It was one of Munich's classic, deceptive mornings.
The sharp breeze and gloomy wind of autumn slowly spread through the streets, covering everything like a grey veil that erased the soul of the city. The sun was hidden behind blurry, leaden clouds, denying even its light.
The cold rose slowly from the wet, stone pavements. Inside the Munich Police Department, things were boiling like a cauldron. An air of chaos and turmoil hung among the damp walls and weary faces.
In the middle of that chaos, a man was walking: Mr. Heinz.
One of Germany's most famous and successful detectives. Tired, exhausted… but still standing.
It was his stubbornness that had kept him going for years. Where everyone else gave up, he carried on out of sheer defiance. And he never gave up that trait.
He arrived at the crime scene in his car. As he opened the door, the cold air rushed in. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the area.
In front of a local market, a young man in his twenties — Meiner — had been found dead.
The body on the ground was silent, as if it was trying to tell something.
Heinz knelt down and examined it carefully. In a tired, hoarse voice, he spoke :
— Seems like a knife wound... Entered through the abdomen. No bruising or traumatic impact. Two possibilities : knife or firearm.
The cold breeze hit his face. His hair swayed gently in the wind.
Shortly after, Kopensiege from the crime scene unit approached, holding a piece of evidence.
— Mr. Heinz, the first piece of evidence has been found... Mr. Heinz ?
Heinz snapped out of his distraction and turned to him.
— Mr. Heinz, a bloody keepsake photo was found at the scene. It appears the victim had a family. Also... a child.
Kopensiege carefully handed over the photo. The keepsake inside the plastic bag was a faded echo of a once-warm life.
Heinz narrowed his eyes. He examined the photo with deep attention. Then he nodded and spoke in a serious tone :
— This means we can locate the victim's family and question them. Thank you, my friend.
Kopensiege took the photo back, placed it in the file, and stepped aside to continue examining the scene.
Heinz took a deep breath and stepped past the tape.
Dozens of people gathered around were silently observing.
Heinz shouted loudly :
— Hey! Ladies and gentlemen! Please do not cause trouble for our team. Let's clear the scene, come on !
He lowered his head and slipped quietly through the crowd.
The blowing wind, murmurs, and gloom walked with him.
He quickened his steps toward the car.
The expression on his face had taken shape through habit: tired but focused...
NIGHT HOURS ( 03.17 )
I keep tossing and turning in bed... I'm not comfortable. I realized I haven't slept in three days.
Not because I'm crazy, but because I'm stubborn and tired. I've made my decision — no sleep for me.
I'm going back there again.
Heinz got ready and left the house. Driving through the cold-coated streets of Munich, he wandered from street to street.
Eventually, he arrived at the scene and began inspecting carefully.
In the uncertain darkness of the night, the yellow dim light of the street lamps blended into the dark like the fading of hope.
The stars in the sky were the shining, resisting part of that hope.
For Heinz, the silence of death represented the emptiness left behind every living being.
He crouched and tried to gather important evidence about the murder on the broken cobblestones.
The locals here were mostly elderly. People who had generally lost faith in life.
They weren't fond of sleeping at night — because everyone feared death.
No one truly wants to die, especially after a certain age.
Heinz wasn't afraid of death. He knew that if he had feared it, he would never have chosen this profession.
He was someone who liked risks. His adventurous spirit and desire to lead always set him apart from other detectives.
But sometimes, an excess of love for the job could lead to bad outcomes.
He couldn't sleep at night, constantly feeling the urge to gather more evidence.
This obsession was a topic of ridicule in the department, but he didn't care.
He nurtured his obsession and increased his sleepless streak with each passing day.
Heinz ran his hands over a worn-out paving stone. The stone was old enough to move. He gripped it firmly, pulled it toward himself, and set it aside. Beneath it, he discovered a plastic glove wedged into the dirt. Before touching it, he examined its surface carefully. It was bloody, tattered, and torn. To avoid leaving any traces and to preserve the evidence, he gently placed the glove into a crime scene evidence bag he had brought along. He took a deep breath and felt a sense of relief wash over him.
From behind the black clouds, heavy raindrops began to fall. The rain slid across the street and landed on Heinz's coat, soaking everything in its path. It felt like the sky was crying pain. Slowly, Heinz walked back to his car. A faint, exhausted smile spread across his face. Reaching the clue that had become his obsession gave him a strange sense of peace. He climbed into his car, closed the door slowly, and stared out through the window. The rain was now pouring relentlessly, drenching the city without mercy.
The young man headed to the police station, a victorious smile playing on his lips. He couldn't wait to share the evidence he had found with the homicide unit.
— Mr. Andwich! I found a critical piece of evidence at the crime scene! Mr. Andwich!
Heinz was eager to explain what he had discovered. The fatigue he carried had completely vanished in the thrill of the moment. He found Mr. Andwich sitting comfortably in his chair and spoke excitedly:
— Mr. Andwich, these are my latest findings!
— Heinz... You're here at this hour...? Alright, let's see what you've got.
Heinz handed him the package. Andwich examined it with great care, his eyes scanning every detail.
— Thank you, Heinz. We're getting very close to catching the killer... You may go now.
Heinz turned around and walked slowly toward the exit. He grabbed the door handle, stepped outside, closed the door behind him, and headed toward the station's main exit — on his way home.