Lost in Blue

𝕾𝖊𝖈𝖍𝖟𝖊𝖍𝖓: Two heads are better than one

"So this is the journalist who has caused us trouble."

Looking up from his desk, pen in hand and having paused his activity to fill out documents like usual, Eckert's expression was almost blank. His eyes scrutinized the journalist dressed in red from head to toe and Dorn wasn't sure if his superior was just speechless or disappointed in the sense that he pictured their opponent to be someone more capable.

"Oh, pardon, I mean tried to," his superior corrected himself.

Standing right next to him, Dorn could see in the corner of his eyes how Gessler flinched, as if he had been struck with an arrow into the heart. He couldn't help but smirk a little at his opponent's injured pride. Schadenfreude was one hell of a drug.

"My name is Christian Gessler." The journalist stepped forward and held out his slightly trembling hand, which Eckert firmly shook.

"Oh, no need for introductions. I've heard enough about you from Dorn."

Awkwardly, Gessler laughed, but shot Dorn, who stood there silently to enjoy the show, an angry side glare.

"I wonder what I told him," the policeman added with a shrug, still smirking.

"Quit your banter, I got the message." Embarrassed, the journalist pulled at the collar of his vest.

"If I remember correctly, all the information you've accumulated is ours, isn't it?" Eckert tapped the end of his ballpoint pen. "Herr Gessler, I believe Dorn told you to bring every evidence in your possession along for today."

"Yessir," Christian responded in a subdued voice. Not even the mention of jail and he already succumbed to Dorn's superior's authority. The policeman became aware that he still had much to learn.

"I'm not sure if this will be useful intel, but it's worth a try."

Rummaging around his belongings, the journalist pulled a picture out of his briefcase and laid it open for everyone to see. Curious, Eckert set his pen aside and leaned forward, as did the two young men.

On closer inspection, Dorn identified it to be a black and white photograph. Four people, one woman, three men, clad in black, thick coats stood on massive, frozen layers of partially split ice. Behind them, a slate rock, covered in snow, stretched out. Henning recognized the familiar scenery, despite it having changed its appearance a bit since then.

"This is the Rhine from the year 1928, somewhere around the Lorelei rock area," the auburn eyed male explained and pointed with his finger at the masses of white, "Just frozen due to ice jam."

"It's the same year that little boy died, according to Schneider," Dorn noted.

Certainly, it was a noteworthy fact, but it didn't have to be correlated to their case per se.

"Where did you even get that picture?" Eckert questioned.

"I did some digging in the archives of the city library," the journalist explained. Off-topic, he added, "Can you imagine that ice breaking and you being stuck there? Doesn't look like that was safe and yet people decided to do a photo session..." He shivered, rubbing his arms.

"You can always swim out," Dorn suggested, a bit puzzled, "Sure, there might be currents and it might be harder to get out, but it's not like you're not able to swim. Besides, the ice looks so massive I doubt just standing on it would make it crack."

Gessler said nothing. He just blinked, smugness gradually vanishing.

"No way. You can't swim?"

When Christian still refused to answer and averted eye contact, Dorn giggled. Who would have thought that the mighty and cocky journalist wasn't able to do something a first grader would be able to pull off. That was definitely a fact he would abuse to mock his opponent whenever he had the audacity to get on the policeman's nerves again.