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“Nothing yet.”
“Let me know if our address, Zara’s name, or the name of her school turns up anywhere.”
“Of course.”
Yasira tries to play it off, but the news shocks her. In all her years in the police force, she has never been personally threatened. From now on, she’ll probably have to look over her shoulder when she leaves the office to make sure she’s not being followed. These people cannot be allowed to find out where she lives. Where her daughter lives.
THE ATTACK
On Monday morning, Yasira sits on the city train in a bad mood. She blends in well. The other passengers are also wearing long faces. Perhaps they too had an argument with their children at breakfast today? What is it about makeup that makes Yasira so irritable? Why can’t she just ignore it? Aside from work and the news, she’s had the most peaceful weekend with Zara in a long time, but this morning... She’s annoyed with herself. Why did she start this in the first place? In all likelihood, this makeup thing is just another phase and—like all the phases before it—will pass on its own at some point. And even if it doesn’t? Why is that her problem? Probably because it seems to her that her beautiful daughter is unhappy with the way she looks. And the blame falls on these damn unrealistically beautiful influencers, who certainly don’t look as sexy in real life as they do in the videos. They’re essentially modern-day Barbies. Yasira nods. It’s these Barbies she’s angry at. Not at her daughter at all. That’s a valuable insight.
When she arrives at the office, she drinks a cup of the terribly bad coffee that the filter machine in the small kitchen spews out. Then she pours herself another cup. She’s going to need it. Lena was last seen nine days ago. Each passing day diminishes Yasira’s hope of finding the girl alive. With the almost full cup in hand, she enters the meeting room. The rest of the team is already present.
Yasira skips the motivational speech. There’s no lack of motivation. There’s just a lack of useful leads.
“According to YouTube, Bear’s account was registered from an IP address in the Philippines,” reports Jenny.
“What does that mean?”
“Well, either he lives abroad or he has a contact there who uploads for him, or he’s tricking the system. In any case, it means he’s not an amateur. His videos are always on the edge of legality. And of course the lynching video wasn’t published on his channel.”
“By the way, none of our colleagues who were on site spotted Bear at the Active Homeland-Protection torchlight march,” reports Katja Jürgens. “If he was there, he kept a low profile.”
“Even in the chat groups, people only speculate about the founder of A.H.,” Jenny adds. “Nobody seems to know him personally. As I said, he might not even be in Germany.”
“And it’s not proven that he’s the one seen in the execution video,” says Michael.
“Can we ask Interpol for help?” asks Yasira. “There must be some way to find this guy.”
“I’m on it,” Jenny reports.
“Are we any closer to the crime scene?”
Karsten groans. “You wouldn’t believe how many photos and videos of bench-table combinations in forest clearings I’ve inspected with a magnifying glass over the last few days. It’s like that children’s game. Find the ten differences in pictures that initially look the same. Unfortunately, there are always countless differences in the end. Different shape, different material, different degree of wear and tear, different types of trees in the background. There must be hundreds of thousands of these rest area sets in Germany.”
“I’ll take that as a no,” Yasira interrupts him.
“When I find the crime scene,” says Karsten, “I promise you’ll be the first to know.”
Yasira turns to the next person. “Timo?”
“In the last five days, a total of two hundred and eleven police officers across Germany have followed up three hundred and eighty-three tips from the public,” reports Timo. “Unfortunately, there were no useful leads on the perpetrators, Lena, or Bear.”
“Damn,” Yasira curses. “How can that be?” She pauses. “What about Schöffler?”
“We’ve received the movement profile and itemized billing records for his cell phone from his provider,” reports Katja Grebe. “We’re going through everything meticulously. Nothing suspicious so far. Nothing incriminating, at least.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that he most likely dealt drugs on a small scale. But he wasn’t stupid enough to call his customers. They probably used Telegram.”
Telegram, Yasira thinks. Again.
She ends the depressing meeting and sends everyone back to work.
There are days in the life of a police officer when events unfold rapidly. So much that it’s hard to believe afterwards that everything happened within hours. And then there are days like this Monday. Slow as molasses. Nothing seems to happen and you can’t make any progress.
Frustrated, Yasira leaves the office and takes the city train home.
