OOC: This scene in progress is one I'm not entirely comfortable with - it borrows a little too closely from David Simon's Homicide at points (interrogations of Eugene Dale and David Wilson). I'll try and steer it away from those (admirable) waters in revision.
THREE
The man in Interrogation B was fast asleep when Ziska came in. He woke up with a start when she slammed the door shut behind her.
She sat down at the cheap plastic table, facing the man. Nothing lay between them except a microphone, which Ziska switched on, and a thick folder she set down upon the table.
“Holger Pfitzner, born May 7, 1998, Wittingau, Böhmen. Correct?”
The Bohemian blinked sleepily and then nodded.
“Please speak up for the record.”
“Yes, that’s me,” Pfitzner said. “Holger Pfitzner.” He had a Bohemian accent, to be sure.
“You live at 25 Auerswaldstraße and work for Rohrmeister GmbH. Yes?”
“Yes.”
Ziska opened up the file on the table in front of her and began to read. “Arrested twice. June 17, 2008, Prag. Section 244 of the Reich Criminal Code.” Whosoever commits a theft for the commission of which he breaks into or enters a dwelling or intrudes by using a false key or other tool not typically used for gaining access or hides in the dwelling shall be liable to imprisonment from six months to ten years. “Sentenced to nine months construction work on Autobahn 205, section Pilsen to Prag.”
Pfitzner nodded. “I was young and stupid.”
“Clearly. February 23, 2012, Prag. Section 224 of the Reich Criminal Code.” Whosoever causes bodily harm by acting jointly with another shall be liable to imprisonment from six months to ten years, in less serious cases to imprisonment from three months to five years. “Sentenced to three years in Ruzen Prison. And now, here you are in Hitlerstadt. There are other charges, but they’re incidental. This is the one that matters. Section 211 of the Reich Criminal Code. Whosoever commits murder under the conditions of this provision shall be liable to imprisonment for life or the death penalty.” She paused three seconds to let that sink in. “The death penalty, Mr. Pfitzner. Do you understand?”
“I didn’t –”
She coldly cut him off. “Have you ever seen the guillotine at Plötzensee, Mr. Pfitzner?” Ziska gave him no time to answer. “I have.”
Pfitzner shook his head. “I didn’t kill anybody. You arrested the wrong man.”
“Of course we did. And the right man left his gun in your car.”
“No –”
“Then how did the gun get there? Right now, my colleagues in the technical section are testing that gun. Right now, they’re finding out that the gun in your car is the same one that killed Jürgen Meissner. Right now – ”
“Who?”
“Jürgen Meissner. The man you shot.”
“I don’t know him. I didn’t shoot him.”
“Right now, they’re checking the bullets in your gun –”
“It’s not –”
“– against the bullets that killed Jürgen Meissner. When they’re done, they’ll tell me, I’ll tell my lieutenant, and he’ll tell the district attorney. Do you know what will happen next?”
Pfitzner stared and shook his head.
“A trial – a short one, of course – and a stay in Plötzensee – a short one, of course – and...” Ziska drew two fingers across her neck.
“I didn’t kill him. I don’t know him. It’s not my gun.”
“Yes you did, yes you did, and yes it is.”
“It’s not.”
“Then why was it in your car?”
“Someone put it there.”
“Someone shot Meissner and put the gun in your car.”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“I don’t know! Ask him!”
“Do you know who did it?”
“No.”
“That’s a shame.”
“You have to believe me! I did stupid things, yes, but I’m not a murderer.”
“Really.”
“Really!”
Ziska flipped over some sheets in the folder. She pulled out a large black and white photograph. It was a little grainy, but it clearly showed Pfitzner being shoved up against the side of a car by a pair of Orpos. It was also, thanks to a street sign at the edge of the photo, clearly taken on Schröderdamm in Hakenkreuzberg.
“That’s you.”
“Yes.”
“That’s your car.”
“Yes.”
“This was taken on Schröderdamm.”
Hesitation, then a nod.
“Jürgen Meissner lived on Waldemarstraße.”
Pfitzner shrugged.
“Only two blocks from where you were arrested.”
“So?”
“You live in Weißensee. That’s seven kilometers from Schröderdamm. You work in Wilmersdorf. That’s nine kilometers from Schröderdamm. What were you doing on Schröderdamm?”
Pfitzner stared at her for a second or two. “Visiting a friend,” he finally said.
“A friend?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your friend’s name? Where does he live?”
“On Felsendamm.”
“And what’s the name of your friend that lives on Felsendamm?”
“I – Fritz.”
“Fritz.”
“Yes.”
“And what’s Fritz’s family name?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know your friend’s last name?”
“I only met him twice. At a bar.”
Ziska put her fingers together, wrists resting on the table. She stared at Pfitzner for a moment. “Are you a homosexual, Mr. Pfitzner?”
“No!”
“Are you sure?”
“Thor and Christ, yes! I didn’t – I haven’t done anything –”
“Okay,” Ziska said after a few seconds. “I like to be fair. Tell me your story. Tell me your side. Tell me what happened that night.”
Pfitzner rubbed his hands together, his handcuffs clinking noisily as he did. “Okay. Okay.”
“Any time now,” Ziska prompted after a few more seconds.
“Okay,” Pfitzner said again. “This is what happened...”
.
