Juli Zeh - The Method

‘Fifty grams is enough to wipe out half the population.’

‘Someone in your laboratory is quoted as saying you worked with botulinum.’

‘That was a decade ago — a pharmacological research project.’

‘Irrelevant, Mia. Method Defence has sifted your data: telephone calls, conversations in your apartment, electronic messages.’

‘And?’

‘Drawings of the city’s water supply were found on your computer.’

‘I live in a monitored house. I’ve got drawings of the electricity supply and the drains as well.’

‘An outbreak of botulism would be catastrophic.’

‘You do realise this is utter nonsense?’

‘Yes.’

‘So what do we do?’

‘I complained about them searching your apartment, but they were careful. Not the slightest breach of protocol. Legal warrant, approval of the judge. The discovery of the botulinum was witnessed by two independent observers. A Frau Poll and a Lizzie someone-or-other.’

‘I bet they were pleased.’

‘It’s isn’t easy to pick holes in Method Defence’s investigations. Impossible, some might say.’

Mia nods slowly, wrapped up in her thoughts. At last she cocks her head as if listening to something. ‘They’ve stopped calling for my release, haven’t they?’

‘Yes,’ says Rosentreter regretfully. ‘They’ve all gone.’

‘It’s funny. I can hear them.’

‘And rightly so!’ Rosentreter brings his palm down against the plastic arm of the chair. ‘We’re not giving in! I’ll appeal again to the High Court. I’ll petition the Method Council and explain our stance. There’s a young journalist I can …’

Mia lifts her head. ‘Do you want to resign from the case?’

‘Resign?’ says Rosentreter. ‘I didn’t say anything about resigning!’

‘I wouldn’t blame you if you did. If you want to quit, tell me now.’

For a short moment neither says anything as they follow their thoughts. Then Rosentreter flexes his spine and packs the newspapers into his case. Of course he would rather withdraw from the case. In an ideal world, he would never set eyes on Mia Holl again. But precisely because she made the suggestion, he finds himself unable to act. Some people, he thinks, aren’t made to be heroes or criminals: the majority of us, in fact.

When he replies, he surprises himself by sounding very determined. ‘No,’ he says. ‘We’re going to fight this together.’

‘If you’re sure.’

Mia doesn’t look especially pleased by his decision to stay on the case. Maybe, thinks Rosentreter, she has long since stopped caring whether or not anyone is acting in her defence. She may have understood the truth of the situation; perhaps more clearly than him. In fact, her understanding of her future might be like her personality: cool, meticulous, without sentiment. In which case she is bound to know that appeals and petitions aren’t relevant now. It isn’t about the botulinum; it’s about the fact that a person’s data trail can be taken apart and reassembled in a million different ways. If the Method thinks Mia Holl is a threat to the system, the Method will perceive her as a threat. Rosentreter has only to look at Mia from an angle so that her nose protrudes sharply from her profile and her eyes look particularly deep-set, and he sees it too. At least until she smooths her hair with both hands and smiles at him.

‘Anyway,’ she says chattily. ‘How are things with you?’

‘Well,’ says Rosentreter, who for days now has been asking himself the same question without reaching a conclusion, ‘I’ve … I’ve split up with my, um, friend.’

‘What do you mean?’ For the first time Mia looks upset. ‘You can’t have done! A woman like cold water on burnt skin …’

‘It was for the best. We couldn’t stop arguing. We’ve been arguing for weeks. About you.’

‘She didn’t think we were …?’

‘No.’ The lawyer smiles bitterly. ‘If only she had. It would have made things easier. She couldn’t understand why I would put myself in danger by taking on your case. She accused me of hard-nosed careerism. In the end I had to level with her. I told her I was tired of feeling like a fugitive because I’d met the woman of my dreams. I told her I wanted to send a clear signal; that I had to do something when the opportunity arose.’ Rosentreter puts his hands to his face; his voice sounds empty. ‘When she finally understood, she went mad. She’s a gentle person, really; she’d never shouted at me like that before. She wanted to know why I thought our feelings were more important than the Method. She said no love in the world could justify defending a terrorist.’

‘A terrorist?’

‘I had to let it go, don’t you see? I couldn’t tell her the truth. She lives a normal life. She’s like other normal people; she doesn’t believe in anything — except what she reads in the papers. I couldn’t destroy her world; it wouldn’t be right.’

‘To lose your destination and your point of departure is a cruel twist of fate,’ says Mia. ‘A perfidious metaphor of meaninglessness. I don’t envy you.’

Rosentreter lowers his hands and looks at Mia with reddened eyes. ‘You think your situation is better?’

‘Of course. I can always tell myself that Moritz would have wanted this — and this, and this, and this … Yes, he would have wanted this. That’s where I’ve got the upper hand: he isn’t here to argue.’

Rosentreter stands up hastily and collects his things. Everyone has a pain threshold; Mia has pushed him over his.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I have to go.

‘Come closer to the screen,’ whispers Mia.

They place their hands against the glass.

‘Did you bring it? It’s the only favour I’ve ever asked.’

He drops his left hand into his jacket pocket and hides something between his fingers. He leans towards the screen and feeds something through the constellation of circular holes while pretending to kiss the glass.

‘Thank you.’ Mia closes her fingers around the object. This time it isn’t fishing twine; it’s a long needle.

‘I’LL SET THE record straight!’ Mia looks at Kramer and turns away; her gaze runs scared. ‘Botulinum in protein tubes! Don’t make me laugh. You and I are going to tighten up the science in your terrorist plot. I’ll tell my side of the story, and you’ll be my mouthpiece. Do you have a pen?’

‘Mia, this isn’t the right moment for another public statement. The situation is under control. You and I are going to sit tight and wait for the weekend revolutionaries to see the error of their ways and scuttle home.’

‘Do as you like, but I’m not keeping quiet. I want to speak to my supporters.’

‘I’m sorry, Mia.’

‘I told you to get your pen!’ She attacks with raised claws, aiming for his face, as she did in the confrontation with Method Defence. There is nothing to which humans beings become accustomed more quickly than violence.

‘I’ve stopped caring!’ she shouts wildly. ‘That makes me dangerous!’

‘It makes you embarrassing ,’ says Kramer, not attempting to defend himself.

Mia runs aground on his passivity; she drops her arms. It might be easy to fight back, scratching and kicking, against a superior assailant. It takes an expert, though, to attack a man leaning casually against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

‘OK,’ says Kramer, which isn’t a word he often uses. If Mia knew him better, she would realise that he is still in shock from her attack. But Mia’s strength has gone.

‘Let’s get down to business.’ Kramer shakes the events of the last few moments from his jacket sleeves. He paces up and down as if he were delivering a lecture. ‘In one of our earlier conversations, we touched on the function of the defendant’s confession in criminal law. If a confession is not forthcoming, the subjective truth of the defendant must be replaced with an approximation of objective truth: in other words, we construct a perfect chain of proof — witness statements, fingerprints, voice recordings and so forth.’