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The catastrophic events at the demonstration yesterday are making his life difficult too. Whenever the boss turns his head, Yasira has to stare at the small tuft of hair he missed while shaving. It’s silly. But she can’t help it.
“A police officer was shredded by a grenade in front of the Reichstag!” Gebhardt continues. “What do you think has been going on here all morning? Will you finally give me something to work with?”
Unfortunately, Yasira has nothing new to present except her solidified suspicions. She dares to make an advance: “I know how tense the situation is. Trust me. Becker and I weren’t ten meters away from the explosion.”
“Heard about that.”
“I think,” Yasira says slowly and deliberately. “We need to open a valve. Blow out some steam from the pressure cooker.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
“Announce at a press conference that the video is fake.”
The chief snorts. “I’ll be happy to do that as soon as you provide me with a single piece of evidence!”
“An expert from AlmostReal told me off the record that it would be technically possible.”
“That’s not enough for me!”
“I just... how should I put it... I just feel it!” says Yasira. “My instinct tells me that it’s true.”
Gebhardt laughs bitterly. “Excellent. So I go in front of the assembled press and explain that my investigator has a feeling that the video is a fake. Her instinct tells her that...” He shakes his head at Yasira. “How do you think that will play out? They’ll tear us apart!”
“Maybe it’s enough if we just announce that our investigation is going in this direction.”
“What good would that do?”
“Doesn’t it drive you crazy that the whole country is going berserk because of a video that might be a fake? If people doubt the authenticity of the video, it must have an effect! Put a damper on the anger.”
“If we go to the press without evidence, it won’t make the situation any better.”
Whose situation, Yasira wonders. She can’t help suspecting that the boss is willing to let the situation escalate further in fear of losing his position.
“Chief, I really think we should...”
“Listen,” says the boss. “I know that you are also personally affected. I know that your daughter is being threatened. And I’m really very sorry about that. But I have bigger worries. And you’re getting sidetracked!”
Yasira just sighs.
“Get me some evidence,” says the boss. “Find me an expert who is beyond all doubt and then we can discuss this again. And find the girl!”
A QUIET GUY
Yasira and Michael are standing in front of Messerschmidt’s registered address. He lives in an apartment on the fourth floor of an old building in Kreuzberg. The area is hip, but the building itself is nothing special. Its facade probably received its last coat of paint shortly after the reunification. Messerschmidt has apparently lived here for thirteen years. Yasira rings the doorbell of a Jens Krüger on the second floor. If you intend to speak to someone, it’s always better not to ring the doorbell downstairs, but to knock directly on their door. With that unmistakable police knocking technique. And then immediately show them your badge. It makes a completely different impression than one of those chopped-up conversations over a mostly half-defective intercom.
This one is now crackling.
“Yes?” asks Jens Krüger, who has just been rung. “Who is this?”
“Amazon,” says Michael.
That’s the quickest way. No questions are asked. The door buzzer is already buzzing.
Yasira pushes the door open. It’s a typical Berlin hallway. Mailboxes on the right. Straight ahead leads to the courtyard and the rear building. On the left, a staircase leads upstairs, which they take. On the second floor, a man in a bathrobe stands in his open doorway.
“I didn’t order anything,” he grumbles. “And let me tell ya, I’m not a parcel store. Ring the doorbell somewhere else next time. Because I have...”
Michael flashes his badge in front of the man’s face.
