“You should save your energy,” Raimond said to Isabella, now standing in front of her. “You’re going to need it.”
“Who are you? What do you want?” Isabella demanded, trying to sound tough.
“It doesn’t work that way. I ask you the questions — not the other way around,” he replied, shaking his index finger at her.
“Ja, we ask the questions, fräulein,” Udo added.
“In my experience, everything progresses much more smoothly if I explain all the rules to you before we begin. I don’t want any confusion or misunderstanding between us.” Raimond walked around behind Isabella and put his hands on her shoulders. “Quite simply, this is an interrogation. I am the interrogator, and you are the interrogatee. You have information that I need. If you answer all of my questions truthfully, then you will live and this will all be over quite swiftly and painlessly. If you do not, then the interrogation will be quite long and painful. Do you understand the rules?”
Isabella began to tremble. “I don’t understand why you are doing this. I own a little wine bistro downstairs.” She began to stammer, “I, I, I, don’t understand what you could possibly want from me!”
“I don’t think you were listening. It is very important that you listen to me. I ask the questions. You answer truthfully. Do you understand? These are the rules.”
“Yes, yes, but, I have a question.”
“Okay,” Raimond replied, exasperated. “One question.”
“How do I know that you won’t kill me even if I answer your questions?”
“Because, number one, I am a man of my word. Number two, because I am not here to kill you — I am here to gather information. Let us return to the rules one final time. I ask you questions. You answer them truthfully, and you live. If you choose not to answer my questions, or you lie to me, then you will be tortured until your slow and painful death,” Raimond expounded. “What is your name?”
“Isabella.”
“That was very good Isabella, you answered the first question truthfully. You are a very nice young woman, Isabella, with a long happy future ahead of you. If you cooperate, you can return to your wine bistro and you will never see me or my colleague again. If you do not cooperate, then I can make no such guarantee.”
Isabella began to sob. She could taste fear in her mouth. Her throat was tight. Her heart pounded. She could not believe this was happening to her.
Raimond maintained his station behind her. It was a technique he had developed by accident during an interrogation many years ago; it proved so effective, that he had used it ever since. First, he found it much easier to be brutal without having to look into the victim’s eyes. Second, the victim could not see his face. Pain sears powerful memories in the brain, and he did not want his face to be recalled. But most importantly, standing behind the victim seemed to magnify the terror of the experience more than any other technique he had experimented with. Over the years, he had learned that interrogation was like baking; it worked best when one followed a recipe. His recipe was two parts fear to one part pain.
“Okay, let’s move on,” he announced casually. “Tell me, where can I find your roommate, Julie Ponte?”
“Um, Julie?”
“Yes, Julie Ponte. Where can I find her?”
“I don’t know. Why? What do you want with Julie?”
“Isabella, you have broken the rules. Now I am forced to have my colleague demonstrate what happens every time you break the rules,” Raimond reprimanded. Still standing behind her, Raimond grabbed her forehead and her chin and pulled her jaw open. Udo swiftly stuffed a balled up kitchen rag deep into her mouth. Isabella tried to scream, but the sound was almost completely muffled by the wad of fabric pressing against her tongue, checks, and soft palette. Udo then walked around to her left side. With his massive hands, he effortlessly peeled her clenched left fingers free from the end of the armrest. Before she knew what was happening, he gripped her left pinkie finger and snapped it like a fresh carrot at the knuckle joint. He released her broken finger at the angle he broke it — protruding ninety degrees to the side — for her to see.
Isabella shrieked in agony, but the gag in her mouth deadened the volume and pitch of her wail to a level undetectable outside the apartment. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Isabella, I want you to listen very carefully. This is the best that you will feel during the rest of this experience. From now on, it only gets worse. Now, I am going to ask you some questions with the gag in your mouth. You are going to nod your head up-and-down for ‘yes’ and shake your head side-to-side for ‘no.’ Nod your head if you understand,” said Raimond.
Isabella nodded her head, trembling. She stared off into space, averting her gaze away from her left hand.
“Good girl. I am going to remove the gag from your mouth. If you scream, I will reinsert the gag, and break another finger. Do you understand?”
Nod.
“Are you ready to cooperate?”
Nod.
“Good. Let’s try again. Where can I find Julie Ponte?” asked Raimond. He then motioned to his brother to remove the gag.
“I don’t know where she is.”
Raimond was silent for several seconds, and then suddenly grabbed her forehead and chin. Udo stuffed the gag back into her mouth. Isabella shook the chair and screamed a muffled scream. He nodded at Udo.
Udo gripped her left ring finger in his hand and twisted, snapping the bone between the second and third knuckles. Isabella shook the chair violently as tears gushed down her cheeks. Mucus was beginning to fill her nose and clog her throat.
Raimond tenderly stroked her forehead and dark brown hair, like a lover would do. “Isabella, I am very disappointed in you. You’ve broken the rules again. This time you lied to me. Look at your fingers.”
Isabella continued to sob and looked up at the ceiling, resisting the urge to see her mangled left hand. Raimond grabbed her face between both hands and jerked her head down.
“LOOK AT IT!” he shouted.
The power of his voice dominated her will, and she looked at her left hand, two of her fingers protruding at unnatural, oblique angles. She began to hyperventilate. The rag stuffed in her mouth exacerbated the problem, causing her to panic. The veins in her neck and forehead bulged. Her face flushed red.
Raimond sighed. He pulled the rag out of her mouth and waited while she panted in terror, trying to catch her breath, sweat now pouring from her brow.
“Isabella. Isabella, listen to me. This is not going very well. I’m going to ask you the same question again. This time, I want you to tell me the truth,” Raimond said to her. “Where can I find your roommate, Julie Ponte?”
Isabella struggled to answer him in between sobs and gasps for air. “I told you… I don’t know… she left the apartment this morning… and she didn’t tell me… where she was going.”
Raimond stood silently behind her. Udo watched Raimond, like a guard dog stares at his master, awaiting the order to attack.
“I swear! I don’t know where she was going… she didn’t tell me… and I didn’t ask.”
“Okay. I believe you. Was she alone or was she with someone? An American man perhaps?”
Isabella paused. She had not betrayed Julie. Not yet. Now, he was forcing her to make a choice: self-preservation or self-sacrifice to protect a friend. She liked Julie, but she was not family. They had known each other not even two years. These crazy Germans would break all her fingers if she did not cooperate; she was certain of that. She had no choice; she had to look out for herself.