[ WP ] After years of tirelessly searching for your daughter 's murderer , you get a knock on your door . It 's a police officer who cuffs you and says , `` Detective Schroder , you 're under arrest for the murder of Stephanie Schroder . ''

My ass was getting sore. After several hours of sitting in the interrogation room of the Kriminalfachdezernat 3, my behind was beginning to feel numb, hard and flat as the chair. I realised, in passing, that the chair was the same type you see in classrooms. Brightly painted metal tubing assembled to support two planks of composited wood for the back and seat rest. Sturdy and durable. Certainly not made for comfort. 
 
 I wiggled to alleviate the growing pain in my lumbar region. 
 
 “ Can we get to the point? ” 
 
 The officer on the other side of the table raised his eyes from the file in front of him to look at me. Moustache twitching, the white light of the neon lamps in the ceiling casting imperceptible shadows on the irregularities of his ageing skin, accentuating the greenish pink of his complexion and emphasising the tiredness of his appearance, his deep-set eyes showed a hint of surprise. He certainly wasn ’ t used to interrogating ex-cops, particularly on murder cases, and he had been dancing between the camaraderie reserved to those in the same line of work and a toughness that showed his disgust at having said profession stained by my existence. 
 
 Yet of all the scenarios he probably had made in advance, he certainly didn ’ t seem to expect this one. 
 
 “ We ’ re waiting for detective Shürle. ” 
 
 The toughness was back in his answer. 
 
 I wasn ’ t familiar with detective Shürle, neither was I familiar with him. Nuremberg isn ’ t a particularly big city and, while I had spent my entire career in the criminal investigations department of this very city, I had been in retirement for a few years already. He probably had transferred here in that time. With the number of people I knew in this police station, I wasn ’ t particularly surprised that they would want to avoid me being interrogated by anyone I was familiar with. I expected detective Shürle to be a similar transfer. 
 
 The door opened, a pretty blonde in her early thirties walking through with a pile of files and a coffee. Judging by the flimsiness of the plastic cup I had a moment of appreciation for the steadiness with which she was holding the burning receptacle. However, I was wrong on her being a transfer. This young, she had to be a rookie. The station had to be scraping the bottom of the barrel to find someone I didn ’ t know. A case like mine would be a chance for her. 
 
 She sat down, her game face slightly at odd with the nervousness of her gestures as she arranged the files on the table, pulled out a pen and a blank sheet of paper and turned to her neighbour. 
 
 “ Forgive me this delay officer Feyderbach. ” 
 
 She had a very pretty smile. I could see officer Feyderbach soften a little bit behind his greying moustache before he turned back to me and assumed an even more taciturn face than before she entered. 
 
 “ It ’ s nothing. Let us recapitulate. ” 
 
 Avoiding his notes, he probably knew the case by heart now, he looked at me straight in the eyes as he went through the events. 
 
 “ On April 7th, detective ” His reluctance at using the word evident in his tone. “ Schroder was arrested at this residence for the murder of Stephanie Schroder. A murder he has, by his own admittance, committed. ” 
 
 “ Well, you *did* ask me. ” 
 
 “ Don ’ t interrupt me Mr. Schroder. ” I had lost the “ detective ”, my interruptions were beginning to get on his nerves. I realised I couldn ’ t care less. 
 
 “ Your verbal admission of guilt isn ’ t the only thing we have against you. Multiple DNA samples identify you as the one who disposed of the body of Stephanie Schroder by distributing… parts of her body to pigs in a Schweinefarm on the outskirts of Feucht. ” 
 
 In spite of her wilful seriousness I could detect unease and disgust in the eyes of detective Shürle as she listened to officer Feyderbach. She ’ d have to toughen up if she wanted to last any meaningful time in this career path. Once again I interjected: 
 
 “ You could call that an… err, *oversight* of my part. ” 
 
 Officer Feyderbach closed his eyes, visibly looking inward to remain calm and focused. 
 
 “ *Enlighten* us Mr. Schroder. Why would you regret not hiding your traces if you so readily admit to the murder of Stephanie Schroder? ” 
 
 “ *Correctly*. ” 
 
 Both stared at me utterly puzzled. 
 
 “ I regret not hiding my traces *correctly*. I *did* try to hide my traces. The fact that you had to resort to DNA analysis is proof enough that I almost succeeded. ” 
 Officer Feyderbach was now properly seething, but detective Shürle spoke before he had a chance to explode. 
 
 “ You ’ re not answering Officer Feyderbach ’ s question Mr. Schroder. ” 
 
 Her calm was admirable, perhaps she *had* a little bit more in her than I first suspected. 
 
 I smiled and sat back in my chair. 
 
 “ Now we ’ re getting there. ” Officer Feyderbach threw me a furious look that said all the good he thought of me. “ You see, while my arrestation is a terrible testament to the shortcomings of my actions, particularly for someone of my… experience, I wasn ’ t, and to be honest I still am not, particularly eager to face the consequences of Stephanie ’ s death. ” 
 
 “ And yet you ’ re sitting here and freely admitting to the murder. ” Detective Shürle again. Her soft touch was a welcome counterpoint to Officer Feyderbach ’ s presence. 
 
 “ Well, I ’ m pretty well placed to know that DNA evidence is hard to defend against in front of a judge. Unreliable as it is... Too bad this wasn ’ t always available during my career. ” 
 
 Detective Shürle looked puzzled, but before she could talk again, officer Feyderbach let out a growl between his teeth. 
 
 “ Are you telling us we should revisit the evidence surrounding your daughter ’ s murder. ” 
 
 I leaned forward, looking both of them in the eyes, in turn. 
 
 “ I am. ” 
 
 They answered at the same time. 
 
 “ You ’ re in no situation to propose this. ” Feyderbach ’ s anger was now icy yet no less menacing. Detective Shürle remained much more matter-of-fact: 
 
 “ This is the investigation into Stephanie Schroder ’ s murder. Your daughter ’ s death has nothing to do with it. As far as I… ” 
 
 I interrupted her, I too could do cold rage: 
 
 “ Oh, quite the contrary detective. My wife ’ s death has *everything* to do with the murder of my daughter. ”
