Abandoned Clues

Last Saturday my class split into groups of three to go on a several hour long exploratory 'psychogeography photo walk.' Instead of aimlessly wandering the streets of the city, my group took to an abandoned hospital west of Berlin with curiosity as our trajectory. I took another approach, placing myself in the eyes of a detective searching for clues for an unknown mystery. I felt like Nancy Drew as I crept along the corridors, camera in hand, and eyes opened. What I found led to the following story, which is my contribution to my class's book of psychogeography photos that we are creating.

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In the approaching dawn on Saturday, May 14th, a large fire sparked on the grounds of the abandoned Beelitz-Heilstatten Sanatorium. Owners of a nearby restaurant noticed the flames and the fire department soon had it under control. A small crowd had gathered, and as it dispersed a shrill scream rose above the waning smoke. There lay the broken body of a young woman, naked except for a pair of white high-heeled shoes and pink lingerie draped over her eyes.

The body was identified as Rolanda Krause, age 28, who had disappeared from the reception of her own wedding the night before.

I, Kaitlin Randolph Private Eye, was called in to the site of the to see what I could find. Clues are everywhere, it's just a matter of sorting through what I find and making the judgment of whether or not it's vandalism, or evidence.

I start my search outside of the grounds of the northwest quadrant of the abandoned hospital where both fire and body were discovered. I take note of unusual objects, just in case I can link other clues back to these in the future.

I climb into the basement of the ruined building and am met with dirt, grime and rubble. As my eyes adjust to the stiffening darkness I continue my search. Fresh packets of tissue are scattered about the floor. Trash from a recent escapade, or perhaps our killer had a cold.

I make my way up the unsteady steps to the second floor. A large white, ripped tablecloth catches my eye in the distance. Upon closer examination I notice fresh blood spotting a corner, despite there being no blood on the victim.

A short ways away I discover the discarded, clean wedding dress in a heap amongst the rubble. There are no rips, suggesting that it had been taken off without a struggle.

I continue my ascent through the building to the top, forested floor. Lining the stairs are scattered tea candles. More candles are dispersed amongst the roof-top forest. 

While examining the candles I nearly step on a smashed bottle of Rotköppchen wine. Someone had recently had a picnic... with a film camera. Settled in a pile of pine needles lay a lid to a film container.

  

It's 2011, no one shoots in film anymore unless it's for art... or for a particular aesthetic look to wedding photographs. This small clue leads to a heap of new questions. What was the wedding photographers story, and what was his relation to the bride? Nearby is the spot from where poor Rolanda had fallen. The tiling is scratched and broken.

  On my way back down the building a splotch of color that I hadn't noticed earlier catches my eye. I peer into the room and see fresh blood dripping down the wall. Is the killer still in the building?

I enter the nearby abandoned house and hesitantly make my way down the rotting steps and into the basement. I immediately notice hundreds and hundreds of tea candles carpeting the floor. Were tea candles the cause of the fire? Perhaps a tribute to the deceased?

Upstairs, fresh spray paint drips a sweet, yet haunting message on the wall. Around the corner a bottle of Rotköppchen wine is propped in the middle of a useless refrigerator. The sound of floorboards creaking up the stairs catches my attention. Before checking out the source of the sound I turn back to the carefully placed wine bottle. This was set here for a reason. Was this where the killer first took the bride, or was it left for someone else? As I take a photo I hear an echo of a camera shutter. A shutter that is not mine.