. There were physical reminders too; the missing finger on his left hand; a memento from a burst of shrapnel, and the scar on his stomach; a grisly souvenir from the French bullet that had almost sent him from this world. He still had that bullet, he always kept it in his pocke for luck.

Mercifully Bauer subsided as they reached the garage. It was a wide, subterranean room that contained the precinct's motor pool, deserted save for a few themselves with the vehicles. The ramp at the far end led out onto the street, sounds, and the cool, clear air from outside wafted in. An occasionally flickering lightbulb lent a tone of dejection to the place.

Johan pulled open the door to his car; a sleek, black, Mercedes-Benz with a hard top roof and settled down behind the wheel. There was a rich smell of leather from the fancy upholstery he'd had put in. Bauer sat down beside him in the passenger seat. Johan winced at the harsh way he slammed the door behind him. He turned the ignition and the engine sputtered into life.

"Lieutenant, I just want to say how honoured I am to be working with you. I've really heard a lot about you."

By now they'd driven up the ramp and were gliding through the avenues and streets above.

"Yeah? Nice things I hope?"

"Of course. They say you're like a bloodhound, that you always have a knack for solving difficult cases."

Johan couldn't tell if he was trying to flatter him or if "they" actually did say those things about him.

"I look forward to learning all I can from you."

Before responding Johan flicked his cigarette butt out the window,

"I'm not sure how much you can teach exactly. Some things you either have or you don't."

"What do you mean?"

"Well it takes a hell of a lot of patience for one thing, and in my experience, more often than not there's a hefty slice of luck involved. A lot of times it's not even down to you, it's more about the suspect being sloppy and making a mistake."

Bauer chuckled,

"Now I think you're selling yourself short. I've always thought policework was about the process, you know how you approach things-"

"Hey, you know when they told you I was like a bloodhound and all that?

"Yes."

"Did they also tell you I hate babysitting rookies who talk too much?"

"Uh, no," came the uncertain reply.

Then a short pause,

"Do you?"

Johan took his eyes off the road and fixed him with a withering stare,

"Well we'll just have to find that out together, won't we?" he said with a twisted smirk. In spite of himself Johan found he was beginning to warm to the boy, though that wouldn't stop him from baiting him now and again.

The promised rain had arrived and droplets began to coalesce on the windscreen. They had left the shops and restaurants in the city centre behind and now found themselves surrounded by drab warehouses and factories whose chimneys relentlessly belched smog into the cloudy sky.

"We're here," said Johan, bringing the car to a halt with a crunch of gravel.

The noise compelled a solitary magpie into flight. The two men got out and flashed their credentials to the SS man standing guard on the perimeter of the crime scene.

He saluted and allowed them through.

They were in the shadow of a sizable building. Perhaps it had one day been an industrial plant of some sort, but those days were surely far in the past. Now it stood dilapidated and forlorn, the wire fences that enclosed it were rusty, and machinery lay abandoned and forgotten in its dusty yard. Rainfall drizzled through the holes in its roof, and Johan was certain its only inhabitants were the pigeons that had made their roost in its crumbling rafters.

Off to the side there was a culvert of sorts, evidently uesd for drainage when this facility was still operational. It was here that a man in the sinister black uniform of the SS was beckoning them over. The red swastika armband around his tricep supplied a splash of colour to the dismal scene.

As they approached he clicked his heels together smartly and brought his arm up in salute,

"Heil Hitler!"

"Heil. I'm Lieutenant Müller, and this is Detective Bauer."

"Nice to meet you, my name is Steiner. Sergeant Steiner. Well we're not here to make small talk, so let's get right to it," he said brusquely.

"I suppose you'll want to see the stiff? Follow me please."

Steiner led them down into the culvert. It contained a large copper pipe on one side, and the ground was littered with rubbish and discarded trinkets. The walls and floor were coated with some foul smelling sludge; Johan wrinkled his nose in disgust and found himself envying Steiner's long heavy boots as he squelched along. Roughly in the middle was a prone figure with a canvas sheet draped over it. On one end of the sheet was a wide crimson stain.

"Victim is a young woman," Steiner informed them.

"You didn't move the body did you?" asked Bauer.

Perhaps there was hope for him yet thought Johan.

Steiner shook his head, sending raindrops flying from his steel helmet.

"Well do you have any idea who she is?"

"Oh yes, we found all the proper documentation" said Steiner handing Johan an I.D.

Johan looked down at the name, and let out a gasp.

Clara Timmermann.

He leaned down and pulled the canvas open.

"I wouldn't"-began Steiner.

Johan looked and recoiled in horror, almost immediately thrusting the sheet back into place. The sight was at least the equal of anything he'd seen on the killing fields of Ypres and Verdun.

He felt the bile rise in his throat.

Clara's eyes; the colour of Italian coffee were gone, and so too were the full, ruby lips he'd all too often imagined entwined around his own. In their place was only a grotesque, bloody, caved-in ruin of flesh, bone and muscle tissue.

Johan turned away from the other two men, an overpowering wave of despair washed over him. He felt like a part of him had been hacked away and cruelly expunged. Through the pain and the sorrow he vowed to find whoever did this, and ensure they got what was coming to them.

Author's Note

I didn't know where to put this story so I just threw it in under Saving Private Ryan for the time being.
Basically I'm just setting the scene here and I'll try and put up another chapter soon.
I'm new to this site so I'd really welcome any reviews or feedback.