‘I got your message, Herr Chief Commissar.’ She extended her hand and smiled. Without warmth, thought Fabel. ‘It’s a bit chaotic here. There’s a cafe around the corner — would you mind?’
‘Not at all,’ said Fabel, and stood aside to allow her to show him the way.
‘I take it this is about Jake’s death,’ said Meissner. ‘I’ve been expecting somebody to get in touch. Especially after that awful woman from the television was here.’
‘Let me guess. Sylvie Achtenhagen?’
‘Your paths have crossed?’
‘You could say that. Frau Achtenhagen can be persistent.’
‘Well, her persistence did her no good with me.’ The hardening of Meissner’s expression suggested to Fabel that she was not a woman to cross. ‘I sent her packing. The whole thing with the way Jake died… it’s tragic. And sordid. I’m afraid the charity can do without that kind of publicity.’
‘I’m sure his wife and children could do without it, too.’
‘Of course.’ Meissner stirred her latte macchiato and licked the froth from her spoon.
‘How well did you know Herr Westland?’
Meissner gave a cynical laugh. ‘I didn’t think you really asked questions like that. I thought that was only in the movies. If you are trying to ask me if I was having or ever had an intimate relationship with Jake, then why don’t you just ask me outright?’
‘Okay. Did you?’
‘No. Despite what the gutter press in Britain alleged. Jake wasn’t interested in me that way. And I can assure you that Jake Westland was definitely not my type. I take it you have found out a bit about him?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Then you’ll know that most people thought he was a phoney, arrogant asshole. Well, most people were right. But I’ll tell you this: he was totally committed to the Sabine Charity. There was nothing phoney about that.’
‘So why your charity in particular?’
‘That I don’t know. And I didn’t ask. The Sabine Charity isn’t like others. We’re not involved in famine relief, or disaster support in the conventional sense. These are issues that people can talk about; feel good about supporting. There’s something about the work we do, the things we talk about, that takes people to a place they don’t want to go. But some people have a good reason to go there. I’m sure there was a very good reason for Jake to be so committed to the Sabine Charity. Maybe it was just genuine outrage, maybe he encountered a victim of war rape. Whatever the reason, it was not something I felt I could question. I was grateful for the support. Jake Westland was as high-profile as we’ve managed so far.’
‘Did you see him on the night of the charity concert?’
‘Of course. We had a pre-event reception with a few city-state and national political types. The federal government sent the Minister for Women and the Hamburg Senate sent Mieke Brun, the Senator for City Development and Environment. Schleswig-Holstein sent along a couple of representatives too. And Gina Bronsted, who’s running for Principal Mayor — she was there as well. To be honest, she rather monopolised Jake. Must have been a fan.’
‘That was it?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. We had planned an informal after-concert party, but Jake said he was too tired and not feeling too well. He just wanted to get back to his hotel and sleep. As it turned out, that was clearly a lot of crap. We went ahead with the party anyway. It worked out okay, actually. Without the star to distract them, I was able to collar a few of the politicians. Not Bronsted, though. She left straight after the concert too.’
‘Okay…’ Fabel paused for a moment. ‘What is it your charity does?’ asked Fabel. ‘I mean, I know what it’s about, but what specifically does it do?’
‘We have three goals. Our first priority is to identify conflicts and regions where rape is currently being used systematically as a weapon of war. We then campaign for international action to protect women in those zones. We lobby politicians here in Germany and throughout the EU. Sometimes beyond. And, where possible, we put people on the ground in the trouble spots.’
‘Isn’t that risky?’
‘It can be. Very. But we have a team of volunteers, doctors, nurses and psychologists who are very committed to the task. Herr Fabel, when you encounter the victims of war rape, you never forget it. You become very motivated. Anyway, our second objective is to raise awareness of war rape as a crime against humanity generally, and historically. Thirdly, we provide evidence to back up the arrest and prosecution of commanders and individual soldiers involved in rape campaigns. We have to be very careful with this, because, as I said, we often have people on the ground in these zones and we don’t want to put them in added danger. The military and paramilitary groups behind these atrocities wouldn’t think twice about shooting a potential future witness against them. But we have contributed to successful prosecutions against war rapists in Bosnia, Somalia and Rwanda.’
‘And you get all your support from here, in Germany?’
‘We are an international charity, with registered offices in a number of EU nations, but yes, we are headquartered here and our funds come predominantly from German donations. A disproportionate amount, given its economic woes, comes from the former East Germany. That makes sense, when you think about it.’
‘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.’