by Noah Fitz
“How long will it take to get a DNA match?” Tine did not look directly at the man. “It’s possible—”
“That the two boys had something together?” Bruckner said. “It might be conceivable. The analysis will take a few days. But that’s it for now, as far as today. My wife will kill me if I don’t get home. My children, we have twins, they are both sick. You two have fun.” He raised his hand and disappeared.
Marc shook his head and crouched down. The ballpoint pen in his hand floated over a checkered sheet. Bubble wrap on the floor, he wrote. Check with forensics! He was astonished that the crime scene technicians had not taken the remnants, which must have come from speed-packaging.
Marc focused on the blood spatter. “Indicates a respiratory tract injury,” he said, memorizing every detail so that he could later remember, not only the images, but also the smells. He wanted to internalize the feelings of the murderer. The decisive question was always: What drives him? While this crime scene, this carnage, was not attributable to the murderer, he was the initiator; he had driven Enno to the brink of despair until the boy had gone mad.
Marc let his gaze wander further into the room.
Bloody contact marks, smeared, with conspicuous drop formation. There were only limited spray marks; Enno had let the sword slip out of his hand. Marc looked to the right. Next to the bed there was a yellow sign on the floor where the samurai sword had lain. There had been no multiple cuts.
He turned back two pages. Electricity. This word was circled. He looked at the electrical socket. The wires were missing. He quickly dialed Bruckner’s number. Somewhere in the stairwell, a soft melody sounded.
“Yes? Shall I come back up?”
“No need,” Marc said. “Please examine the two wires for fingerprints.”
“What?”
“In the power socket…”
“Oh, them,” Bruckner said. “We already have.”
“And?”
“Commercial stuff.”
“Was the sheathing removed with wire strippers or with a knife?”
“Good question. We didn’t think that far ahead.” Despite the atmospheric noise, Marc heard his voice quite clearly.
“Why not? Seems routine to me,” Marc said.
Bruckner emitted a laugh that sounded like the rattling cough of a chain smoker. “That’s why we have you and your young colleague.” Marc could hear him blowing his nose and pulling on his cigarette violently.
“Where did Enno get the wires?” Marc said, thinking aloud. He crouched down and picked up the ripped packaging. A quick look inside confirmed that it was empty.
“He must’ve gotten them from his executioner,” Bruckner said. “We found no tools in the apartment or in the basement. Not even a hammer. We did find several sets of fingerprints in the switch cabinet. Enno Parker, Mrs. Parker, Mr. Parker—who is now at the hospital with his wife—and finally a thumb and index fingerprint, both from Steve Dixon. That’s all I’ve got for you.”
“All right.” Marc hung up. He switched to the next marker and stood beside Tine, who had tied her dark blond hair into a short ponytail. “Any feminine intuition?” he asked.
She shook her head. “If the boy felt excluded, he had secrets he couldn’t share with anyone. And what does a girl do that has no one to listen to?”
“A girl?”
“Gay boys often display the behavior of a girl.”
“And Enno is said to have fit this cliché?”
Tine stood next to a narrow bookcase and looked at the colorful spines. “You see? Enno didn’t read much. Unless he had an e-book reader. But the books here are mostly gay novels. We should find out if he had a Kindle or Tolino.”
“His spectrum was probably not particularly broad.”
Tine nodded. “What do you notice here?”
“I wouldn’t want to read these books, except maybe this one.” Marc pointed to a novel with a black spine.
“The only thriller between all the romance novels and gay stories. Enno did not have many visitors. Otherwise his buddies would have busted him by now.”
“Well observed.”
“Besides, this thriller is the only book with a dust jacket. This in turn leads me to suspect…” Tine left the rest unspoken and put on a disposable glove.
Marc watched as an expectant smile came to her lips, a smile that froze seconds later.
“Spoke too soon,” she said. The hardback book inside the black paper cover was, indeed, a thriller.
“Not so fast.” Marc took the books from the shelf. “I think our colleagues left their marks here too and simply put the books back. You see? My wife used to sort her books by color. To this day, I still don’t really understand that. But a lot of women have this quirk.” Marc re-sorted the books. “Sort of,” he murmured. “This one doesn’t really match the rest.” He fished out a book with a shiny cover and opened it. “Wow, a diary. Too bad it’s empty.”
Tine watched as Marc used his thumb to shuffle the pages like cards. He turned the book over and shook it. Nothing fell out.
He gave it to Tine. “There’s a missing page,” she said, running her gloved index finger over the frayed edge.
“Wait a minute.” Marc took it again and held the blank page to the light. “You can see latent depressions on the paper.” He closed the diary again, put it in an evidence bag, and handed it to Tine. “I’ll take you back to the station. You check those depressions, see what he thought he needed to tear out. Meanwhile, I’m going to school. Yara went to high school and Dixon went to junior high school this year. The buildings are not far from each other.”
Using Google Maps, Marc searched for another location. “Enno drove daily to the vocational school, which is on the way to the Max-Planck Gymnasium. He might have stopped there,” he said. “Hmm.” He put the cell phone away. “I guess we won’t find anything else significant here that the colleagues from forensics missed. The course of events is relatively clear. Only the motive is not.”
The two left the apartment. Marc carefully put the seal back on the door, though he planned to come back later. Alone. He needed his rest. This was the only way he could concentrate on the essentials, on what could not be seen with the naked eye.
Chapter 23
Marktheide | Max Planck High School
Sarah Bier blew a big bubble with her chewing gum, which she swiped back into her mouth with the pierced tip of her tongue. She chewed with a loud smacking sound, waiting until the circle of students from all different grades assembled around her. They all looked at her expectantly. She was the star, and Sarah enjoyed the moment. Everyone wanted to be part of the game.
“You.” She pointed to a boy in her class. He was new. His name was Dustin. He was pretty good-looking. “You’re coming with me. I like your phone.”
Sarah was seventeen. She had done a lap of honor twice. Many boys were afraid to talk to her. She was wild, could dish it out, but she could also take it. She wore tank tops and military pants, high lace-up boots, and a bomber jacket with patches. Her red-dyed hair stood out wildly. The right side of her head was shaved bald. She wanted to get a tattoo but had not yet decided on a suitable motif.
“Actually, what time is it?” she asked Dustin, who peeled himself out of the crowd.
“The big break is over in ten minutes.”
Sarah pulled on her e-cigarette and let a thick cloud of steam escape through her mouth and nose. The vapor smelled like gummy bears.
“We have to hurry,” she said, gagging a little as she spoke; she had swallowed the stupid chewing gum. Her cell phone made a short sound.
Most of the children turned their attention to their own smartphones. Everyone watched the action through the tiny lenses; no one was willing to miss the preparation. Later, they would still have enough time to take a close look at everything.
Sarah also stared at the screen.
BE BRAVE
OR DIE
A
fter the letters had dissolved in an explosion, a window popped open. Sarah’s fingers became damp. She skimmed the short text, which disappeared within seconds. Pushing another powerful cloud through her bright red lips, she tried to downplay her nervousness. How did the playmaker know Sarah wasn’t a girl at all, but a boy who had recently been treated with hormones?
Demonstratively she pulled up her jacket sleeve and showed her ribbons to everyone. There were three of them. Only Peer had more. He also stood in the crowd and looked at Sarah with a pitiful gaze.
Go downstairs.
Someone has to accompany you.
A person you trust.
Those were the instructions.
A prickling sensation behind her temples seized her. She choked, nauseated by a flickering before her eyes, as if dozens of dung flies with their green chitinous shells buzzed around in her head. She felt sick at the thought of putting herself in mortal danger again, just to keep her secret. Her pride was gone too. Sarah no longer wanted to be admired and idolized. She just wanted to eat her lunch in peace.
“I am a girl in a boy’s body!” she wanted to shout, but she didn’t dare. She had made new friends at this school, even if they were not real ones. Nevertheless, she got along better with them than with the children at the old school, who had known about her secret. There she had come out. At that time, she had been fourteen years old and her name had still been Sandro. After that her life had become a nightmare.
After trying twice in vain to take her own life, she had felt compelled to talk to her parents. They had cried. Ever since that conversation Sarah had felt free for the first time. Her parents had found new jobs and had sold the house, all so they could move her to a new school.
“You don’t have to suffer any more, my child,” her father had said. “You are still our child, and that word has no gender.” With a loving smile and tears in his eyes, he had embraced her. “God did not botch you. You are just a little bit different than the others. There are two angels living in your heart. One is called Sandro, the other Sarah. I don’t care which one you finally decide on, and your mother doesn’t see it any differently. Just give yourself some time.”
Sarah punched Dustin on the shoulder. The memory in her head clouded.
“We have to go,” Dustin said.
She nodded. “We’ll be right back!” she announced to the crowd, raising her fist as if in victory. But in reality, fear crept through her limbs like a tumor, displacing her imposed willpower until nothing was left of the facade.
Once again, her cell phone went ping.
She looked at the screen. A red pin on the map marked the spot on the school grounds. She touched the pin and a picture appeared. It was the bicycle parking lot, which was right below them.
No one must follow you! the app instructed.
“You all stay up here!” Sarah announced.
Three boys and two girls took each other by the hands and formed a barrier. They were aspirants who hoped to be accepted into the conspiratorial community. Only after a ritual were they allowed to join as full members.
A pulled tooth was the cost.
Sarah drove her tongue over the replacement canine tooth, which had cost her parents three thousand euros. The insurance had not wanted to pay for it.
She ran down the stairs to the bicycles. With each step her pulse accelerated. When she arrived at the bottom, she searched in the dim light for the pillar that had been visible in the picture.
The lamps, covered with cobwebs, proved more decorative than useful. Most of them were burnt out or smashed. Dustin followed her in silence, like a shadow. Broken glass crunched under her shoes. In a puddle lay a broken beer bottle.
“This must be it.” Sarah looked around. They were alone. She searched the place and finally found the roll of cling wrap. There was a box cutter next to it.
“Listen to me carefully, Dustin. You do exactly as I say.”
“Okay.” He swallowed.
“Think you can do it?” She was no longer sure she was up to the task. For you, the playmaker came up with something very special. Because you’re special, too, he had written. At the end of the message, the playmaker had added a sad smiley face.
“Are you listening to me? Dustin? Are you okay?”
“I think so. I think it’s cool how brave you are. I could never have brought myself to do it. Thanks for letting me be part of it.” His voice cracked with excitement.
“Would you wish me dead in the process? Wouldn’t that be something?”
His facial expression told her that he did not share her opinion. “I don’t want to do this.” He lowered his hands. “I’m sorry.”
“You can’t back out now. You have to go through with it, or I’ll die,” she said.
The air smelled of metal, cigarette smoke, stale beer, and piss.
“And if you die doing it?” Dustin said. His face twisted, and he swallowed hard. “Like Yara?” he added.
Sarah laughed theatrically. Throwing her head back, she let out a shout of joy. It didn’t have the effect she wanted though. She sounded like a chicken on a damned violent trip. “That was just an accident,” she said, although she didn’t sound convincing. “All you have to do is wrap this plastic around my head six times. I’m going to stand with my back against this column here. You do exactly six laps. With the carpet knife, you cut me loose.” She talked to Dustin like a toddler who didn’t understand a word she was saying.
“Sarah…”
“Shut up and listen to me carefully. There’s no time. As soon as this smiley here turns red, press the record button. After exactly twenty seconds you cut the plastic off. Can you remember that? And don’t drop my cell phone!”
Dustin shrugged.
“You’re not allowed in here!” Sarah suddenly shouted at a shadow, which was immediately pulled out into the sun by other silhouettes. The aspirants were immediately on hand to keep order. Everyone was excited about this crappy game and wanted to be part of it. It had become an addiction.
Sarah slapped Dustin in the face. “Focus, man!”
He made a painfully distorted grimace.
“Here.” She pushed the roll into his hand.
“Sarah…”
She stood with her back to the pillar.
“Now,” she said coldly.
Dustin wrapped the plastic around her head. He counted each round and finally stopped. He went to cut the plastic away from the container, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t push the razor blade up out of the box cutter’s handle. It was stuck. So he simply dropped the plastic wrap on the dirty floor. He could rewind it later, if the razor blade would not extend.
He looked at his work. Sarah’s face was flattened. Her cheeks puffed up, her eyes big. Or was he just imagining all this? Dustin held the phone in front of his chest. The laughing smiley turned red and turned into a devil’s face. With his thumb he touched the record button. He counted the seconds, which stretched out mercilessly.
You have to count a little slower, don’t be a wimp. The picture quality was lousy. The lighting conditions were bad, and on top of that his hands were shaking.
Twelve Mickey Mouse, thirteen Mickey Mouse, he thought, dictating the seconds. When he reached twenty-two, he looked at the timer on the phone. The display only showed a nine.
There was something wrong.
The time slowed down more and more and got stuck at ten. Was it because of the internet connection?
Dustin checked the display. LTE. So that was not the reason.
“Help!” he cried and looked around frantically.
Despite Sarah’s warning, he dropped the cell phone and ran toward her. Her face had taken on a blue tint. Her fingernails tore at the plastic, scratching her forehead and cheeks beneath.
Again, a shadow appeared.
“Thank God,” Dustin said without looking back. “Can you help me?” He turned up his nose. “Oh, God.” Something smelled extremely
unpleasant here. “S-she’s… suffocating!” He picked up the roll of plastic from the floor, but didn’t get very far. The shadow cracked him in the right temple with a baseball bat. The boy collapsed.
Horrified, Sarah stared at the shadow. It looked like a man, but she could hardly see through all the plastic. He stepped on her cell phone with his shoe and waved at her with a sarcastic smile. Sarah’s fingers tore at her head wrap. Her lungs burned. She could not breathe. Her life was draining away. With every second, her strength was fading. She wet herself.
The blurred shadow suddenly stepped directly in front of her. His fist shot forward.
The pain exploded in the pit of Sarah’s stomach, turning into a lump that swelled into a medicine ball in a flash. At that moment she managed to tear the plastic from her eyes. A piece of the thin film came loose between her lips and stuck deep in her throat.
The shock and the blow made her stomach rebel—bitter bile and the remains of soft toast with peanut butter rose up into her constricted throat. She began to choke and vomit. Stomach acid flooded her airway.
Sarah’s legs buckled. Then her body began to twitch. The combat boots drummed wildly on the concrete, kicking Dustin in the face. He was bleeding from the nose. His left eye was swollen.
Directly above Sarah, a faint lamp shone. An insect had gotten caught behind the protective glass and was now fighting for its life.
Her vision blurred. Her gaze broke, and Sarah was dead. The insect twitched again and was then transformed into a cocoon by a spider.
Voices rose in the echoing dark. Children rushed over, shouting wildly. Panic spread. No one knew what had happened. They had expected a spectacle, not the death of a schoolmate.
Chapter 24
“What’s going on here?” Marc stood in the schoolyard, busy tracking down the break supervisors, when he saw a crowd of students rushing down the stairs. Everyone was shouting in disarray. Part of the group, mostly girls, stopped at the top of the stairs and looked around with eyes of bottomless fear.
