THE SCOOP
In the late afternoon, Yasira attends the funeral for Tesfaye Yemane, who was murdered by Martin Riedel. Yasira didn’t ask her colleagues to join her, to avoid them feeling pressured. Her team already has too few rest breaks anyway.
Like about half of the Eritrean population, Tesfaye was a Christian, and so—in the absence of such an organization in Saxony—the Eritrean Orthodox community in Berlin has taken charge of the funeral.
The funeral is held in the borrowed Protestant Philippus Church in Berlin Friedenau.
Yasira is quite astonished at the massive security precautions in front of the building.
The Berlin police are obviously afraid of an attack, which given recent events is only understandable.
The media are on site and because of them, of course, some political celebrities.
Nobody obliged Yasira to come, but it just felt right.
But now, as she waits on the uncomfortable church pew for the pastor to finish his sermon, she is jittery.
She sits with the other women on the right-hand side.
Her feet are cold, because Eritreans worship God barefoot.
Out of respect, Yasira has also taken off her shoes, which she now regrets a little.
She tries to focus but keeps drifting off.
This video has done so much damage. By Sunday, she will have to attend another funeral.
Andreas Müller, the police officer who saved his colleagues from the grenade, will be given a full state funeral.
Yasira must prevent things from escalating any further.
It’s not inconceivable that otherwise her own funeral service will take place next week.
The boss is wrong. People need to know that the video is probably a fake.
As soon as she gets home, she calls her date from last week.
She can happily do without another lonely evening in her quiet apartment anyway.
Steven is pretty surprised to hear from her, but immediately agrees to meet her for another dinner.
She doesn’t even have to entice him with the promise of confidential information.
For a moment, she feels proud. Then she questions this feeling, as she always does, and it dissolves into nothing.
What is she proud of? That a divorced online journalist with a seven-day beard that is already turning gray is willing to cancel his evening date with Netflix in the hope of ending up in bed with her instead?
What an achievement. She can really be proud of that.
Although she may have misjudged Steven, because the first thing he says after greeting her is: “I saw you on TV. At a press conference. I almost would have been there too, but the head of my department wanted to go himself.”
Maybe Steven wants to meet for the same reason as she does. Because of the video.
This time they meet at Byblos in Spichernstra?e.
Yasira suggested the Lebanese restaurant.
Ostensibly because the food there is always delicious.
But secretly, she also chose Byblos because it is guaranteed that no Active Homeland-Protection activists will stray there.
Yasira is uncomfortable with her unwanted prominence.
“Listen,” says Yasira after the waitress who brought the starters moved on. “You know what case I’m investigating. You know how tense the situation is.”
“Tense is the understatement of the year,” says Steven. “I’m actually considering taking a vacation abroad during the next election so that I can decide whether to come back here afterwards, depending on the outcome.”
“I’ve discovered something,” Yasira reports, “but the evidence is too thin for a public press release.”
Steven’s eyes light up. He understands already.
“You want me to leak the information?”
“There are a few conditions.”
“I’m listening . . .”
“My name can’t appear in your report.”
“A source at the BKA . . .”
“No.”
“A source from the law enforcement agencies . . .”
“Maybe a source outside the law enforcement agencies instead.”
“Won’t your boss know anyway . . .”
“He might suspect. But as long as he can’t prove it . . . There are also external experts we’ve spoken to. They’ve probably contacted you, don’t you think?”
“Yes, yes, they did. That’s what happened.” Steven is excited by the prospect of what might be his first scoop. Yasira briefly considers whether to mention AlmostReal or even Tom Schiller, but then decides against it.
“What’s the info?” asks Steven. “Did you find out where the perpetrators are from? Are they in the country illegally? Did Lena know them? Does her strange boyfriend have anything to do with the whole thing?”
“None of that.” Yasira pauses. “We believe,” she says slowly, “I believe the video might be a fake.”
“A fake?” Steven is gobsmacked. He clearly didn’t expect that. “You mean staged?”
“Not staged. Computer generated.”
“But Lena . . .”
“Generated with images from her Instagram account.”
“Fuck!”
Yasira nods.
“But who . . . ?”
“I can’t tell you anything about that yet.”
“Ongoing investigation . . .” says Steven.
“Correct.”
“That changes everything!”
“Yes. Now you might understand why I want this information out there sooner rather than later.”
“Sure, of course. Of course.” Steven rubs his face. “This is big. This is . . . Oh, my God! This is really big. This is earthshaking!”
He heaps hummus onto his pita bread and takes a bite, but somehow seems absent-minded. Obviously, he’s already putting together his article in his head. At some point, he seems to realize that he’s not alone at the table.
“Uh . . . I don’t know if this is still a date . . . I mean, would you like to go to your place afterwards . . . or mine . . . I mean, we don’t have to . . . um, I don’t even know if you . . . I should probably just start the article . . . but if you want to . . .”
“Maybe next time,” says Yasira and smiles. “All good things come in threes.”
The next morning, it’s a Saturday, Yasira sleeps unusually long for her standards.
The events are draining her energy. It is already past eight o’clock when she opens her eyes.
Still in bed, she checks the news sites and finds countless articles about the video, the investigation, the reactions, Bear.
But nothing really new. No article from Steven.
While she eats her cereal, she gets a picture from Zara.
She went to the hairdresser with her grandpa this morning and got a sidecut.
Short on the right, long on the left. It looks pretty daring.
Yasira pins a heart to the picture. Then she wonders if Zara only had her hair cut so that she looks different from the damn photo in the Telegram groups.
So that she’s not so easily recognizable.
Maybe Yasira should also go and get a haircut.
She could also get a sidecut. Mother and daughter in the same look. Or would that be cringe?
Just before nine, she receives a message from Steven. It consists of just one word: “Sorry!”
What does that mean? Couldn’t he get his article through? The next message follows straight away. “My boss wanted it that way. Couldn’t do anything.”
Was it too vague for his editor-in-chief? She searches for his article. It’s not hard to find. It’s the lead story and titled “EVERYTHING FAKE?” Yasira reads. Afterwards, she wishes the article had never appeared. “According to a source at the BKA . . .” it says. She gets angry. This means trouble.
She writes Steven a text message consisting of just one word: “Asshole!” But then she deletes the letters again and doesn’t write anything.
Already it starts, the press department calls and wants to know how to handle all the inquiries.
A bunch of emails are forwarded to her. When her phone rings again, it’s a journalist from Bild.
“How did you come to that conclusion?” he asks.
That Yasira is the source is something the press quickly put together.
“Do you have any proof?” And who knows where the journalist got her cell phone number.
Certainly not from Steven, why would the asshole share his scoop?
“We would like an exclusive interview with you and are offering . . .”
Yasira hangs up. Her cell phone rings again immediately. “Only if you talk to us can we present your side of the story. If you don’t talk to us, then . . .”
Yasira hangs up again and mutes her cell phone.
Since she will have to deal with the shitty situation anyway, she decides that she might as well do it in the office. Zara isn’t there, so she takes the Golf again. When Yasira arrives at her office, Michael, who has taken over the Saturday shift, shakes his head sighing. “What were you thinking?”
“That wasn’t the plan . . .”
“The boss wants to see you right away.”
“Am I fired?”
“Don’t know,” says Michael. “Couldn’t really understand him because he was screaming so hard.”