Lost in Blue

𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖎𝖟𝖊𝖍𝖓 : Knowledge is power

"How the hell did you get my number?"

Dorn's morning couldn't have started any worse. Due to staying up late, he was tired and to his dismay, a clumsy motion of his hand had spilled his tea – a temporary substitution for coffee – all over the table, drenching few papers in black liquid.

When he drove to the witness' house, sweaty hands from the end of July's heat clutching onto the wheel, someone almost bumped into him due to disregarding the right of way.

On top of almost having suffered a heart-attack from a near traffic accident, just as he finally arrived at his destination, a clinker-built house numbered fifteen in a rural street of Sankt Goar, he received a phone call from the person he would have liked to hear from the least.

"I know some people." The male voice on the other end of the line sounded amused.

"Aha. And why exactly did you see the need to call me?" the policeman inquired, exasperation in his voice

"Just calling in to see if you're nervous already."

At this point, it had become telephone harassment.

"Not in the slightest," Henning smacked the car's door shut with more force than intended.

"Sure, sure. I know that the 10th of August is kinda an important day for you, so I'll spare you a bit more time. I'll release my report in two weeks time, on the 12th, just so you know," Gessler announced.

Dorn had to admit, that plague had done his homework, once again, thoroughly, going as far as knowing Henning's plans for the 10th of August.

He gnashed his teeth. "If you expect me to beg you to refrain from doing so, I won't."

"I knew you wouldn't," his opponent laughed heartily, "You'll soon wish you would have, though."

Gessler hung up. The policeman inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with so much air they threatened to burst. He wasn't in the mood to further stress himself out about his opponent. Instead, he decided to divert his irritation to his work and the upcoming testimony he had high hopes for.

He made his way across the street to the modern, clinker-built house numbered fifteen. With its silver-painted fences surrounding a big, newly mown grass area, solar panels neatly placed on its roof and the most colorful dahlias gracing the path to the entrance door, the house's exterior didn't hide the fact that its inhabitants belonged to the wealthy.

In awe, Dorn pressed the doorbell.

A tall woman – early thirties, medium blonde hair freshly cut into a bob hairstyle, gray eyes – clad in a beige jumpsuit opened the door almost immediately. Like a predator, she slowly eyed him from head to toe.

"Good afternoon, I'm policeman Henning Dorn. We've made an appointment to speak about Christian Gessler."

Dorn saw how her eyes lit up.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Nele Geier." They exchanged a firm handshake. "Come in."

She stepped aside and Dorn entered. At a brisk pace, the woman led the way through a grand, marble-tiled corridor. On the walls hung several paintings of the most extravagant things one could imagine. So typical for the rich, snakes framed in gold as well as shapes and colors of abstract art garnished the hallway everywhere he looked.

At the end, a spacious living room awaited their arrival. Its cream colored walls fit the elegant furnishing. Wide panorama windows let in the sunlight and provided insight to a large garden of hedges and trees, equipped with a wooden table for barbecue parties.