Collini didn’t look at him. ‘I don’t have any family.’
‘Friends?’
‘There’s no one.’
‘Then let’s start now.’
Leinen knocked, the officer opened the door again. Senior Public Prosecutor Reimers was already sitting at the table in the conference room. Leinen briefly introduced himself. The magistrate took a file from the stack in front of him. Collini sat down on a wooden bench behind a low grating, with the police officer beside him.
‘Please take those handcuffs off the accused,’ said Köhler. The officer undid them. Collini massaged his wrists. Leinen had never seen such enormous hands.
‘Good morning, my name is Köhler and I’m the examining magistrate responsible for you today.’ He indicated the public prosecutor. ‘This is Senior Public Prosecutor Reimers, and you’ve already met your defence counsel.’ He cleared his throat and adopted a matter-of-fact voice; he now spoke in a virtual monotone. ‘Fabrizio Collini, you are here today because the public prosecutor’s office has applied for a warrant allowing you to be held in custody on a charge of murder. This is the point at which I decide whether to issue that warrant. Do you understand German well enough?’
Collini nodded.
‘Please tell me your full name.’
‘Fabrizio Maria Collini.’
‘When and where were you born?’
‘On 26 March 1934, in Campomorone, near Genoa.’
‘Nationality?’
‘Italian.’
‘Present address?’
‘Nineteen Taubenstrasse, Böblingen.’
‘What is your profession?’
‘Toolmaker. I was at the Daimler factory for thirty-four years, ending up as a master toolmaker. I retired four months ago.’
‘Thank you.’ The magistrate pushed the warrant across the table to Leinen, two pages printed out on red paper. It wasn’t signed yet. The contents consisted of the murder squad’s report. The magistrate read it out. Fabrizio Collini, said the report, had gone to see Jean-Baptiste Meyer in Suite 400 of the Hotel Adlon and killed him with four shots in the back of the head. He had said nothing so far, but had been identified from his fingerprints on the gun, the bloodstains on his clothing and shoes, traces of powder from the pistol found on his hands, and witness statements.
‘Herr Collini, do you understand the charge?’
‘Yes.’
‘You have the legal right to express your opinion of these charges. If you say nothing, that fact cannot be used against you. You can apply for evidence to be heard, for instance naming witnesses. You may consult a lawyer at any time.’
‘I don’t want to say anything.’
Leinen still couldn’t take his eyes off Collini’s hands.
Köhler turned to the secretary taking down the minutes of the interview. ‘Please put: “The accused does not want to say anything.” ’ He asked, turning to Leinen, ‘Do you, as defence counsel, want to say anything on behalf of the accused?’
‘No.’ Leinen knew there was no point doing so at the moment.
The magistrate turned his chair towards Collini. ‘Herr Collini, I am issuing the warrant that I have just read out for you to be remanded in custody. You now have the opportunity to object to my decision or apply for a review of the remand in custody. Discuss that with your lawyer.’ As he spoke he was signing the warrant. Then he glanced briefly at Reimers and Leinen. ‘Any further applications?’ he asked.
Reimers shook his head and put his files together.
‘Yes, I apply for permission to see the files,’ said Leinen.
‘Noted for the record. Anything else?’
‘I apply for a review of the remand in custody in an oral hearing.’
‘Also noted.’
‘And I apply to be assigned to the accused as court-appointed defence counsel.’
‘Here and now? Very well. Any objection from the public prosecutor’s office?’ asked Köhler.
‘No,’ said Reimers.
‘Then here is my ruling: Caspar Leinen, qualified lawyer, is assigned to the accused, Fabrizio Collini, as court-appointed defence counsel in these proceedings. Is that all?’
Leinen nodded. The secretary took a sheet of paper out of the printer and handed it to Köhler. He looked through it quickly and handed it to Leinen. ‘The minutes of this meeting. I’d like your client to sign it, please.’
Leinen stood up, read it and put it down on the wooden board screwed to the grating in front of the defendants’ bench to provide a surface for writing on. The ballpoint pen was attached to the wooden board with a thin string. Collini tore it right off, stammered an apology and signed the sheet of paper. Leinen handed it back to the magistrate.
‘Well, that’s all for today. Officer, please take Herr Collini over to the remand cells. Goodbye, gentlemen,’ said the magistrate. The police officer put the handcuffs on Collini’s wrists again and left the magistrate’s room with him. Leinen and Reimers rose to their feet.
‘Oh, Herr Leinen,’ said Köhler. ‘Wait a moment, would you?’
Leinen turned in the doorway. Reimers left the room.
‘I didn’t want to ask this in front of your client, but how long have you been qualified?’
‘Just over a month.’
‘This is the first time you’ve been present when a warrant for remand in custody was issued?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’ll overlook it. But be kind enough to look round this room. Do you see anyone listening to us anywhere?’
‘No.’
‘Quite correct. There is no one here listening to us, there never was and there never will be. Warrants for remand in custody are not issued in public, nor are requests for reviews of a remand made in public. You do know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes…’
‘So why on earth, may I ask, are you wearing a robe in my examination room?’
For a second the examining magistrate seemed to be enjoying Leinen’s discomfiture. ‘All right, you’ll know another time. Good luck with the defence.’ He picked up the next file from the stack in front of him.
‘Goodbye,’ murmured Leinen, but the magistrate did not answer.
Reimers was standing outside the door, waiting for him. ‘You can collect the file from my office on Tuesday, Herr Leinen.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Didn’t you do work experience in our chambers between your examinations?’
‘Yes, two years ago. I’ve only just qualified to practise.’
‘I remember,’ said Reimers. ‘And here’s your first murder case already. Well, congratulations. Prospects for the defence aren’t good, I’m afraid… but we all have to start somewhere.’
Reimers said goodbye and disappeared into a side wing of the building. Leinen slowly went along the corridor towards the exit. He was glad to be alone at last. He looked at the ornamentation above the doors, stucco reliefs. A white pelican pecking her own breast to feed her young with her blood. He sat down on a bench, read the warrant once more, lit a cigarette and stretched his legs.
He’d always wanted to be a defence lawyer. During his work experience, he had been assigned to one of the large sets of chambers that specialized in commercial law. In the weeks after his exams, he received four invitations to go back there for interviews, but he didn’t go to any of them. Leinen didn’t like those large outfits where up to eight hundred lawyers might be employed. The young men there looked like bankers, had first-class degrees and had bought cars that they couldn’t afford; whoever could charge clients for the largest number of hours at the end of the week was the winner. The partners in such large practices already had two marriages under their belts; they wore yellow cashmere sweaters and checked trousers at weekends. Their world consisted of figures, posts on directorial boards, a consultancy contract with the Federal government and a never-ending succession of conference rooms, airport lounges and hotel lobbies. For all of them, it was a disaster if a case came to court: judges were too unpredictable. But that was exactly what Caspar Leinen wanted: to put on a robe and defend his clients. And now here he was.