UNREMARKABLE
“Our school is one of the oldest in Germany, by the way!” the principal tells Yasira and Michael as he leads them through the corridors of an imposing brick building.
An entirely irrelevant piece of information in the current situation, but surely something he tells all visitors.
At the end of the hallway, he invites the two investigators into his office.
“All of the parents in Lena’s class have agreed to have their children questioned. You can talk to them here.”
“Very good,” says Yasira. “Thank you.”
She looks around the office.
“Physics teacher?” she asks.
“Yes,” says the principal. “Is it that obvious?”
Instead of answering, Yasira points to this thing with five balls on strings, which is standing on the massive desk.
“Ah. The Newton’s cradle gave me away.”
“How does that thing actually work?” Yasira wants to know.
“It’s surprisingly complicated,” replies the principal and doesn’t seem to want to add anything.
Then never mind, thinks Yasira. She’s not here to chat anyway.
“Do you have any clues or leads yet?” asks the principal.
“It’s surprisingly complicated,” says Michael.
Yasira smiles.
First, they question the teachers. Most of them don’t know too much about Lena.
“In academic matters, neither particularly good nor particularly bad,” summarizes Lena’s math teacher, encapsulating his impression with the empathy typical of math teachers. “Unremarkable.”
Isabel Schubert, the nice young class teacher, is obviously deeply affected by what has happened. She reports feeling that something was troubling Lena. “First there was the death of her mother,” she says, “I’m sure you’ve heard about that.”
Yasira nods.
“And then Lena had somehow changed in the last six months. But well. They all do that during puberty. I would never have thought . . .” she stops. “However, she only responded to my offer to talk with a polite refusal.”
“What about unexcused absences?” asks Michael.
“Three days last term,” replies the teacher. “I’ve already checked. But that doesn’t mean much, of course. I’m trying to tame a bunch of teenagers here. Unexcused absences rank among the lesser problems.”
“Is there a clique that Lena belonged to?” asks Yasira. “A best friend?”
“Maybe even a boyfriend?” asks Michael.
“Does Lena have a romantic relationship?” Yasira clarifies. “With a boy, or maybe a girl?”
Isabel Schubert shakes her head. “Not that I know of. Lena always struck me as a loner. At least in the last few months. The best tip I can give you is the dark-haired Emily.”
Yasira makes a note.
“There’s also a blonde Emily in the class,” explains the teacher. “That’s why I said dark-haired Emily. But you couldn’t have known that. That’s why I’m explaining.”
Yasira just nods.
“Then please send us the dark-haired Emily first,” says Michael.
The tear-stained girl who appears shortly afterwards in the makeshift interview room does indeed have very black hair.
Her makeup is as heavy as Yasira’s daughter’s.
The tears have smudged it though, making her face even sadder.
Like a crying clown. Yasira introduces herself and Michael too, fearing that his sometimes grumpy demeanor might scare the girl off.
The class teacher, who remains present as a confidant during all the conversations, tries to calm Emily down with soothing words, to little avail.
Perhaps because she herself is so upset.
“Is she . . . is she dead?” asks Emily.
“No,” says Yasira. “We have no indication that Lena is dead.” Just a reasoned suspicion, but she doesn’t add that. “We’re trying to find Lena. As quickly as possible.”
“Are you . . . are you like some kind of FBI?”
“Yes. Something like that,” Michael grumbles. “I’m basically Special Agent Dale Cooper.”
“Who?” asks Emily.
Yasira rolls her eyes at Michael before turning back to the girl. “Your teacher told us that you’re friends with Lena.”
“Well,” says Emily. “Sort of. We were friends for a long time, but . . .”
“But not anymore?” asks Yasira when the girl doesn’t continue.
“She’s changed somehow.”
“When did this change start?” asks Michael. “With the death of her mother?”
“Nah,” says Emily. “Of course that really hit her hard and all. But we were still really tight then. She was at my place a lot and cried. I cried a lot too. Man, that was so sad. But that’s like a year and a half ago or something.”
“When did you notice a change in Lena’s behavior?” asks Yasira.
“Well, I don’t know. About half a year ago, I’d say. That’s when we kind of drifted apart. You know?”
“Was there a reason for that?”
“Well, we didn’t have a fight or anything, if that’s what you mean.” Emily’s still speaking hesitantly. “It just happened that way. I mean, Lena stopped returning my calls and everything. Always had something else to do.”
“What did she have to do?” asks Michael.
“I don’t really know. She never told me. I mean, I think she had a boyfriend and whatnot. A guy from outside the school. Rumors say he was done with school and all that. But I never met him.”
“Could it have been one of the men from the video?” asks Michael.
“Whoa, no. I don’t think so,” replies Emily. “But of course I don’t know for sure.”
Yasira asks Emily for access to the class chat. She skims through the conversations. Lena rarely participated. Otherwise, the usual. Gossip, memes, and dumb jokes. Yasira exports the chat and sends a copy to her team for closer inspection. Let the Katjas deal with it.
Afterwards, Yasira and Michael talk to the other students in the class.
All of them are suitably shocked. All of them are of little help.
Lena was increasingly perceived by many as a loner.
There are only rumors about Lena’s boyfriend.
No one has seen him. Nor does anyone know any of the men in the video.
No one had a date with Lena on Saturday evening.
No one happens to know her phone’s code.
As they leave the school and get back into the car, Yasira says: “We need to find this boyfriend.”
Michael just nods. What else should he say? Of course they have to find the boyfriend. That goes without saying.
They’ve barely been driving five minutes through the city—which feels surprisingly empty compared to Berlin—when her colleague pulls into the parking lot of a restaurant.
He looks at Yasira with wide eyes and whispers, “I want to butter an Indian chick . . .”
Then he grins broadly. “Sorry—Indian chicken, of course.”
Yasira rolls her eyes. “That was really low, Michael. Even for you.”
Yasira lets Michael’s somewhat sexist, quite embarrassing jokes slide because she’s suspected for quite some time now that he’s just using them to cover up his homosexuality.
She’s not quite sure on what she bases this assumption.
Of course, he never comes to work with painted fingernails.
It’s more of a feeling. It’s probably not the things Michael does that gave her the idea, but rather the things he doesn’t do.
He has no particular interest in the Hot Chicks With Guns calendar in Karsten Seiler’s office.
He doesn’t brag about his conquests, in fact he never talks about his relationships at all.
He has never hit on Yasira when drunk at a Christmas party.
Another unique trait. And of course he loves Freddy Mercury.
On the other hand . . . Who in their right mind doesn’t?
They get out of the car and enter the Indian restaurant.
A gay police officer is almost as rare as a gay professional football player.
Yasira believes that Michael’s possible concerns about coming out are unfounded.
At least in their department. He’s not a patrol cop or a village sheriff.
Besides, he lives and works in Berlin. Then again .
. . Maybe his homosexuality would stand in the way of a promotion at some point.
Not officially, of course. But in practice. Who can say?
Yasira will certainly not raise the issue with him. You don’t just ask a woman with a big belly when she’s due, after all, she might not be pregnant and then you have a very unpleasant conversation to deal with.
Michael orders a large portion of chicken. “And make it spicy, please!”
The Indian menu also includes pizzas, kebabs, and burgers. Very confidence-inspiring. Yasira only orders a portion of samosas. She doesn’t have much of an appetite. For her, food is mostly just a necessity for survival.
While waiting for their order, Yasira checks her emails.
Timo has written. There are so many tips from the public that he can hardly keep up with coordinating them.
Unfortunately, all the leads that police officers could follow up on so far turned out to be some form of “I’m sorry, but to me all the Black people look alike” or similar prejudices.
Nevertheless, he keeps at it, of course.
Yasira asks him for Lena’s movement profile from her cell phone provider.
“Give me another twenty minutes,” is his short reply.
Yasira clicks on the next email. The two Katjas have already gone through the class chat and have initial results.
Some classmates made references to drug use in connection with Lena.
A lead that they will have to follow up anyway.
Is it “just” about the weed they found in Lena’s room?
Or what kind of drugs are we talking about?
And who did she get them from? Obviously, Lena’s classmates didn’t tell them everything they knew during the questioning at school.
Understandable. Who likes to confess to the police that they smoke weed?
But if Yasira were to ask them directly, perhaps something else would come to light.
And then there’s the conversation about a party three weeks ago.
One of the boys—someone named Robert—had written: “Lena’s definitely not coming. She’s probably going back to her pedo.”
The generous interpretation is that Lena’s boyfriend is named Pedro, and Robert simply dropped the r.
But more likely, there’s a rumor buzzing around Lena’s class that her boyfriend is clearly way too old for her.