07-11-2025, 04:44 PM
The building was a relic of the late 70s of the last century, the seating looked almost modern again, but was uncomfortable to the point of no return. But what do you expect from a court? Justice should be spoken and not a beauty prize awarded, but it could have been made a little friendlier; the color scheme on the walls was enough to make you want to run away!
I stared at the wall, massaging my temples, a mild headache was on the way. What was I doing here, anyway? I was waiting! Waiting to be called to give a statement. A statement in a matter that I had long since successfully repressed. I hadn't thought about Enrico for four long years, who had suddenly stopped all contact with me. How I had grieved back then! But grief turned to anger and finally to forgetting; life had to go on somehow.
But since exactly four days ago, since I had fished the summons out of my letterbox, forgetting had come to an abrupt end: Enrico was on my mind again! I had nightmares, woke up bathed in sweat, my inner peace was gone. But what should I testify? The last time I saw him was at Easter 2007, then a few letters followed; in his last letter he hinted at an Arab patron. While I had thought he was the lover of an oriental sheikh, a certain Benedikt Hartenberg had killed him, and the charge was manslaughter.
The door to the courtroom opened, and a slight, lanky law enforcement officer peered into the hallway. “Mr. Kleeve?” I nodded. “Please come in, it's your turn now.”
I followed the uniformed officer, who more or less led me to the witness chair. After I sat down, I unbuttoned my jacket and let my gaze wander. To my right sat two men: a somewhat portly bespectacled gentleman in a robe and a cute young man, albeit in a somewhat cheap suit.
On the bench sat three professional judges, the two “civilians” were sitting outside, the man looked like a teacher to me, the woman sitting next to the clerk looked like the sister of my dentist, she had the same horse teeth. The presiding judge, surrounded by a rather athletic type with a well-groomed three-day beard and a middle-aged lady, had snow-white hair and wore gold-rimmed glasses.
To my left, sitting between two lawyers, was a man in his mid-fifties who looked like a smartly dressed insurance salesman: He wore a thick gold chain around his neck, his shirt open, his hands ringed like those of the former fashion icon, Margaret Thatcher; two uniformed officers stood behind him. His female legal counsel appeared normal, age difficult to estimate, the male counterpart had gelled hair and a mole on his left cheek; oversized sideburns belong in the past!
Mr. Kleeve, thank you for being able to comply with the summons at such short notice. Your name has not come up in the course of the proceedings so far, and you have been summoned at the request of the defense. The chairman cleared his throat. Let's start with your personal details: your name is Julius Friedrich Kleeve, you are 44 years old, a photographer, and live in Düsseldorf. You are not related to the defendant Benedikt Hartenberg?
I shook my head. “No, I don't know the gentleman at all.”
“Mr. Kleeve, you are no doubt aware that you must tell the truth in court. You would be liable to prosecution if you told an untruth here, and you don't even have to be under oath for that. But I'm already pointing out to you that you can always refuse to give evidence if you yourself would have to accuse a criminal offense.” He turned to the clerk: ”55th?
After the normal instruction, the same reference to the right to refuse to give evidence? What was that for? I don't see what I've done to make myself liable to prosecution.
The bespectacled judge ignored my objection. Mr. Kleeve, the defendant Hartenberg claims to be an acquaintance of yours, however.
“I'm sorry, I really don't know where I should put him.” I shrugged my shoulders.
The chairman took off his glasses. ‘The defendant has stated that he met you several times in the Cologne bar ’Zum Treber' and later at a kind of vernissage in Essen, in the rooms of the Blue disco.”
Please?” I had to process the information first. The Treber was one of the oldest Cologne hustler bars, not really a place I usually frequent.
The man with white hair played with the golden part in his hands. ”In Essen, they would have also introduced the defendant to the later victim Enrico Jublinski. What do you have to say about that?”
I was only in the Treber twice, once during normal opening hours, the other time it was a shoot without an audience. I looked at the guy in the dock again more closely, but I really didn't know where to put him at the moment. It may be that I met the defendant at the Blue at a vernissage and we exchanged a few words, because I often exhibit there, the owner is a good friend of mine. If you define that as knowing, then I know the defendant, but he is certainly not part of my immediate circle. When exactly did I introduce him to Enrico??
The gentleman in the middle looked at me sternly. “According to the defendant, Easter 2007.”
“Easter 2007?” I scratched my chin. “We presented the illustrated book with Enrico at Blue; it was, if you will, a pure sales event; it's always good when the model is also personally present at such events. Is that when it happened?”
The bespectacled gentleman nodded. “You are supposed to have praised him to the skies. Expressions like ‘horny hottie’ and ‘hot stuff’ were apparently used?”
“Wait a minute! It may be that I did describe Enrico that way, but was he really a hot stuff? I took a deep breath. His pictures spoke and speak for themselves, he was a natural in front of the camera! You really didn't have to praise him.
As the defendant put it, they had... The chairman leafed through his documents. ...the subsequent victim literally forced on him.?
Sorry, but that can't be it! Even though Enrico and I weren't a couple, we still had some kind of relationship. He was almost like my muse. I would have done anything with him, but impose him on someone else? Not on your life! I would have liked to have jumped up and taken the insurance agent to task.
The man in the robes smiled benignly. “And what was your relationship to the victim?”
“Very private, and I think you can say that I idolized him.” I looked at the table in front of me. “If you want, I was more than infatuated with him, almost in love!”
There you have it! Kotelette grinned triumphantly. The witness was jealous and, after the victim Enrico Jublinski had finally left him for my client, killed him out of jealousy and then buried the body on the banks of the Bever Dam.
You're crazy! When would I have done that? I could have strangled him.
Chief Silverlocke raised his arms in appeasement. Gentlemen! No insults in my courtroom, I won't stand for it! Mr. Kleeve, then I'll ask you directly: Where were you on the weekend of June 16-17, 2007?
That was four years ago!? I took a deep breath. I'd have to check my organizer; I can't tell you off the top of my head.?
How long would it take them to get it? He rolled his eyes.
I grinned, reached into the left inside pocket of my jacket. “Give me two minutes, my old Tungsten T5 is no longer the fastest PDA, but it has been my loyal companion for six years.” There are other options for managing appointments today, but I'm attached to the thing. It took a while for me to find the relevant page, but even an old car can get to its destination. So, I was in Rio from June 14 to 19, 2007 for a photo shoot.
Anyone can claim that, right? The gelled-up beard got on my nerves.
I reached into my jacket again, but this time I took out my passport. I can even prove it! Brazil stamps passports when you leave the country, too, right?
It is enough if they show it to me.” Chief Silver Locks waved me over with your gold-rimmed glasses. Before I made the almost six-meter-long way to the judges' table, I still looked for the appropriate page and pressed the official document into the chairman's hand. He smiled, took another look at the data page and handed me back the burgundy passport. “Well, Mr. Defense Attorney, Mr. Kleeve can be ruled out as a possible perpetrator! He actually left Brazil on June 19, 2007.” He looked at me. ”Mr. Kleeve, I would be grateful if you could first tell me and the court how you even met the victim.”
I took a deep breath. But to do that, I would have to go back a little further.
Go ahead, you're the only witness this morning, so we have all the time in the world to listen to your story. A smile crossed his face.
I briefly wondered where I should start. I met Enrico more or less by chance. In 2005, Jonas Schmitz, the then chairman of Looks, wanted to publish a new brochure about the Strichers.
Looks? This time it was the public prosecutor who spoke. You mean the project to improve the situation of male prostitutes?
I nodded. “Exactly! Jonas asked me to shoot the pictures for this brochure. But I only got to it after the content work was already done, I just had to implement it visually. The funds for the project were quite limited, so no professional photo models, but a group of five or six hustlers: Germans, Turks, Thais – a pretty motley mix. In the Treber, we then approached a few of these escorts to see if they wanted to participate.
The chairman waved encouragingly with his glasses.
A smile flitted across my face. “Well, the landlord of the Treber was also on board, and some pictures were to be taken of him, showing how a chat-up line works, for example. Boris, one of the callboys we were able to recruit for the project, brought Enrico with him to the photo shoot. He said he was his flatmate.”
They were immediately smitten? The lady of the defense had a soprano voice.
I shook my head. On the contrary: I was annoyed that Boris had brought a stranger. In this milieu, it's difficult to take pictures anyway, and a certain level of trust must exist between photographer and model if you want to achieve a decent result. But since one of the guys who had agreed to come hadn't shown up, Enrico was basically conscripted, as the location wasn't available for an unlimited period of time.
My eyes slid over the bench. After the pictures were taken in the bar, we went to a private apartment in Rodenkirchen to take the pictures of the usual sexual practices. Blowjobs, wanking, licking and cuddling were no problem, all the hustlers took part in that, but they got caught in gay sex bags when it came to the GKG, that was a bit too tricky for them.
GKG? The teacher at the judges' table looked at me in disbelief.
I grinned. “Rubber control grip, so when the suitor is active in anal intercourse. It should be shown how the hustler, so to speak playfully, makes sure that only a sheathed penis enters him. Everyone who had been in the sex business for years literally drew in their horns. But Enrico? Enrico approached the oldest member of the “client group” and said, “You can shag me for a fiver! We'll do the recording, and when it's in the can, you just carry on fucking. Agreed?” I was a bit perplexed, but the two of them had their deal and their fun; so that was that for me.
So that's how they met the victim? The woman in the robe on the bench had turned quite red in the face. And what happened then?
Well, after we had shot all the footage for the brochure, the crew went to eat, that was part of the compensation for the shoot. I couldn't help but smile at all the memories that came flooding back. Anyway, David sits down next to me...
Which David? The prosecutor was still there.
I looked at him apologetically. “As a rule, hustlers have an alias; only beginners in the business use their real names. Enrico called himself David the whole time and was also introduced to us as David by Boris, who is actually called Viktor. Names in the business are all smoke and mirrors. What's-his-name Shakespeare said, “What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet?”
That's a pretty free translation. Dreitagebart grinned. ”How did it go on?”
David, or Enrico, was sitting next to me at dinner, we were chatting, joking around, having fun. Suddenly he asked me how much reasonable pictures of him would cost. Admittedly, I was a bit surprised and asked why he wanted pictures of himself. I stared at the cross on the back wall of the bench. His answer was simple: he wanted to get away from the station! He wanted to be able to choose the guys he would go to bed with himself. At the station, he would have to serve every bum who came along to make money, but Enrico wanted to play in a higher league, as an escort, as a luxury hustler, but... for that he needed good advertising material. I gave him my card and said he should come and see me.
And when did he come to see you? Chief Silver Locks looked at me curiously.
I tilted my head. He was waiting for me in the restaurant parking lot and asked if I could give him a ride into town. When we were just outside the cathedral, he said that we could do the recording now. What could I say? I took him to my place.
What happened next? The chairman was in a hurry.
I looked at him, confused. What happened next? On the way, we stopped at a gas station. I filled up the tank and he used the 50 euros he had gotten for the afternoon's fuck to buy a carton of cigarettes. When we were back in the car, he said that he would stay with me until the last pack was gone, I just had to take care of the food and the pictures. After a week, he left me, but then came back after only three days.
So they became lovers? Silver Locks smiled patronizingly.
I shook my head. “No, not a couple in the conventional sense, more of a community of convenience. We had our fun, and plenty of it, but Enrico quickly took on the role of a major domus: he ran the household, I was able to concentrate more on my work.”
So you weren't his sugar daddy? The prosecutor seemed to have had some experience in the field. The age difference between you was quite enormous, wasn't it? Over 20 years?
To be precise, 21 years and six months. As it turned out, Enrico was only 17 when we met, but I only found that out later. I looked at the representative of the law enforcement agency, who nodded contently.
The man with the sideburns interrupted my thoughts on how to continue. “So you have committed statutory rape?”
If you want to put it that way, but fornication with a hustler? I didn't like the guy one bit! No money changed hands, if that's what you mean. I never paid him for sex, not at any time! It was a kind of symbiosis that we entered into: he had a roof over his head and...
So you weren't his pimp?” Dreitagebart looked at me questioningly.
I could only shake my head in dismay. ‘God forbid! I'm not a pimp, I couldn't do that!’ After the first week with me, he said, he spent the weekend in Cologne. On Monday, he was back on the doorstep, stayed a few days, and then went back to Cologne to offer his services. This went on for almost half a year, until the end of 2005. He always came for two or three days and then left again. He only spent the weekend of his 18th birthday with me. After that, I didn't see him for almost a month.
Did you have a fight? Goldrand was curious.
I shook my head. No, we hardly ever had any arguments. Enrico was incredibly in need of harmony. The reason was simple: I was on vacation and he didn't have a key.
Didn't you trust him? The dentist's sister seemed concerned.
I looked at her, slightly confused. “Trust was there, David had long since become Enrico. But? something always hovered in the background, like a sword of Damocles. Enrico had told me his life story, but? this story was not coherent: sometimes his father had left his mother while she was pregnant, sometimes he died in a car accident, sometimes he was in jail for years for bank robbery. Sometimes he was an only child, sometimes the youngest of the family. The most outrageous story he once told was that his identical twin brother had died at birth. As I said, something was rotten in the state of Denmark, but that didn't surprise me particularly, because a hustler invents himself and his life anew for every trick.
My throat went dry, I looked at the chairman. “Could I please have a glass of water?”
“Of course! Ms. Sinkewitz, if you would be so kind as to He probably meant his minute-taker, but the young assistant district attorney, obviously his legal trainee, was faster. As he handed me the refreshment, our hands touched briefly, and I was struck by an electric shock; the boy had something.
Silberlocke grinned. “Well, that's taken care of, then. Please continue?”
I took a sip. “Gladly.” When I came back from vacation, he had changed considerably. He seemed harassed, exhausted, sad, angry with himself and the world. He said he had missed me, but I couldn't really buy it. “Why not?” The portly prosecutor wanted to know exactly.
I looked in his direction, but I preferred to look at his assistant, who, despite the suit, looked considerably better. It's pretty hard to put it right, but I think it was the safe haven he lacked. It's one thing to find shelter with a client for a night or two, but I think he missed the feeling of being able to come home. He was probably looking for a nest, a refuge. He stayed for a full two weeks, and during that time the first pictures for the book and the exhibition were taken. Enrico was a natural in front of the lens, as if he had never done anything else in his life.
The water was warm. He would probably have stayed longer, but it came to the only argument we had in the whole time. I caught him red-handed, as he?
?stole from her? Was that a question of the defense attorney or a prejudice?
I looked at the lady in disbelief. “No, Enrico was a prostitute, but not every hustler is also a thief. When he went to the supermarket and shopped for me, the receipt and change were always on the kitchen counter later, even if it was only 23 cents. He never touched my wallet, even when it was lying open on the table.” I turned back to the judge's bench. “I caught him with a woman in my bed! I don't have anything against women, but that was too much for me! The girl he had with him and with whom he... well, you know? didn't exactly inspire confidence either. I suspect he picked her up on the drug street and she probably reminded him of a sister from the home.
Didn't you just say that you had doubts about his life story? The gold-rimmed glasses were back on his nose.
I nodded. “That's right, but one condition for the long stay was absolute openness and honesty, so?” Besides, he stuck with one story from that point on, and it was also coherent. His father died in an accident when his mother was pregnant with his brother. She apparently couldn't cope with the loss and then turned to alcohol. The youth welfare office later took the children away from her and they were placed in separate foster families, which was a real mistake for Enrico: one foster father abused him and another beat him up so badly that he had to be hospitalized. He finally ended up in a home and went off the rails. At 16, he came to Berlin and ended up on the streets. He had a few run-ins with the police and then turned up in Cologne, where I met him.
“But that's not true!” a voice said from the background. I turned around and was shocked: there sat a second version of Enrico, only with glasses and medium-length hair. ”Our mother died of lung cancer and the old man was the drunk who was always off on his travels.”
Mr. Jublinski! The chief judge seemed annoyed. No interrupting! This isn't one of those other awful court shows. If you have something to add to a statement by another witness, you can indicate this with a hand signal, and I'll ask you about it.
All right! I just wanted to say it. Did I hear a pout in his voice?
Then you must be Justin? I laughed at the boy. Your brother hasn't said much about you, but you two look so much alike, it's a little scary.
Mr. Kleeve, the same goes for you: please don't talk to the witness bench! The senior judge was still grumbling. If you would please continue with the report?
I turned around again and smiled cautiously. With pleasure. Where was I?
Before the digression into the life story? The drug-addicted girl and the argument they had with the later victim? The gold-rimmed glasses were being held in hand again.
After the argument about Nadine, as the girl was called, there was silence for a while. He was pissed off, and so was I. But after a week and a half, we talked it out. I massaged my chin. He seemed to be really infatuated with her, because he took care of the girl touchingly, especially when she got pregnant; she was something like a little princess for him!
So the victim wasn't gay at all? Three-day stubble had question marks in his eyes.
I shrugged. “Most sex workers from southern Europe are heterosexual and send the money they earn from sex back home to support their wives and children, but Enrico?” Enrico was more likely to be gay than bisexual, because, except for the one time I caught him, not much happened with Nadine, at least I didn't notice anything. The two of them also behaved more like brother and sister than like boyfriend and girlfriend.
I took a sip of the rather warm water. It even went so far that he rented the small granny flat next to my studio for her. Since Nadine, for whatever reason, didn't want to move in, he then used the flat for himself during the week and apparently also pursued his business there, while continuing to spend the weekends in Cologne.
You do realize that you are guilty of promoting prostitution, don't you? I really found the gelled guy repulsive!
The public prosecutor answered instead of me. My colleague! What a tenant does in his rooms is not the landlord's business. Even if Mr. Kleeve should have known that the victim was engaging in prostitution there, there is no 180a StGB is present, at most a violation of a possible restricted zone ordinance. It would therefore be at most a misdemeanor and that is statute-barred!?
But then we would have possible tax evasion!? The sideburns grinned at me nastily. Did you also declare the rental income?
I don't see what Mr. Kleeve's tax return has to do with the death of Enrico Jublinski, colleague!” The portly prosecutor was getting worked up. ”Are you trying to say that the witness Kleeve would have hired a killer because of a few incorrect statements in his tax return? He himself was out of the country, after all!
I'm just saying that... The addressed person backtracked.
The representative of the prosecution glared angrily in the direction of the defense. Stick to the facts, colleague! Only facts count, not opinions!
Didn't you try to keep Mr. Jublinski in Düsseldorf entirely? The judge again!
I looked at the lady. I even talked with the tongues of angels, but unfortunately without success! I tried to persuade him to go to night school to at least get his secondary school certificate, but no chance! He didn't want to have anything to do with the authorities, nor did he want to register because he was afraid that any arrest warrants that might still be out against him would be executed. I took a sip. He was supposed to register as unemployed in order to get health insurance, but he didn't even want Hartz IV. He also rejected out of hand the photography apprenticeship I offered him: he could earn more money as a hustler than as an apprentice, and he had to take care of Nadine and their offspring.
Was he the father? The question came from the public prosecutor.
I have no idea about childbearing, but... I grinned at him. I don't believe in premature babies, unless the fetus is already almost seven pounds and over 50 centimeters big at six months' gestation. That was the data that Enrico had given me after the boy was born.
The woman in the judge's robe grinned. “Seven pounds? That was quite a bundle of joy, believe me!”
“Immediately and unconditionally?” I laughed at her. “Enrico was really enthusiastic, really excited, but then came the big disillusionment for him: Nadine gave the child up for adoption after one month. What can I say? Enrico let her down and fell into a big hole himself.
And how did he get out of it? The gold-rimmed glasses were back on his nose.
I shrugged. Only with great difficulty, I tried to distract him: first we spent a week in Malta, then we resumed work on the illustrated book. He was on fire at first, almost back to his old self, the Enrico that you couldn't help but love. But once the book was finished and went to press, he became erratic again and lost interest in everything. The actual book presentation went well, but the promotional tour? I had to beg and plead to get him to even move his ass and come with me.
What was the promotional tour like? The three-day stubble was curious.
The book launch was in mid-December, then in January we spent a weekend in Hamburg and Berlin, and a second weekend in Munich and Stuttgart. In February it was Frankfurt, Cologne and Dortmund. He canceled all the dates in March, and only came with me to the vernissage in Essen in April, over Easter. But by that time, I emptied the glass.?? he was anything but a reliable contemporary. I think it was on the drive to Dortmund that he told me he had met a certain Ben someone or other in Cologne who would really lavish praise on him.?
The head judge looked up from his glasses. ?Did he describe this Ben in more detail??
Unfortunately not!” I shook my head. ”The only thing I know about him is that he owns a few shops in the Ruhr area and has a share in a few bars in Berlin and Munich. The whole thing seemed a bit fishy to me, but Enrico was convinced that he'd hit the jackpot with this guy.”
And then? The gold-rimmed glasses were once again misused as a visual aid.
My expression turned sad. I didn't see him again after Essen. We spoke on the phone a few more times, but all of our conversations revolved around this ominous Ben, who completely monopolized him. The last thing I heard from him was a message on my answering machine: He wouldn't be able to make it to my 40th birthday because Ben wanted to take him to Rome.
And that was the last sign of life from him? The voice of the only fully qualified lawyer in the college sounded congested. How did you react?
I took a deep breath. I was angry, but what could I do? Enrico had always had a mind of his own, you couldn't tie him down. Mind you, he was more reliable before Ben. But to answer the first part of your question, that wasn't the last message from him.
How? Chief Silverlocke's eyes grew wide.
I reached into my inside pocket again and took out three letters, which I placed on the table. “He wrote to me again, but could I answer?” Unfortunately, I couldn't reply to them! I didn't know how I could have reached him, unfortunately I didn't have an address!
“The victim wrote to them?” The prosecutor's voice was almost frantic.
I nodded. “Yes, he did. Would you like to see the letters?”
“Gladly!” That was all he said.
The gelled-up lawyer jumped up. “I protest in the strongest possible terms! The witness could have written the letters himself.”
“Mr. Defense Attorney, I would like to remind you that the witness was summoned at your request. If he provides new evidence, we will take it into account.” The prosecutor seemed to be bursting at the seams. ‘If necessary, an expert can clarify who actually wrote the letters.’ He looked at me intensely. ”Mr. Kleeve, would you please hand the letters over to the court?”
I took the envelopes, stood up and brought them to the bench. After a benevolent nod from the presiding judge, I returned to my original seat. Silver Locks had probably already glanced at the first letter, cleared his throat. “Then the letters will now be examined by reading them out.”
Mr. President, I hereby request the following evidence: The letters presented by the witness Kleeve are to be examined by a handwriting expert for their authenticity.” The defense attorney was still standing. “The authorship by the victim is disputed. Furthermore, as long as we have no knowledge of the content, the reading out could violate my client's most personal sphere of life.”
The somewhat port prosecutor had also stood up and just waved him off curtly. ”Colleague! If the victim writes a letter to the witness, how is the privacy of your client affected? Mr. Kleeve presents us with letters that are explicitly addressed to him and he agrees to their being read, so what is the problem? I didn't know that letters from the victim existed, but since they are now present, they are present evidence. Should I submit the motion in writing?
The three professional judges briefly put their heads together and whispered to each other. The chief judge sat up, looked past me at the witness stand. “Mr. Jublinski, could you take a look at the letters and tell us if this is your brother's handwriting?”
The man addressed stood up, went to the judge's table, and took a look at the pages handed to him. “Yes, that's my brother's handwriting, I'm sure of it.” He fumbled with his jacket and also took out an envelope. “Here, this is the last letter from him, for my 17th birthday; I always have it with me. You are welcome to compare!”
Thank you. The silver-haired man seemed almost shy as he accepted the memento.
His sideburns were now back in place. Mr. Chairman! What about my motion to introduce evidence?
One: The court withdraws for deliberation on the motions for evidence by the defense and the prosecution. Two: The main proceedings are suspended for 20 minutes. He now looked at me. Mr. Kleeve, you are not dismissed yet! I'll see you in a moment!
I didn't know what was happening to me. If you think so.
The judges left the courtroom through a door behind them, almost all those present rose, and I followed suit. At the exit, someone tapped me on the shoulder, I turned around, it was the second edition of Enrico. May I speak to you briefly?
“But of course, I'd just like a cigarette...” Why was I so inhibited?
My counterpart laughed. ‘Me too!”
Together we left the building, I didn't feel like looking for a smoking room first. As we stood in the cold, we had provided each other with fire, we smiled at each other. ’So you're Enrico's brother?”
That's me!“ The young man grinned. ‘And you were his lover?”
I inhaled deeply. ’I would have liked to have been, but Enrico never let anyone get close enough to achieve that status. There was always a certain distance between us.”
“Even during sex?” The bespectacled guy was really cheeky!
I couldn't help but grin. “When it came to the interpersonal game, your brother knew no bounds. It was wild, if you can say that about someone. But when it came to the interpersonal realm, whenever things got private and intimate, your brother was very good at putting up barriers. In bed, he was the biggest pig, but in conversation, he was the most chaste nun!”
The young man seemed slightly embarrassed. “I wouldn't have thought that about you. It's the other way around with me.”
I was amazed. ‘What do you mean?”
“The way I said it: I like to open up in conversations, I have a big mouth, but in bed? I'm rather simple.’ He chuckled. ”I just don't have that much experience.”
I waved it aside. “You gain experience over time, but in my opinion, in the interpersonal area, it depends more on the basic attitude: are you able to approach your partner openly and honestly, without ulterior motives?”
“And Enrico couldn't do that?” He looked at me in wonder.
I shook my head. “No, but that was probably due to his life story, to the experiences he has had. How do you think he behaved when things got personal? You could talk to him about politics for hours and hours and with growing enthusiasm! But woe betide you if you talked about family! I've heard more than one version of his story from him. It was only when I put a gun to his head that he became more explicit, but that... I looked deep into his eyes. But that was also a lie, as I found out today through you. I don't even blame him for telling me a white lie, Enrico was like that, but I'm somehow also disappointed.
That he didn't show you the same trust that you showed him? Is that what you mean? He rubbed his nose.
I nodded. Right. The basis of every relationship, whether between man and man or man and woman or woman and woman, is, in my experience, absolute openness and honesty towards your partner: that's the be-all and end-all of a good relationship.
It's striking! But I think we should slowly go back inside. He grinned at me.
I looked at the clock with horror. You're right, we still have about five minutes before we have to be back in the hall.
Then let's go. He stubbed out his cigarette on the pavement. But first I have to apologize, I was once again too forward!?
I rubbed my eyes in amazement. Sorry, but I don't quite follow you! What do you mean?
I've been on first-name terms with you the whole time, even though you didn't offer me the same! Embarrassment spread across his face, and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
I could only shake my head. “Justin, what's the problem? If only Enrico had been a bit more open, I'm sure we would have become a couple. So we would have been like family, so the informal ‘you’ is more than appropriate. Don't you think?
But you do!? He smiled. But we should seal the deal, just between us, shouldn't we?
And how? I looked at him curiously. Unfortunately, I don't have any beer for a toast!
He took a step towards me, pursed his lips and kissed me on the mouth. It took me a moment to fully grasp the situation, but then I opened my lips, put my left hand on the back of his head, and slowly pulled him towards me. His tongue conquered my mouth, but my counterattack was also successful.
When we finally broke away, he laughed at me. “Three more minutes! Come on, dear brother-in-law!
After you, dear brother-in-law!” I just thought he was sweet.
When we entered the courtroom, most of the spectators were already sitting in their places, the defendant, together with his defense team and guard, was also present again, the prosecutor was also sitting in his place, only the high court was still absent. It took a while, but then the door opened and the high court entered at a stately pace. Everyone rose until the highest-ranking robe-wearer cleared his throat. “The hearing against Benedikt Hartenberg for manslaughter will now continue. Please take your seats.” Everyone in the room sat down, and I sat down in the witness chair.
“After deliberation, the court has decided to take a closer look at the letters presented by the witness Kleeve. The court assumes the authenticity of the letters, after confirmation by the witness Justin Jublinski and the presented sample of the victim's handwriting. The defense's motion to dismiss is therefore rejected, as it also smacks of a possible delay in the proceedings. However, the public prosecutor's application was to be granted, since the taking of evidence is not inadmissible; I refer to Section 245, paragraph 2 of the German Code of Criminal Procedure. He looked around. “May I begin then?” I looked ahead; the letter had been wrapped in a transparent film in the meantime, and he adjusted his glasses. “Mr. Kleeve, is JFK your nickname?”
I nodded dutifully. “It's not just what friends and people in the scene call me, it's also my trademark as a photographer.”
“Well, let's get started!” He cleared his throat again and began his lecture. ”Cologne, May 2nd, 2007. Hi JFK, I know I'm an asshole, I'm really sorry that I've been so scarce lately, but I had to think about some things in my life. Düsseldorf is no longer for me, too many thoughts of Nadine and the kid that the slut just gave away. But I don't want to annoy you with the bitch, you always had your problems with her. But you were right with your skepticism, I was probably too naive.
Ben offered me a job in one of his shops last week, so I'll be a bartender in one of his businesses. He said I could live with him too. I think I'll take him up on that offer, I finally want to get off the streets. Feel hugged and cuddled? Yours, Enrico? PS: My new cell phone number is?
He looked around, put the paper aside and took the next transparent folder in his hand. Cologne, May 15, 2007. Hi JFK, thanks for your text message. How was Dubai? At least everything seems to be going well for you, but it's not looking so good for me. Ben got me a new passport, my name is now David Husselmann, but suddenly he wants to double the price for it, that ass! The promised bartender job didn't materialize either, I have to spread my legs for him, so back to hustling! Why did I leave you for him? I'm an idiot!
The ass also demands 500 rent per week for the room, so I now owe him almost 7,000 euros! Why do I always end up with the wrong people? He took my cell phone, I feel like I'm in jail. He wants to take me to Munich tomorrow to offer my ass there, I would be fresh meat. Feel hugs and kisses anyway! Your Enrico.
Almost mechanically, he reached for the last letter. Somewhere on the highway, dated 06/15/2007. Hi JFK, believe it or not: this asshole actually has a mobile brothel with all the comforts, disguised as a normal caravan. Ben is driving and I'm sitting in the back writing to you.
I finally have something positive to report: I had a regular client in Munich, a rich Arab who wants to buy me out! Ben seems to be okay with it, because ever since Ibrahim (that's the Arab's name) made the suggestion, I've been nothing but his private sex slave. But I've had worse: his three inches (that's all he's got in his pants!) don't hurt, even if he's got a long way to go. What is worse is that he always starts by beating me with his belt or whip to get him up at all.
We are on our way to his weekend house in the mountains. I am supposed to serve him and his friends there as a sex object for the whole weekend. Ben called it my last official act. No matter! Monday the nightmare will finally be over and then I will finally go to freedom with Ibrahim. I'll get back to you about my things that are still in the granny flat at your place. Love, Your Enrico? PS: I only have a 40 cent stamp left, I hope you'll forgive the postage due! E.?
The defendant banged his hand on the table. “I don't believe it! The little cocksucker has written letters! I was looking for a second cell phone, but letters??
Was that the beginning of a confession?? The judge's question was cool and sober.
The insurance man jumped up. “Fuck you!”
“The following decision has been made: The defendant is ordered to pay a fine of 1,000 euros or four days in custody for improper behavior. Mr. Hartenberg, you are not allowed to insult witnesses or the court here! Is that clear?”
Instead of answering, the insurance man reached for the glass in front of him and threw it in the direction of the bench. The two officers only reacted when it crashed to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. Silverlock remained surprisingly calm.
Another order was then issued: the defendant Hartenberg was to be fined another 2,000 euros or imprisoned for eight days, and the defendant was to be handcuffed. Gentlemen, handcuff him! The uniformed officers complied. “Mr. Hartenberg, one more such outburst and we will continue in your absence.” He made a few notes. “Are there any motions or statements regarding the letters? Mr. Prosecutor? Mr. Defense Attorney??
There was absolute silence. The two benches whispered intensely, but the deliberations at the public prosecutor's table were faster. Based on the new evidence, it is now probably no longer manslaughter, but rather murder. Regarding this qualification, in the opinion of the public prosecutor, a reference to § 265 paragraph 2 StPO is sufficient. The prosecutor cleared his throat. In addition, there are now charges of forgery, dangerous bodily harm, possibly even grievous bodily harm, as well as exploitation of prostitutes and pimping. One could already include part of? 266 StPO [supplementary charge] in the proceedings today, but I don't think the defendant would agree to that. I also see a need for further investigation with regard to? 180a [exploitation of prostitutes], 181a [pimping], 267 [document forgery]. So I guess we'll all be seeing each other again soon.
The man with the gold-rimmed glasses looked at the dock. What does the defense say?
This time it was the lady who raised her voice. We would not have agreed to a supplementary charge, of course, but we request the suspension of the proceedings according to §265, paragraph 3.
Silberlocke raised his eyebrows and looked to the other side. The prosecutor had apparently been expecting it, as his answer came promptly. “Ms. colleague! What are you doing? You're throwing one smoke screen after another at this trial! First it was a hustler who got rid of an unwelcome rival, then it was a john who killed the victim in a sex frenzy and whom your client only helped to dispose of the body. Today, the witness Kleeve is supposed to serve as a jealous killer, but this attempt also went badly awry.”
He poured some water from the carafe in front of him into his glass and took a sip. “What you are trying to do here is obvious; you just want to drag out the trial unnecessarily. The DNA traces of your client found on the victim, the gas station receipt found in the victim's pants that was paid for with your client's credit card, the bloodstains in the trunk of your client's car, which only he and no one else drove, all clearly show that only your client could be the perpetrator.”
I stared at the wall, massaging my temples, a mild headache was on the way. What was I doing here, anyway? I was waiting! Waiting to be called to give a statement. A statement in a matter that I had long since successfully repressed. I hadn't thought about Enrico for four long years, who had suddenly stopped all contact with me. How I had grieved back then! But grief turned to anger and finally to forgetting; life had to go on somehow.
But since exactly four days ago, since I had fished the summons out of my letterbox, forgetting had come to an abrupt end: Enrico was on my mind again! I had nightmares, woke up bathed in sweat, my inner peace was gone. But what should I testify? The last time I saw him was at Easter 2007, then a few letters followed; in his last letter he hinted at an Arab patron. While I had thought he was the lover of an oriental sheikh, a certain Benedikt Hartenberg had killed him, and the charge was manslaughter.
The door to the courtroom opened, and a slight, lanky law enforcement officer peered into the hallway. “Mr. Kleeve?” I nodded. “Please come in, it's your turn now.”
I followed the uniformed officer, who more or less led me to the witness chair. After I sat down, I unbuttoned my jacket and let my gaze wander. To my right sat two men: a somewhat portly bespectacled gentleman in a robe and a cute young man, albeit in a somewhat cheap suit.
On the bench sat three professional judges, the two “civilians” were sitting outside, the man looked like a teacher to me, the woman sitting next to the clerk looked like the sister of my dentist, she had the same horse teeth. The presiding judge, surrounded by a rather athletic type with a well-groomed three-day beard and a middle-aged lady, had snow-white hair and wore gold-rimmed glasses.
To my left, sitting between two lawyers, was a man in his mid-fifties who looked like a smartly dressed insurance salesman: He wore a thick gold chain around his neck, his shirt open, his hands ringed like those of the former fashion icon, Margaret Thatcher; two uniformed officers stood behind him. His female legal counsel appeared normal, age difficult to estimate, the male counterpart had gelled hair and a mole on his left cheek; oversized sideburns belong in the past!
Mr. Kleeve, thank you for being able to comply with the summons at such short notice. Your name has not come up in the course of the proceedings so far, and you have been summoned at the request of the defense. The chairman cleared his throat. Let's start with your personal details: your name is Julius Friedrich Kleeve, you are 44 years old, a photographer, and live in Düsseldorf. You are not related to the defendant Benedikt Hartenberg?
I shook my head. “No, I don't know the gentleman at all.”
“Mr. Kleeve, you are no doubt aware that you must tell the truth in court. You would be liable to prosecution if you told an untruth here, and you don't even have to be under oath for that. But I'm already pointing out to you that you can always refuse to give evidence if you yourself would have to accuse a criminal offense.” He turned to the clerk: ”55th?
After the normal instruction, the same reference to the right to refuse to give evidence? What was that for? I don't see what I've done to make myself liable to prosecution.
The bespectacled judge ignored my objection. Mr. Kleeve, the defendant Hartenberg claims to be an acquaintance of yours, however.
“I'm sorry, I really don't know where I should put him.” I shrugged my shoulders.
The chairman took off his glasses. ‘The defendant has stated that he met you several times in the Cologne bar ’Zum Treber' and later at a kind of vernissage in Essen, in the rooms of the Blue disco.”
Please?” I had to process the information first. The Treber was one of the oldest Cologne hustler bars, not really a place I usually frequent.
The man with white hair played with the golden part in his hands. ”In Essen, they would have also introduced the defendant to the later victim Enrico Jublinski. What do you have to say about that?”
I was only in the Treber twice, once during normal opening hours, the other time it was a shoot without an audience. I looked at the guy in the dock again more closely, but I really didn't know where to put him at the moment. It may be that I met the defendant at the Blue at a vernissage and we exchanged a few words, because I often exhibit there, the owner is a good friend of mine. If you define that as knowing, then I know the defendant, but he is certainly not part of my immediate circle. When exactly did I introduce him to Enrico??
The gentleman in the middle looked at me sternly. “According to the defendant, Easter 2007.”
“Easter 2007?” I scratched my chin. “We presented the illustrated book with Enrico at Blue; it was, if you will, a pure sales event; it's always good when the model is also personally present at such events. Is that when it happened?”
The bespectacled gentleman nodded. “You are supposed to have praised him to the skies. Expressions like ‘horny hottie’ and ‘hot stuff’ were apparently used?”
“Wait a minute! It may be that I did describe Enrico that way, but was he really a hot stuff? I took a deep breath. His pictures spoke and speak for themselves, he was a natural in front of the camera! You really didn't have to praise him.
As the defendant put it, they had... The chairman leafed through his documents. ...the subsequent victim literally forced on him.?
Sorry, but that can't be it! Even though Enrico and I weren't a couple, we still had some kind of relationship. He was almost like my muse. I would have done anything with him, but impose him on someone else? Not on your life! I would have liked to have jumped up and taken the insurance agent to task.
The man in the robes smiled benignly. “And what was your relationship to the victim?”
“Very private, and I think you can say that I idolized him.” I looked at the table in front of me. “If you want, I was more than infatuated with him, almost in love!”
There you have it! Kotelette grinned triumphantly. The witness was jealous and, after the victim Enrico Jublinski had finally left him for my client, killed him out of jealousy and then buried the body on the banks of the Bever Dam.
You're crazy! When would I have done that? I could have strangled him.
Chief Silverlocke raised his arms in appeasement. Gentlemen! No insults in my courtroom, I won't stand for it! Mr. Kleeve, then I'll ask you directly: Where were you on the weekend of June 16-17, 2007?
That was four years ago!? I took a deep breath. I'd have to check my organizer; I can't tell you off the top of my head.?
How long would it take them to get it? He rolled his eyes.
I grinned, reached into the left inside pocket of my jacket. “Give me two minutes, my old Tungsten T5 is no longer the fastest PDA, but it has been my loyal companion for six years.” There are other options for managing appointments today, but I'm attached to the thing. It took a while for me to find the relevant page, but even an old car can get to its destination. So, I was in Rio from June 14 to 19, 2007 for a photo shoot.
Anyone can claim that, right? The gelled-up beard got on my nerves.
I reached into my jacket again, but this time I took out my passport. I can even prove it! Brazil stamps passports when you leave the country, too, right?
It is enough if they show it to me.” Chief Silver Locks waved me over with your gold-rimmed glasses. Before I made the almost six-meter-long way to the judges' table, I still looked for the appropriate page and pressed the official document into the chairman's hand. He smiled, took another look at the data page and handed me back the burgundy passport. “Well, Mr. Defense Attorney, Mr. Kleeve can be ruled out as a possible perpetrator! He actually left Brazil on June 19, 2007.” He looked at me. ”Mr. Kleeve, I would be grateful if you could first tell me and the court how you even met the victim.”
I took a deep breath. But to do that, I would have to go back a little further.
Go ahead, you're the only witness this morning, so we have all the time in the world to listen to your story. A smile crossed his face.
I briefly wondered where I should start. I met Enrico more or less by chance. In 2005, Jonas Schmitz, the then chairman of Looks, wanted to publish a new brochure about the Strichers.
Looks? This time it was the public prosecutor who spoke. You mean the project to improve the situation of male prostitutes?
I nodded. “Exactly! Jonas asked me to shoot the pictures for this brochure. But I only got to it after the content work was already done, I just had to implement it visually. The funds for the project were quite limited, so no professional photo models, but a group of five or six hustlers: Germans, Turks, Thais – a pretty motley mix. In the Treber, we then approached a few of these escorts to see if they wanted to participate.
The chairman waved encouragingly with his glasses.
A smile flitted across my face. “Well, the landlord of the Treber was also on board, and some pictures were to be taken of him, showing how a chat-up line works, for example. Boris, one of the callboys we were able to recruit for the project, brought Enrico with him to the photo shoot. He said he was his flatmate.”
They were immediately smitten? The lady of the defense had a soprano voice.
I shook my head. On the contrary: I was annoyed that Boris had brought a stranger. In this milieu, it's difficult to take pictures anyway, and a certain level of trust must exist between photographer and model if you want to achieve a decent result. But since one of the guys who had agreed to come hadn't shown up, Enrico was basically conscripted, as the location wasn't available for an unlimited period of time.
My eyes slid over the bench. After the pictures were taken in the bar, we went to a private apartment in Rodenkirchen to take the pictures of the usual sexual practices. Blowjobs, wanking, licking and cuddling were no problem, all the hustlers took part in that, but they got caught in gay sex bags when it came to the GKG, that was a bit too tricky for them.
GKG? The teacher at the judges' table looked at me in disbelief.
I grinned. “Rubber control grip, so when the suitor is active in anal intercourse. It should be shown how the hustler, so to speak playfully, makes sure that only a sheathed penis enters him. Everyone who had been in the sex business for years literally drew in their horns. But Enrico? Enrico approached the oldest member of the “client group” and said, “You can shag me for a fiver! We'll do the recording, and when it's in the can, you just carry on fucking. Agreed?” I was a bit perplexed, but the two of them had their deal and their fun; so that was that for me.
So that's how they met the victim? The woman in the robe on the bench had turned quite red in the face. And what happened then?
Well, after we had shot all the footage for the brochure, the crew went to eat, that was part of the compensation for the shoot. I couldn't help but smile at all the memories that came flooding back. Anyway, David sits down next to me...
Which David? The prosecutor was still there.
I looked at him apologetically. “As a rule, hustlers have an alias; only beginners in the business use their real names. Enrico called himself David the whole time and was also introduced to us as David by Boris, who is actually called Viktor. Names in the business are all smoke and mirrors. What's-his-name Shakespeare said, “What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet?”
That's a pretty free translation. Dreitagebart grinned. ”How did it go on?”
David, or Enrico, was sitting next to me at dinner, we were chatting, joking around, having fun. Suddenly he asked me how much reasonable pictures of him would cost. Admittedly, I was a bit surprised and asked why he wanted pictures of himself. I stared at the cross on the back wall of the bench. His answer was simple: he wanted to get away from the station! He wanted to be able to choose the guys he would go to bed with himself. At the station, he would have to serve every bum who came along to make money, but Enrico wanted to play in a higher league, as an escort, as a luxury hustler, but... for that he needed good advertising material. I gave him my card and said he should come and see me.
And when did he come to see you? Chief Silver Locks looked at me curiously.
I tilted my head. He was waiting for me in the restaurant parking lot and asked if I could give him a ride into town. When we were just outside the cathedral, he said that we could do the recording now. What could I say? I took him to my place.
What happened next? The chairman was in a hurry.
I looked at him, confused. What happened next? On the way, we stopped at a gas station. I filled up the tank and he used the 50 euros he had gotten for the afternoon's fuck to buy a carton of cigarettes. When we were back in the car, he said that he would stay with me until the last pack was gone, I just had to take care of the food and the pictures. After a week, he left me, but then came back after only three days.
So they became lovers? Silver Locks smiled patronizingly.
I shook my head. “No, not a couple in the conventional sense, more of a community of convenience. We had our fun, and plenty of it, but Enrico quickly took on the role of a major domus: he ran the household, I was able to concentrate more on my work.”
So you weren't his sugar daddy? The prosecutor seemed to have had some experience in the field. The age difference between you was quite enormous, wasn't it? Over 20 years?
To be precise, 21 years and six months. As it turned out, Enrico was only 17 when we met, but I only found that out later. I looked at the representative of the law enforcement agency, who nodded contently.
The man with the sideburns interrupted my thoughts on how to continue. “So you have committed statutory rape?”
If you want to put it that way, but fornication with a hustler? I didn't like the guy one bit! No money changed hands, if that's what you mean. I never paid him for sex, not at any time! It was a kind of symbiosis that we entered into: he had a roof over his head and...
So you weren't his pimp?” Dreitagebart looked at me questioningly.
I could only shake my head in dismay. ‘God forbid! I'm not a pimp, I couldn't do that!’ After the first week with me, he said, he spent the weekend in Cologne. On Monday, he was back on the doorstep, stayed a few days, and then went back to Cologne to offer his services. This went on for almost half a year, until the end of 2005. He always came for two or three days and then left again. He only spent the weekend of his 18th birthday with me. After that, I didn't see him for almost a month.
Did you have a fight? Goldrand was curious.
I shook my head. No, we hardly ever had any arguments. Enrico was incredibly in need of harmony. The reason was simple: I was on vacation and he didn't have a key.
Didn't you trust him? The dentist's sister seemed concerned.
I looked at her, slightly confused. “Trust was there, David had long since become Enrico. But? something always hovered in the background, like a sword of Damocles. Enrico had told me his life story, but? this story was not coherent: sometimes his father had left his mother while she was pregnant, sometimes he died in a car accident, sometimes he was in jail for years for bank robbery. Sometimes he was an only child, sometimes the youngest of the family. The most outrageous story he once told was that his identical twin brother had died at birth. As I said, something was rotten in the state of Denmark, but that didn't surprise me particularly, because a hustler invents himself and his life anew for every trick.
My throat went dry, I looked at the chairman. “Could I please have a glass of water?”
“Of course! Ms. Sinkewitz, if you would be so kind as to He probably meant his minute-taker, but the young assistant district attorney, obviously his legal trainee, was faster. As he handed me the refreshment, our hands touched briefly, and I was struck by an electric shock; the boy had something.
Silberlocke grinned. “Well, that's taken care of, then. Please continue?”
I took a sip. “Gladly.” When I came back from vacation, he had changed considerably. He seemed harassed, exhausted, sad, angry with himself and the world. He said he had missed me, but I couldn't really buy it. “Why not?” The portly prosecutor wanted to know exactly.
I looked in his direction, but I preferred to look at his assistant, who, despite the suit, looked considerably better. It's pretty hard to put it right, but I think it was the safe haven he lacked. It's one thing to find shelter with a client for a night or two, but I think he missed the feeling of being able to come home. He was probably looking for a nest, a refuge. He stayed for a full two weeks, and during that time the first pictures for the book and the exhibition were taken. Enrico was a natural in front of the lens, as if he had never done anything else in his life.
The water was warm. He would probably have stayed longer, but it came to the only argument we had in the whole time. I caught him red-handed, as he?
?stole from her? Was that a question of the defense attorney or a prejudice?
I looked at the lady in disbelief. “No, Enrico was a prostitute, but not every hustler is also a thief. When he went to the supermarket and shopped for me, the receipt and change were always on the kitchen counter later, even if it was only 23 cents. He never touched my wallet, even when it was lying open on the table.” I turned back to the judge's bench. “I caught him with a woman in my bed! I don't have anything against women, but that was too much for me! The girl he had with him and with whom he... well, you know? didn't exactly inspire confidence either. I suspect he picked her up on the drug street and she probably reminded him of a sister from the home.
Didn't you just say that you had doubts about his life story? The gold-rimmed glasses were back on his nose.
I nodded. “That's right, but one condition for the long stay was absolute openness and honesty, so?” Besides, he stuck with one story from that point on, and it was also coherent. His father died in an accident when his mother was pregnant with his brother. She apparently couldn't cope with the loss and then turned to alcohol. The youth welfare office later took the children away from her and they were placed in separate foster families, which was a real mistake for Enrico: one foster father abused him and another beat him up so badly that he had to be hospitalized. He finally ended up in a home and went off the rails. At 16, he came to Berlin and ended up on the streets. He had a few run-ins with the police and then turned up in Cologne, where I met him.
“But that's not true!” a voice said from the background. I turned around and was shocked: there sat a second version of Enrico, only with glasses and medium-length hair. ”Our mother died of lung cancer and the old man was the drunk who was always off on his travels.”
Mr. Jublinski! The chief judge seemed annoyed. No interrupting! This isn't one of those other awful court shows. If you have something to add to a statement by another witness, you can indicate this with a hand signal, and I'll ask you about it.
All right! I just wanted to say it. Did I hear a pout in his voice?
Then you must be Justin? I laughed at the boy. Your brother hasn't said much about you, but you two look so much alike, it's a little scary.
Mr. Kleeve, the same goes for you: please don't talk to the witness bench! The senior judge was still grumbling. If you would please continue with the report?
I turned around again and smiled cautiously. With pleasure. Where was I?
Before the digression into the life story? The drug-addicted girl and the argument they had with the later victim? The gold-rimmed glasses were being held in hand again.
After the argument about Nadine, as the girl was called, there was silence for a while. He was pissed off, and so was I. But after a week and a half, we talked it out. I massaged my chin. He seemed to be really infatuated with her, because he took care of the girl touchingly, especially when she got pregnant; she was something like a little princess for him!
So the victim wasn't gay at all? Three-day stubble had question marks in his eyes.
I shrugged. “Most sex workers from southern Europe are heterosexual and send the money they earn from sex back home to support their wives and children, but Enrico?” Enrico was more likely to be gay than bisexual, because, except for the one time I caught him, not much happened with Nadine, at least I didn't notice anything. The two of them also behaved more like brother and sister than like boyfriend and girlfriend.
I took a sip of the rather warm water. It even went so far that he rented the small granny flat next to my studio for her. Since Nadine, for whatever reason, didn't want to move in, he then used the flat for himself during the week and apparently also pursued his business there, while continuing to spend the weekends in Cologne.
You do realize that you are guilty of promoting prostitution, don't you? I really found the gelled guy repulsive!
The public prosecutor answered instead of me. My colleague! What a tenant does in his rooms is not the landlord's business. Even if Mr. Kleeve should have known that the victim was engaging in prostitution there, there is no 180a StGB is present, at most a violation of a possible restricted zone ordinance. It would therefore be at most a misdemeanor and that is statute-barred!?
But then we would have possible tax evasion!? The sideburns grinned at me nastily. Did you also declare the rental income?
I don't see what Mr. Kleeve's tax return has to do with the death of Enrico Jublinski, colleague!” The portly prosecutor was getting worked up. ”Are you trying to say that the witness Kleeve would have hired a killer because of a few incorrect statements in his tax return? He himself was out of the country, after all!
I'm just saying that... The addressed person backtracked.
The representative of the prosecution glared angrily in the direction of the defense. Stick to the facts, colleague! Only facts count, not opinions!
Didn't you try to keep Mr. Jublinski in Düsseldorf entirely? The judge again!
I looked at the lady. I even talked with the tongues of angels, but unfortunately without success! I tried to persuade him to go to night school to at least get his secondary school certificate, but no chance! He didn't want to have anything to do with the authorities, nor did he want to register because he was afraid that any arrest warrants that might still be out against him would be executed. I took a sip. He was supposed to register as unemployed in order to get health insurance, but he didn't even want Hartz IV. He also rejected out of hand the photography apprenticeship I offered him: he could earn more money as a hustler than as an apprentice, and he had to take care of Nadine and their offspring.
Was he the father? The question came from the public prosecutor.
I have no idea about childbearing, but... I grinned at him. I don't believe in premature babies, unless the fetus is already almost seven pounds and over 50 centimeters big at six months' gestation. That was the data that Enrico had given me after the boy was born.
The woman in the judge's robe grinned. “Seven pounds? That was quite a bundle of joy, believe me!”
“Immediately and unconditionally?” I laughed at her. “Enrico was really enthusiastic, really excited, but then came the big disillusionment for him: Nadine gave the child up for adoption after one month. What can I say? Enrico let her down and fell into a big hole himself.
And how did he get out of it? The gold-rimmed glasses were back on his nose.
I shrugged. Only with great difficulty, I tried to distract him: first we spent a week in Malta, then we resumed work on the illustrated book. He was on fire at first, almost back to his old self, the Enrico that you couldn't help but love. But once the book was finished and went to press, he became erratic again and lost interest in everything. The actual book presentation went well, but the promotional tour? I had to beg and plead to get him to even move his ass and come with me.
What was the promotional tour like? The three-day stubble was curious.
The book launch was in mid-December, then in January we spent a weekend in Hamburg and Berlin, and a second weekend in Munich and Stuttgart. In February it was Frankfurt, Cologne and Dortmund. He canceled all the dates in March, and only came with me to the vernissage in Essen in April, over Easter. But by that time, I emptied the glass.?? he was anything but a reliable contemporary. I think it was on the drive to Dortmund that he told me he had met a certain Ben someone or other in Cologne who would really lavish praise on him.?
The head judge looked up from his glasses. ?Did he describe this Ben in more detail??
Unfortunately not!” I shook my head. ”The only thing I know about him is that he owns a few shops in the Ruhr area and has a share in a few bars in Berlin and Munich. The whole thing seemed a bit fishy to me, but Enrico was convinced that he'd hit the jackpot with this guy.”
And then? The gold-rimmed glasses were once again misused as a visual aid.
My expression turned sad. I didn't see him again after Essen. We spoke on the phone a few more times, but all of our conversations revolved around this ominous Ben, who completely monopolized him. The last thing I heard from him was a message on my answering machine: He wouldn't be able to make it to my 40th birthday because Ben wanted to take him to Rome.
And that was the last sign of life from him? The voice of the only fully qualified lawyer in the college sounded congested. How did you react?
I took a deep breath. I was angry, but what could I do? Enrico had always had a mind of his own, you couldn't tie him down. Mind you, he was more reliable before Ben. But to answer the first part of your question, that wasn't the last message from him.
How? Chief Silverlocke's eyes grew wide.
I reached into my inside pocket again and took out three letters, which I placed on the table. “He wrote to me again, but could I answer?” Unfortunately, I couldn't reply to them! I didn't know how I could have reached him, unfortunately I didn't have an address!
“The victim wrote to them?” The prosecutor's voice was almost frantic.
I nodded. “Yes, he did. Would you like to see the letters?”
“Gladly!” That was all he said.
The gelled-up lawyer jumped up. “I protest in the strongest possible terms! The witness could have written the letters himself.”
“Mr. Defense Attorney, I would like to remind you that the witness was summoned at your request. If he provides new evidence, we will take it into account.” The prosecutor seemed to be bursting at the seams. ‘If necessary, an expert can clarify who actually wrote the letters.’ He looked at me intensely. ”Mr. Kleeve, would you please hand the letters over to the court?”
I took the envelopes, stood up and brought them to the bench. After a benevolent nod from the presiding judge, I returned to my original seat. Silver Locks had probably already glanced at the first letter, cleared his throat. “Then the letters will now be examined by reading them out.”
Mr. President, I hereby request the following evidence: The letters presented by the witness Kleeve are to be examined by a handwriting expert for their authenticity.” The defense attorney was still standing. “The authorship by the victim is disputed. Furthermore, as long as we have no knowledge of the content, the reading out could violate my client's most personal sphere of life.”
The somewhat port prosecutor had also stood up and just waved him off curtly. ”Colleague! If the victim writes a letter to the witness, how is the privacy of your client affected? Mr. Kleeve presents us with letters that are explicitly addressed to him and he agrees to their being read, so what is the problem? I didn't know that letters from the victim existed, but since they are now present, they are present evidence. Should I submit the motion in writing?
The three professional judges briefly put their heads together and whispered to each other. The chief judge sat up, looked past me at the witness stand. “Mr. Jublinski, could you take a look at the letters and tell us if this is your brother's handwriting?”
The man addressed stood up, went to the judge's table, and took a look at the pages handed to him. “Yes, that's my brother's handwriting, I'm sure of it.” He fumbled with his jacket and also took out an envelope. “Here, this is the last letter from him, for my 17th birthday; I always have it with me. You are welcome to compare!”
Thank you. The silver-haired man seemed almost shy as he accepted the memento.
His sideburns were now back in place. Mr. Chairman! What about my motion to introduce evidence?
One: The court withdraws for deliberation on the motions for evidence by the defense and the prosecution. Two: The main proceedings are suspended for 20 minutes. He now looked at me. Mr. Kleeve, you are not dismissed yet! I'll see you in a moment!
I didn't know what was happening to me. If you think so.
The judges left the courtroom through a door behind them, almost all those present rose, and I followed suit. At the exit, someone tapped me on the shoulder, I turned around, it was the second edition of Enrico. May I speak to you briefly?
“But of course, I'd just like a cigarette...” Why was I so inhibited?
My counterpart laughed. ‘Me too!”
Together we left the building, I didn't feel like looking for a smoking room first. As we stood in the cold, we had provided each other with fire, we smiled at each other. ’So you're Enrico's brother?”
That's me!“ The young man grinned. ‘And you were his lover?”
I inhaled deeply. ’I would have liked to have been, but Enrico never let anyone get close enough to achieve that status. There was always a certain distance between us.”
“Even during sex?” The bespectacled guy was really cheeky!
I couldn't help but grin. “When it came to the interpersonal game, your brother knew no bounds. It was wild, if you can say that about someone. But when it came to the interpersonal realm, whenever things got private and intimate, your brother was very good at putting up barriers. In bed, he was the biggest pig, but in conversation, he was the most chaste nun!”
The young man seemed slightly embarrassed. “I wouldn't have thought that about you. It's the other way around with me.”
I was amazed. ‘What do you mean?”
“The way I said it: I like to open up in conversations, I have a big mouth, but in bed? I'm rather simple.’ He chuckled. ”I just don't have that much experience.”
I waved it aside. “You gain experience over time, but in my opinion, in the interpersonal area, it depends more on the basic attitude: are you able to approach your partner openly and honestly, without ulterior motives?”
“And Enrico couldn't do that?” He looked at me in wonder.
I shook my head. “No, but that was probably due to his life story, to the experiences he has had. How do you think he behaved when things got personal? You could talk to him about politics for hours and hours and with growing enthusiasm! But woe betide you if you talked about family! I've heard more than one version of his story from him. It was only when I put a gun to his head that he became more explicit, but that... I looked deep into his eyes. But that was also a lie, as I found out today through you. I don't even blame him for telling me a white lie, Enrico was like that, but I'm somehow also disappointed.
That he didn't show you the same trust that you showed him? Is that what you mean? He rubbed his nose.
I nodded. Right. The basis of every relationship, whether between man and man or man and woman or woman and woman, is, in my experience, absolute openness and honesty towards your partner: that's the be-all and end-all of a good relationship.
It's striking! But I think we should slowly go back inside. He grinned at me.
I looked at the clock with horror. You're right, we still have about five minutes before we have to be back in the hall.
Then let's go. He stubbed out his cigarette on the pavement. But first I have to apologize, I was once again too forward!?
I rubbed my eyes in amazement. Sorry, but I don't quite follow you! What do you mean?
I've been on first-name terms with you the whole time, even though you didn't offer me the same! Embarrassment spread across his face, and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
I could only shake my head. “Justin, what's the problem? If only Enrico had been a bit more open, I'm sure we would have become a couple. So we would have been like family, so the informal ‘you’ is more than appropriate. Don't you think?
But you do!? He smiled. But we should seal the deal, just between us, shouldn't we?
And how? I looked at him curiously. Unfortunately, I don't have any beer for a toast!
He took a step towards me, pursed his lips and kissed me on the mouth. It took me a moment to fully grasp the situation, but then I opened my lips, put my left hand on the back of his head, and slowly pulled him towards me. His tongue conquered my mouth, but my counterattack was also successful.
When we finally broke away, he laughed at me. “Three more minutes! Come on, dear brother-in-law!
After you, dear brother-in-law!” I just thought he was sweet.
When we entered the courtroom, most of the spectators were already sitting in their places, the defendant, together with his defense team and guard, was also present again, the prosecutor was also sitting in his place, only the high court was still absent. It took a while, but then the door opened and the high court entered at a stately pace. Everyone rose until the highest-ranking robe-wearer cleared his throat. “The hearing against Benedikt Hartenberg for manslaughter will now continue. Please take your seats.” Everyone in the room sat down, and I sat down in the witness chair.
“After deliberation, the court has decided to take a closer look at the letters presented by the witness Kleeve. The court assumes the authenticity of the letters, after confirmation by the witness Justin Jublinski and the presented sample of the victim's handwriting. The defense's motion to dismiss is therefore rejected, as it also smacks of a possible delay in the proceedings. However, the public prosecutor's application was to be granted, since the taking of evidence is not inadmissible; I refer to Section 245, paragraph 2 of the German Code of Criminal Procedure. He looked around. “May I begin then?” I looked ahead; the letter had been wrapped in a transparent film in the meantime, and he adjusted his glasses. “Mr. Kleeve, is JFK your nickname?”
I nodded dutifully. “It's not just what friends and people in the scene call me, it's also my trademark as a photographer.”
“Well, let's get started!” He cleared his throat again and began his lecture. ”Cologne, May 2nd, 2007. Hi JFK, I know I'm an asshole, I'm really sorry that I've been so scarce lately, but I had to think about some things in my life. Düsseldorf is no longer for me, too many thoughts of Nadine and the kid that the slut just gave away. But I don't want to annoy you with the bitch, you always had your problems with her. But you were right with your skepticism, I was probably too naive.
Ben offered me a job in one of his shops last week, so I'll be a bartender in one of his businesses. He said I could live with him too. I think I'll take him up on that offer, I finally want to get off the streets. Feel hugged and cuddled? Yours, Enrico? PS: My new cell phone number is?
He looked around, put the paper aside and took the next transparent folder in his hand. Cologne, May 15, 2007. Hi JFK, thanks for your text message. How was Dubai? At least everything seems to be going well for you, but it's not looking so good for me. Ben got me a new passport, my name is now David Husselmann, but suddenly he wants to double the price for it, that ass! The promised bartender job didn't materialize either, I have to spread my legs for him, so back to hustling! Why did I leave you for him? I'm an idiot!
The ass also demands 500 rent per week for the room, so I now owe him almost 7,000 euros! Why do I always end up with the wrong people? He took my cell phone, I feel like I'm in jail. He wants to take me to Munich tomorrow to offer my ass there, I would be fresh meat. Feel hugs and kisses anyway! Your Enrico.
Almost mechanically, he reached for the last letter. Somewhere on the highway, dated 06/15/2007. Hi JFK, believe it or not: this asshole actually has a mobile brothel with all the comforts, disguised as a normal caravan. Ben is driving and I'm sitting in the back writing to you.
I finally have something positive to report: I had a regular client in Munich, a rich Arab who wants to buy me out! Ben seems to be okay with it, because ever since Ibrahim (that's the Arab's name) made the suggestion, I've been nothing but his private sex slave. But I've had worse: his three inches (that's all he's got in his pants!) don't hurt, even if he's got a long way to go. What is worse is that he always starts by beating me with his belt or whip to get him up at all.
We are on our way to his weekend house in the mountains. I am supposed to serve him and his friends there as a sex object for the whole weekend. Ben called it my last official act. No matter! Monday the nightmare will finally be over and then I will finally go to freedom with Ibrahim. I'll get back to you about my things that are still in the granny flat at your place. Love, Your Enrico? PS: I only have a 40 cent stamp left, I hope you'll forgive the postage due! E.?
The defendant banged his hand on the table. “I don't believe it! The little cocksucker has written letters! I was looking for a second cell phone, but letters??
Was that the beginning of a confession?? The judge's question was cool and sober.
The insurance man jumped up. “Fuck you!”
“The following decision has been made: The defendant is ordered to pay a fine of 1,000 euros or four days in custody for improper behavior. Mr. Hartenberg, you are not allowed to insult witnesses or the court here! Is that clear?”
Instead of answering, the insurance man reached for the glass in front of him and threw it in the direction of the bench. The two officers only reacted when it crashed to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. Silverlock remained surprisingly calm.
Another order was then issued: the defendant Hartenberg was to be fined another 2,000 euros or imprisoned for eight days, and the defendant was to be handcuffed. Gentlemen, handcuff him! The uniformed officers complied. “Mr. Hartenberg, one more such outburst and we will continue in your absence.” He made a few notes. “Are there any motions or statements regarding the letters? Mr. Prosecutor? Mr. Defense Attorney??
There was absolute silence. The two benches whispered intensely, but the deliberations at the public prosecutor's table were faster. Based on the new evidence, it is now probably no longer manslaughter, but rather murder. Regarding this qualification, in the opinion of the public prosecutor, a reference to § 265 paragraph 2 StPO is sufficient. The prosecutor cleared his throat. In addition, there are now charges of forgery, dangerous bodily harm, possibly even grievous bodily harm, as well as exploitation of prostitutes and pimping. One could already include part of? 266 StPO [supplementary charge] in the proceedings today, but I don't think the defendant would agree to that. I also see a need for further investigation with regard to? 180a [exploitation of prostitutes], 181a [pimping], 267 [document forgery]. So I guess we'll all be seeing each other again soon.
The man with the gold-rimmed glasses looked at the dock. What does the defense say?
This time it was the lady who raised her voice. We would not have agreed to a supplementary charge, of course, but we request the suspension of the proceedings according to §265, paragraph 3.
Silberlocke raised his eyebrows and looked to the other side. The prosecutor had apparently been expecting it, as his answer came promptly. “Ms. colleague! What are you doing? You're throwing one smoke screen after another at this trial! First it was a hustler who got rid of an unwelcome rival, then it was a john who killed the victim in a sex frenzy and whom your client only helped to dispose of the body. Today, the witness Kleeve is supposed to serve as a jealous killer, but this attempt also went badly awry.”
He poured some water from the carafe in front of him into his glass and took a sip. “What you are trying to do here is obvious; you just want to drag out the trial unnecessarily. The DNA traces of your client found on the victim, the gas station receipt found in the victim's pants that was paid for with your client's credit card, the bloodstains in the trunk of your client's car, which only he and no one else drove, all clearly show that only your client could be the perpetrator.”