Page 29 of Views
Yasira nods. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’ll try not to be late...”
“That’s okay, mom. Go get ’em.”
Yasira takes the city train to Treptower Park. When she gets to her office, it’s almost eleven. Michael hands her a newspaper across the desk.
“Schöffler gave an interview toBild,” he says.
“Now Lena’s Boyfriend Speaks!” reads the headline.
How did the vultures manage to get through to him? And why did Schöffler participate? Doesn’t he know that this is a game he can only lose? Maybe they offered money. Probably threatened to write about him anyway. Without his side of the story, if necessary. Yasira reads the entire interview. As usual forBild, it’s not very long.
Schöffler claims to have loved Lena and talks about alleged secret marriage plans. The interview seems somehow surreal to Yasira. In all her research on Lena’s computer and phone, she found nothing to suggest that Lena wanted to get married. She was only sixteen, for goodness’ sake. Using and dealing drugs was the biggest mistake of his life, Schöffler says, but he always kept Lena away from that stuff. Of course, the interview finishes with a focus on the video. Schöffler doesn’t know the perpetrators, but if he got his hands on them, then... Well, then what? That’s where the interview stops and leaves the rest to the reader’s imagination.
“By the way, how did it go with Schöffler?” asks Yasira. “Did you question him again?”
“Yes,” says Michael. “But as expected, nothing new came out of it. Otherwise I would have informed you, of course.”
Yasira is very grateful to her partner. He must have been out all day yesterday.
“Schöffler insists that he and Lena only smoked weed,” reports Michael. “He said he only tried fentanyl once and then disposed of it immediately.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Apart from that, he clammed up. Not a word about his customers, not a word about his sources. I’d bet the guy’s scared.”
“Do you think the men who raped Lena were also involved with the drugs?”
“Could be,” says Michael. “But Schöffler still claims he doesn’t know them.”
“Hmm.”
Yasira has started her computer and is clicking through the still numerous tips from the public. Most sound like more false alarms. But of course they have to check everything out.
At some point, Jenny comes through the door.
“New video,” she just says and hands Yasira her phone. She skips the ad for Müller Milk as soon as she can. Jenny found the video early. The number of views is still in the thousands.
Yasira closes her eyes and shakes her head after seeing the video. How could this be? How could this have happened? For the first time, she wonders whether the case might be out of her league after all. They have been working around the clock for three and a half days and have little to show for it except bags under their eyes. Naturally, the internet and certain tabloid papers are already full of assholes questioning her ability to solve this case. Questioning wether she even wants to solve it. Because of where she’s from. And they don’t mean Wilmersdorf.
“What the fuck!” Michael hisses. “Can’t we make them take down the video? Can’t we somehow prevent it from spreading?”
“We’ve reported the video on all commercial platforms,” says Jenny. “They’ll probably delete it soon. Some have already done so. But of course copies are popping up everywhere. And other people are featuring the video. On 8kun and the like, we don’t stand a chance anyway. So in other words, no.”
“What the hell is 8kun?” asks Michael.
“How much time do you have for the answer?” asks Jenny. “8kun is basically a completely uncontrolled image board. It used to be called 8chan. You may have heard of it.”
Michael nods. “Wasn’t that the site where the Christchurch killer broadcast his terrorist attack live?”
Jenny snorts. “The live stream was on the oh-so-clean Facebook. But yes, that nutcase radicalized himself on 8chan. That’s where his manifesto was spread. That’s where people cheered him on. Just like the killers from El Paso, from Poway, from Halle. If you ask me, 8kun is the epitome of everything that’s wrong with the internet. There are boards where right-wing conspiracy fanatics stir up hatred against US Democrats because their top politicians allegedly abuse children, next to boards where child pornography is shamelessly distributed. And no one seems to be bothered by this contradiction.”
Yasira replays the video.
Yasira plays the video again. You can see one of the perpetrators. It’s Snoopy, still in that ridiculous sweater. He is in some cleared-out garage or storage room. Gagged and bound with zip ties, he kneels on the dark, dirty floor. Panic is written all over his face. A masked man stands behind him. His voice is digitally distorted.
“In the name of the German people,” the man says, “I sentence this illegal immigrant, rapist, and murderer of Lena Palmer to death. I will carry out the sentence immediately. Join the Active Homeland-Protection!”
Snoopy obviously doesn’t understand a word. Only when the speaker raises his gun, a submachine gun, and puts it to the head of his victim does he realize the deadly seriousness of the situation. Snoopy’s eyes widen. Then the picture goes black and all you can hear is a gunshot.
