Page 27 of Views
“Chandler. FromFriends.”
“Never watched it,” says Michael.
“But whatdidn’the take...” mumbles Yasira.
Michael scratches his neck. “Do you think Schöffler only sold the stuff or was he his best customer?”
“He was using it too,” says Yasira. “It says right here.” She points to the relevant place in the report. The lab coats were able to detect residues of the opiate in Schöffler’s hair. Most addicts still fear blood or urine tests. Yet it is usually their hair that gives them away. The drug residues grow into the hair via the roots. You can look back a whole year in twelve centimeters of hair.
“Did he give Lena some of that shit too?” Michael asks.
“Hard to say,” says Yasira. “His urine test was negative. But that only means that he hasn’t taken any fentanyl in the last few days. We’d have to ask him what he did last weekend.”
“Maybe we should do that.”
“We definitely should,” Yasira agrees. “But I can already guess what he’ll say.”
Michael imitates the suspect in the interrogation room: “Me? No! Not me! And certainly not without my lawyer.”
“We should talk to him again anyway,” says Yasira. “Confront him with the lab findings. Just in case he’s talkative after that.”
She yawns and glances at the clock. The three o’clock slump.
“I’ll do it,” says Michael. “And you go home and take care of your daughter for a while.”
“What will you do?” asks Yasira wearily.
“I’ll talk to Schöffler. And you get some rest.”
“But...”
“It’s Saturday afternoon.”
“Exactly!” says Yasira. “If you go to Halberstadt again, it’ll be a miserably long day for you.”
“I’ll just sleep in the hotel again.”
“I get it! You want to go back to that delicious breakfast buffet,” jokes Yasira.
Michael laughs.
Yasira becomes serious again “But...”
“Go home before I change my mind.”
So Yasira does as she’s told and makes her way home. On the city train, there’s hardly any sign of the upcoming large-scale demonstration in the city center. That’s always been fascinating to Yasira about Berlin. The city is so huge that even major events usually go unnoticed by most of its inhabitants. She even sleeps a little on the train. It feels good, but she almost misses her stop. Before going home, she makes a detour to the supermarket.
“Hello stranger,” says Zara as Yasira enters the apartment with full shopping bags.
“Hello, sweetheart...”
Zara is lounging on the sofa, scrolling through her phone.
“How about we cook something delicious together?” asks Yasira. “I bought everything you like. And then we’ll watch a dance movie?”
Zara shrugs her shoulders. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”
“Okay, that’s enough enthusiasm for me,” says Yasira with a smile and pulls her daughter off the couch. “Don’t know. Don’t care” is the maximum level of approval she can expect for such a suggestion.
