Not Her

by Noah Fitz

“As far as I know, there are only three of them, and none of them speak German. Except the boss.” The man freed himself from the ropes and put them neatly into a big bag. The carabiners jangled like oversized chain links. The helmet followed. The tall man, whose name the two still did not know, took off one of his gloves and brushed a hand through his thinning hair.

  “Hey, Thorsten, you lout!” he yelled at a shadow that rushed up quickly. “You should have secured me better!”

  “You told me to get the equipment,” the young man said.

  Wulf was still examining the chunk of railing. “Whoever did this not only weakened and sanded the piece of metal, but also painted it green.”

  “And the separated points were concealed with a filler,” added the head of forensics. “We examined the bars. Come with me. Thorsten, you pack the thing in plastic, but first put on clean gloves and handle it as carefully as possible. Make sure you don’t get anything on it!”

  Thorsten remained silent. A skinny guy with glasses and frizzy, flaxen-blond hair, his trousers fluttered around his thin legs. He, too, seemed to share his working life with a walking ego, Tine noted.

  “Yes, Mr. Bruckner,” Thorsten said and waited until his boss and the inspectors had passed him. Without much haste, he set about packing the evidence.

  Wulf and the man from forensics, who apparently was called Bruckner, but still hadn’t felt it necessary to introduce himself, talked about trivialities.

  Bruckner described his descent and the search for the measuring stick, which had been torn from his hand by a gust of wind. Of course, he packed his undertaking in superlatives, turning a short trip into one of the most dangerous abseiling maneuvers of the decade. The pole, which had almost made Tine a head shorter, was used to measure and determine the direction of the fall of the missing piece. That much Tine was able to assess from Bruckner’s detailed explanation.

  “Here we are.” Bruckner directed the beam of his flashlight at several sharp-edged bars. “At these points, the metal is porous. This indicates a break.”

  “But the weight was not enough,” said Wulf thoughtfully. “He miscalculated. The spots have two break marks.”

  “We have secured fingerprints over there on the temporary cable support.” The forensic scientist pointed up to the wire cable. “The girl held on and probably pulled herself up by it. They are smudged, but we strongly suspect that they belong to the child.”

  “Provisional?”

  “Yes, the repairs are long overdue. The dilapidated bridge will have to be renovated from the ground up, but the community lacks the necessary funding. I spoke to the mayor earlier. She wanted to take another personal look at the accident site. Not without media, of course.”

  Wulf’s face hardened.

  “Don’t worry, my colleagues have cordoned off everything far away. Nobody is allowed to come here anymore, not even the mayor. But like I said, the whole thing is rickety.” Bruckner shook the railing violently to emphasize. “It wobbles like a cow’s tail. These cables provide additional support for the bridge. This is not a permanent solution, but to close the bridge completely would be a catastrophe. The commuters who work in Berlin have to go through this eye of the needle every day. And I should know. I spent most my life in this little town until I was offered a job with the police. But now here I am, back in my old home. The irony of fate.” He spread his arms. “When I was a kid…”

  Tine wanted to intervene because she feared Bruckner would stray too far from the subject, but she changed her mind when she heard: “… I saw with my own eyes a woman jump off the bridge. That is a good nine meters. The river is actually just a small stream. Only in spring, and sometimes in autumn, the riverbed fills with gray water. Otherwise the stream just splashes along, and the ground’s rocky. The girl didn’t stand a chance.”

  The evening sun had hidden behind bare trees and modular houses. It was getting dark.

  Bruckner pointed his light beam down at the stream, spotlighting a yellow sign. “You see the plaque there?”

  Tine and Wulf nodded.

  “That marks the impact point,” Bruckner said.

  From the preliminary autopsy report, Tine knew that Yara had suffered a broken neck and several fractures. Her skull had been cracked. She had hit the back of her head on a flat, hard object and died immediately.

  “She must have been standing here.” Bruckner’s light beam wandered over to the cordoned-off zone, which was partly covered with opaque tarpaulins. The fabric fluttered in the cold wind and threatened to come loose from the brackets.

  “That day,” Wulf said. “It was just as windy and rainy here on the bridge.”

  “That’s true,” Bruckner said.

  Wulf consulted his watch. “And the incident occurred at the same time. Twenty fifteen.”

  “At prime time.” The sarcastic wit of the man countered the bitter reality.

  Wulf rubbed his hands. “According to the few testimonies, Yara was filmed by her boyfriend doing this, but we don’t have any pictures. This Enno claimed that he wanted to stop Yara. There is only one photo. According to his testimony, she allegedly wanted to upload it to Instagram. What do you think, Pride? Why would a girl want to take a picture on a rickety bridge?”

  “Why do men jump off cliffs or have their ass cheeks stapled together?” Tine said.

  “Touché. Now back to my question.”

  “Thrill and attention seeking,” Tine said. “I can’t shake the impression that more and more children suffer from attention deficit disorder. Or maybe no more than in the past, only today, thanks to the Internet, you have a bigger audience.”

  “True again, Pride. How much do you weigh approximately?”

  “Fifty-one kilos,” she said unabashedly.

  “And your height?” Wulf said.

  “One hundred and sixty-eight centimeters.”

  Wulf rubbed his chin. “And without shoes?”

  “One sixty-three.”

  He nodded and stretched out his hand to her.

  “I’m not going up there!” Tine said, taking a step back.

  Wulf lowered his hand. “Yara climbed up the balustrade and fought for balance,” he said, continuing his reconstruction.

  Tine distanced herself from them because she had noticed something on the way. Following instinct, she hurried back to the spot in question. I believe you watched her, Tine thought, speaking in spirit to the man they were looking for. She was certain the suspect was a he. A voyeur? He wanted to watch her die. But what could make a child consciously expose herself to such danger? Today they were due to visit Enno Parker, the girl’s boyfriend, to try and answer that question. But they weren’t done here yet. Tine let her hand float above the handrail without touching the wet, shiny metal.

  Suddenly she stopped. Something had appeared in her field of vision. Something that did not belong. One of the bars had a slight dent. Her eyes fixed on it and slowly moved up to the railing. The wide handrail looked like a very long aluminum window ledge that had been welded onto the bars.

  Tine took two steps backwards and bent down slightly.

  “Pride!” Wulf called. “Where are you?”

  She ignored him as she looked at the partial impression of a shoe. Smudged, but the dark spot was still clearly visible, like streaks on the gym floor when the rubber scuffs against the surface and leaves a long trail.

  “Pride!”

  “I have something here you might want to see. Both of you!” she cried. You helped her, didn’t you? she thought. Your plan almost didn’t work. Yara was just too light. But a violent push with your foot was enough to make the railing move. Then Yara slipped.

  “Pride?” Wulf stood next to her.

  “Kick hard against this pole here,” she said and pointed.

  Wulf did not hesitate and let his foot crash against it. A soft humming could be heard, closely followed by a bright, metallic clatter.

  “Exactly as I thought,” s
he said. “You see? This print could be from our suspect.” She shone her cell phone at the abrasion.

  Wulf nodded. “Was it an act of revenge?”

  Tine shivered. The tip of her nose was cold and red. She wanted to leave.

  Abruptly a minibus stopped next to them. Two figures jumped out of the white van and ran toward them.

  “Fucking reporters,” Wulf said and blocked their path. “You’re not allowed to stop here and certainly not to film.”

  “Just two questions,” the reporter said, holding a cell phone or similar item in her gloved hand. Behind her, a man carried a heavy camera on his shoulder.

  “Media, no matter what kind, is one of the investigative sources that I often appreciate, but not today,” Wulf said. “If you don’t stop filming me right now and burning my eyes out with that homing beacon, you will very soon get to know my uncomfortable side.”

  The woman did not let up and waved the cameraman over. “Did Yara… ?” she began.

  Wulf squeezed past the two of them and walked down the bridge. He returned with the measuring stick that Mr. Bruckner had left.

  “I swear to God, I’ll put this thing in your lens. And I’m warning you, it’ll go on record later as an industrial accident.”

  “Your brute force approach is well known to us. But please, let us behave like civilized people…”

  “Three… two…” Wulf lifted the bar like a javelin thrower.

  “Come, Marat,” the reporter said to her cameraman. “I’d love to know what goes on in some people’s heads.” Together they walked back to the vehicle and the sliding door snapped shut.

  “If you knew that, you wouldn’t have needed to show up here in the first place,” Wulf said. He waved over a member of the forensics team and pressed the stick into the stunned man’s hand. He waited until the van had moved far enough away, and then pointed to the spot that Tine had discovered. “I want a chemical analysis of the abrasion. Can you use it to determine the approximate shoe size?”

  “On the basis of weight,” said the forensic scientist, “we can calculate the body mass required and from that we can also determine the shoe size. But I can’t promise you anything. If we assume that the deformation comes from the person we’re looking for, we can start a short exclusion procedure.”

  “Now?” said Wulf. Tine didn’t quite follow suit either.

  Bruckner joined them and looked at the chief inspector. “You’re in your late forties?”

  Wulf nodded.

  Bruckner held his measuring rod at the inspector’s shoulder and read the length. “… one eighty large…”

  Another nod.

  “… and weighs ninety kilos.”

  This time Wulf shrugged. “Getting there, roughly. I don’t have scales at home.”

  Bruckner nodded. “Kick it,” he said. “But this time as hard as you can. You’re in a hurry. This is your only chance. You have pure adrenaline running through your veins.”

  Wulf did not hesitate. Again, his foot crashed against the metal rail. The impact left a tiny dent.

  “Now me,” said the head of forensics and drove his work shoe right next to it. The metal groaned. The weld seam burst open.

  “He is a little stronger than you, but weaker than me,” Bruckner said with satisfaction. “Which does not necessarily mean he is heavier or taller.”

  “We lack a fresh, substantial approach,” Tine said. “We need to broaden our outlook.” She bit her lip. She didn’t want to say it out loud.

  Wulf gave her an even look. “Go ahead, Pride. Unspoken theories have no place in my department. I look for other connections myself, which I also strongly recommend to you. So go ahead, get it off your chest.”

  “We’re too fixated on picturing him as if his outward appearance fits the act. A hulking, bespectacled, fat man. A failure who lives with his mother. One who was abused as a child and has no girlfriend. But he could also be a caring father. Maybe intelligent or well-read. One who is attractive and charming to women. He might be one of those creatures who hides behind a mask. Like a chameleon. Maybe he’s new in town and was rejected by Yara, or embarrassed in front of everyone. In a disco or at a bar.”

  “We didn’t used to have a disco or a bar where a fifteen-year-old child could get drunk, but today everything is different.” Bruckner teetered impatiently on his feet. “I’ll be going. My colleague’s probably waiting for me.” Without a farewell, he disappeared behind Wulf’s back.

  “Perhaps he is physically handicapped?” Tine said, sounding insecure again.

  “Possible,” Wulf said dryly. “It could also be a young, attractive kickboxer. Come on, Stolz, we’re going to take a look at the spot where the girl fell again, and then we’re going to see Enno Parker. It’s getting late. What I can say for sure is that this guy is good with his hands and knows how to hide.”

  Chapter 16

  Marktheide | October Street

  Physically and mentally exhausted, Enno sat in his room. “He actually went through with it. Peer actually went through with it,” he said. Every blink hurt and spilled tears. He couldn’t get rid of the terrible feeling that he would die during his next test. The cell phone in his hand vibrated.

  The time had come. He typed in the PIN code mechanically.

  Only those who are willing to risk the game have a chance of winning. How much he hated this saying. Every time a new task came up, this sentence came to mind.

  Everyone has a choice. Another saying, just as shitty. How often had he heard that from his father, even after he’d come out to him? “You’re young. Find a woman who will fuck that nonsense out of your head.” That had been his father’s suggestion.

  Enno stared at the display.

  The screen turned black.

  Shortly afterward a window popped open. It was the video showing Enno being fucked from behind.

  You can get out of the game. Once you put this video online, you are free.

  Enno rubbed his forehead, and his hand slipped across his cheeks. He was desperate.

  “We’re eating in ten minutes, Enno!” his mother shouted through the locked door. He heard her tinkering in the kitchen. Something rattled loudly and rapidly, like an eggbeater or a spoon in a large glass bowl.

  “I may be dead by then, Mama,” he whispered and was wracked by a sob. I don’t want to die, he thought. But I don’t want anyone to see this video either.

  Do you want money? he quickly typed. He sent the short message, as he had done several times before.

  A response shot right back. It was the same reply as always. A smiley laughing so hard it cried.

  I want to get out, Enno typed.

  It’s up to you. Upload the video and you are free. It’s…

  Enno paused and waited for the rest of the text.

  … 1682 viewers. The video will not be broadcast live like your test, but instead uploaded to various servers. So it can be copied and forwarded. You could become the star of your school.

  Why me?

  These questions bore me.

  Please tell me, Enno typed.

  Maybe because you are a phony? You are playing a lying game. Your appearance appeals to many girls, but you are into men.

  Something occurred to Enno. Is that you, Dixon? he typed. You fucked me, and Yara found out about it. First you killed her and now it’s my turn? She also told me how you hit on her and got her drunk while I was in the hospital.

  No reaction.

  Dixon?

  You have five minutes.

  Enno chewed his thumbnail. He tasted blood. He trembled and had difficulty swallowing.

  On your table is a brown envelope. You found it in your mailbox today.

  Enno’s gaze wandered to his tidy desk. He paid a lot of attention to cleanliness. Even his mother had noticed that he was different from most boys his age. But she was happy her son was so neat and meticulous. He wrestled himself out of bed. His bare feet padded ac
ross the cold tiles and stopped in front of the table.

  Open it, ordered the stranger, as if he had followed Enno’s every step.

  Enno hesitated. Dixon had always been keen on Yara and had made no secret that he would like to fuck her. He was also a drug addict. For two months he had been treated with methadone, the word Dixon had used in the toilet, where the video must have been taken. Recently he’d started injecting again. And Enno had threatened to rat Dixon out to his mother. Was this his revenge for Enno’s betrayal?

  Open it. Your time is running out.

  Enno sucked the bloodied tip of his thumb, put the cell phone on the table, and picked up the envelope. Hesitantly, he tore it open and peered inside.

  Two cables lay nestled in the envelope.

  He looked at the display.

  Peer made it through the test. Is there someone else in the room with you?

  Enno shook his head and immediately felt stupid. No, he typed.

  Good. That is against the rules.

  Why this all of a sudden? Enno assessed the phone with a puzzled look.

  Okay. Five seconds. Just like Peer.

  This is too much!

  You have two minutes. Put the phone where I can see you clearly.

  Enno reached for a thick book and put it on the floor in the middle of the room. He corrected the position of his phone and checked the angle of the front camera. The red digital display in the app started blinking, and the color slowly changed to yellow. In order to turn it green he had to squeeze the shiny wires with his thumb and index finger. The countdown was set to five seconds.

  Green.

  Enno touched the wires. A prickly sensation ran through his body. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them, the room was pitch-black. Only the smartphone gave off light.

  “Honey! I think the fuse blew out again. I must have turned on too many devices. Would you please check? Enno?” His mother’s voice came closer.

  A loud rattling beyond the door made Enno flinch.

  “Oh, my goodness, I’ve knocked something over! Now there’s salad all over my feet. Enno!” she cried, sounding slightly hysterical.