THE SCHMOTZER CASE 7 – THE TRIAL

Part 1 – The First Day of the Trial

At the end of this story, there will be a verdict. What that verdict will be, even the author does not yet know. This time, the outcome will not be decided first, followed by a story carefully constructed to lead us there. This time, it will be the other way around.

Four defendants are standing trial. The prosecution will present its case, and four defence lawyers will challenge it. Evidence will be introduced and examined, witnesses will be heard, and expert witnesses will have to explain what can actually be established within their fields of expertise – and where the limits of that knowledge lie. The video will be shown and its audio track heard. Statements will be compared, contradictions put to those who made them, questions asked and further questions permitted wherever Austrian criminal procedure allows.

There will be answers that help the prosecution and others that strengthen the defence. Some may even displease those who have long believed they already know what happened that day. Because evidence may incriminate, but it may also exonerate. What cannot be proved remains unproved.

The trial that follows never took place in this form. It is fictional. Its foundations, however, are the known facts of the Schmotzer case, publicly available documents and documented evidence. Where those foundations end, nothing will quietly be turned into fact. The names of the four defendants have been changed. From this moment on, therefore, only what is actually presented, examined and admitted into evidence in this fictional trial will count.

Shortly before nine o’clock, the door to the courtroom opens. The judges’ bench is still empty. The prosecutor is already seated, several case files and a laptop arranged in front of her. On the opposite side, four defence lawyers have spread out their papers. Between them sit four young men. The youngest is sixteen years old, the oldest twenty-five.

A screen hangs on one wall.

For now, it is black.

Later, a recording lasting less than a minute will appear on it – a handful of seconds that will determine a substantial part of these proceedings. But for the moment, the video is merely an announced piece of evidence. No one in this courtroom has watched even a second of it during this trial.

The door beside the judges’ bench opens. Everyone rises as the court enters and the presiding judge takes her seat. She waits until the scraping of chairs has stopped and silence returns to the room. Then she opens the hearing.

The case is called.

Four Men Before the Court

At first, the proceedings concern matters that seem to have little to do with Schmotzer’s death. Attendance is established, identities are checked, dates of birth, occupations and places of residence are confirmed. The presiding judge establishes who represents whom and which witnesses and expert witnesses have been summoned. Because one of the defendants is sixteen, the special provisions governing juvenile criminal proceedings must also be observed.

These minutes are necessary, and their very formality feels strangely at odds with what this trial will later examine. For now, there are dates, names and procedural formalities, while on the wall hangs the black screen on which, later, an animal will die.

The witnesses are waiting outside the courtroom. The veterinary expert will likewise be heard only when the time comes for his evidence. No one should be able to shape a later statement according to what someone else has already told the court.

The presiding judge looks towards the prosecutor and gives her the floor to present the indictment.

She rises, takes several sheets of paper from her file and begins.

On 30 April 2025, she tells the court, the four defendants encounter a tomcat in Brixen im Thale. The animal is known locally.

His name is Schmotzer.

According to the defendants, they find him already seriously injured. They conclude that nothing more can be done for him and that he must be put out of his suffering.

The prosecutor pauses briefly.

For the moment, she offers no judgement on that account.

She continues.

In the events that follow, a captive-bolt device is used. After it is discharged, the cat’s body moves. The animal is subsequently struck with a shovel. Finally, an incision is made in its neck with a knife. Part of what happens is recorded on a mobile phone. The recording contains sound as well as images.

Up to this point, the prosecutor has been reading from her papers.

Then she places them on the table in front of her.

What the Law Is There For

When she continues, her tone changes. Not in volume, but in the way she chooses her words.

“We will spend a great deal of time in this trial talking about seconds. About the movements of an animal’s body, about the effect of a captive-bolt device, about reflexes, consciousness and pain. We have to talk about these things because criminal law requires facts, and because no person may be convicted unless a criminal offence can be proved against them.”

She looks towards the four defendants and then back to the court.

“But we should also remember why we examine those facts so carefully.”

An animal cannot tell us what happened to it. It cannot file a complaint and later take a seat before a court to describe what it experienced. It cannot explain whether it was afraid, whether it felt pain or whether it was still aware of what human beings were doing to it.

That inability to speak does not place an animal beyond the protection of the law. On the contrary: precisely because it cannot defend its own interests, the law places limits on what human beings may do to it.

The prosecutor does not turn Schmotzer into a human being. She does not even try.

But neither does she reduce him to the object of an expert report.

“Public outrage over this recording is not evidence,” she says. “A disturbing image does not in itself prove the intent required under criminal law. And conduct that we personally find repellent or morally wrong does not automatically satisfy the elements of a criminal offence.”

One of the defence lawyers looks up from his papers.

The prosecutor continues.

“But neither should the fact that the victim of these events cannot speak mean that we simply accept explanations without examining them.”

And with that she reaches a sentence that will return repeatedly throughout these proceedings.

The defendants say that they wanted to end Schmotzer’s suffering.

The prosecutor does not deny that this is possible. But she insists that this explanation must withstand the same scrutiny as every other part of the events.

“If four people were convinced that they were standing before an animal that could no longer be helped, then we will try to establish what that conviction was based upon. What injuries could they see? Who saw them? Who decided that the animal could no longer be saved? Was there any discussion of calling a veterinarian or taking the animal to one? How, instead, did the decision come to be made to use a captive-bolt device?”

She leaves the questions unanswered.

Others will have to answer them later.

What Must Be Proved

The prosecutor now returns to the four defendants. She makes it clear that acting as a group does not create collective guilt. The court cannot simply judge four men as one. It must assess four individuals.

Who held Schmotzer? Who used the captive-bolt device? Who struck him with the shovel? Who used the knife? Who filmed? What were the others doing at each of those moments? What was said, what was understood, what was supported – and what, perhaps, was rejected?

For criminal responsibility to arise, the individual contribution of each defendant must first be established. The court must then determine what he knew and with what intent he acted.

In doing so, the prosecutor herself draws a boundary around her case. Mere presence will not be enough. But neither should the fact that someone did not personally perform a particular act bring the examination of his possible involvement to a premature end.

She then announces the evidence.

The video recording will be played during the trial. Not selected still images, and not merely somebody’s description of what it supposedly shows. The court will see and hear the recording for itself.

The veterinary expert will have to explain what effect a captive-bolt device can have on a cat, whether it was applied correctly, and what medical significance can be attached to the movements visible afterwards. He will be asked whether conclusions can be drawn about consciousness and the perception of pain – and, if so, with what degree of certainty.

At these words, one of the defence lawyers picks up his pen and writes something on a notepad.

The prosecutor glances briefly in his direction and continues.

The limits of the expert opinion, she says, are also part of the truth this trial must establish. If the expert cannot determine something, the prosecution must not turn his uncertainty into certainty. If several medical explanations are possible, those possibilities must be acknowledged.

“That, too,” she says, “is part of the values of a state governed by the rule of law.”

Then she returns once more to Schmotzer.

Animal protection is also such a value. An animal is a living being whose suffering is not irrelevant to the law. A person who says that he killed an animal out of compassion will not be convicted merely because he says so.

But he must accept that a court will examine very carefully whether the facts that can be established are consistent with that explanation.

The prosecutor picks up her papers again.

Her opening does not end with a demand for outrage, nor with a conviction pronounced in advance. She asks for a complete examination of the evidence and for each defendant to be judged individually.

Then she sits down.

Four Defence Lawyers

The sound of paper is all that can be heard for a few seconds. The presiding judge makes a note, then turns to the other side and gives the defence lawyers an opportunity to respond.

The first defence lawyer rises. He represents the defendant alleged to have used the captive-bolt device.

He begins where the recording does not.

The video, he says, does not show Schmotzer being found. It does not show what happened immediately beforehand and, most importantly, it does not show the condition in which the four young men found the cat. Anyone who considers only the seconds that follow therefore risks replacing the missing history with assumptions.

His client did not want to kill a healthy animal. He believed that Schmotzer was seriously injured and suffering. The defence will therefore pay very close attention to whether the evidence can disprove that possibility.

He also announces that the expert evidence will be challenged. A visible movement is, first of all, a visible movement. Whether it proves pain, consciousness or an involuntary reflex is not a matter for moral intuition, but for medical expertise.

The second defence lawyer takes a different approach. His client must not be punished for what somebody else did. The proceedings must therefore distinguish, second by second and act by act, who was actually involved.

The third defence lawyer addresses the audio recording. Words, laughter and reactions may appear inappropriate or disturbing. But they do not automatically establish what a person knew at that moment about the animal’s condition or what his intention was. That conclusion, too, must be proved.

The lawyer representing the sixteen-year-old rises last. He reminds the court that his client was the youngest member of a group of older participants. That does not excuse anything that can actually be proved against him. But age, group dynamics and his own individual contribution must be considered separately. His client is not standing trial for the group.

He is standing trial for his own conduct.

When the final defence lawyer sits down, something in the courtroom has changed. Only a few minutes earlier, there appeared to be a single story: four men and a dead cat.

Now several possible stories lie side by side.

Which of them will survive the evidence cannot yet be known.

The screen on the wall remains black.

The presiding judge looks down at her papers and then towards the four defendants. Until now, the prosecutor and defence lawyers have spoken about them.

That is about to change.

She turns to the first defendant.

The questioning begins.

The First Defendant

The presiding judge calls the first defendant by name. In this story, he is called Matthias. He is the man whom the prosecution alleges used the captive-bolt device.

Matthias straightens in his seat. His defence lawyer leans towards him and says something that cannot be heard from the judges’ bench, then sits back again. The presiding judge reminds the defendant that he is free to give evidence or to remain silent. Matthias decides to speak.

She does not begin with the captive-bolt device.

She begins a few minutes earlier.

“Please tell us how you found Schmotzer.”

Matthias looks down briefly at the table in front of him.

“He was lying there and he was badly injured.”

The presiding judge waits for a moment.

“Where was he lying?”

Matthias describes the place. It is not a long answer. Then the judge returns to the second part of his sentence.

“You said he was badly injured. What exactly did you see?”

Matthias is silent for longer than he was after the first question.

“You could see that he was in a bad way.”

“That wasn’t my question. What injuries did you see?”

“He was injured.”

The presiding judge places her pen on her papers. Her voice does not change.

“Mr Matthias, I do not want to know what conclusion you reached. I want to know what you perceived with your own eyes.”

Now Matthias gives details. He remembers the condition of the cat, the position of its body and something that, at the time, appeared to him to be a serious injury. He is certain about some details and qualifies his memory of others.

The presiding judge lets him finish.

“Was Schmotzer bleeding?”

Matthias thinks.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Where?”

“I can’t remember exactly today.”

“Could he stand?”

“No.”

“Did he try to get up?”

Another pause.

“I don’t think so.”

“Did he move?”

“Yes.”

The presiding judge looks up.

“How?”

Matthias describes the movements as far as he can remember them. She asks further questions without suggesting a description to him. No “Was he twitching?” No “Was he moving his legs?” She wants to hear his memory first, not create a memory out of her own words.

Then she reaches a question that has already been mentioned several times in this courtroom but has not yet been answered by anyone.

“How did you come to the conclusion that Schmotzer could no longer be saved?”

“Because he was so badly injured.”

“That is your conclusion again. I am asking what it was based on.”

Matthias looks towards his defence lawyer.

The lawyer does not react.

“We thought he was suffering.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

Matthias looks towards the other three defendants.

“All of us.”

The presiding judge follows his gaze and then looks back at Matthias.

“Did anyone explicitly say that the animal should be killed?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

This time the answer takes longer.

For the first time, the question is no longer merely about what happens to Schmotzer.

It is about who makes a decision.

Matthias gives a name.

The presiding judge writes it down.

None of the other defendants visibly reacts. One of their defence lawyers, however, makes a note.

“What exactly was said?”

Matthias tries to remember the wording. The gist, he says, was that they could not simply leave the cat lying there and that he had to be put out of his suffering.

“Did anyone suggest calling a veterinarian?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Did you think about it?”

“Not at that moment.”

“Why not?”

“Because we thought there was no point anymore.”

The presiding judge allows several seconds to pass.

“Which of you was qualified to make that assessment?”

At first, Matthias does not answer.

“Did any of you have veterinary training?”

“No.”

“Any training or professional experience that would have qualified you to assess a cat’s injuries medically?”

The defence lawyer raises his hand slightly.

“Madam Presiding Judge, my client has not claimed that he made a medical diagnosis. He is describing what he perceived at the time.”

The judge nods.

“That is correct. And that is precisely why I want to know what his assessment at the time was based upon.”

She looks back at Matthias.

“So?”

“No.”

Something has now been established, but nothing has yet been decided. The fact that none of the four is a veterinarian does not prove that Schmotzer could have been saved. Nor does it prove that he could not.

For the moment, it establishes only that, according to Matthias’s own account, the decision to kill the cat was made without a veterinary examination.

The Decision

The presiding judge takes the next step.

“Approximately how much time passed between finding the cat and the decision to kill him?”

Matthias tries to reconstruct the minutes. He is not certain.

It happened quickly, he says.

“One minute? Ten minutes? Half an hour?”

“Maybe a few minutes.”

“Where did the captive-bolt device come from?”

Something changes now.

Not much. Matthias merely raises his head a little more quickly than before.

The question is simple, but it leads away from the moment when the cat was found. A seriously injured animal is lying somewhere. A few minutes later, a device intended to kill him is there.

Something must have happened in between.

Matthias explains where the device came from.

The presiding judge asks who owns it, who retrieves it and who decides to use it. She wants to know whether Matthias has used such a device before and what for.

His defence lawyer is listening very carefully now.

“Have you ever killed a cat with a captive-bolt device before?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen such a device correctly used on a cat?”

“No.”

“Did you know where on a cat’s head it had to be positioned?”

The defence lawyer intervenes.

“Madam Presiding Judge, at this point we are already moving into an area on which an expert witness has been summoned. My client can only say what he knew at the time.”

“That is precisely what I am asking.”

She turns back to Matthias.

“Did you know?”

“I thought I did.”

The answer remains in the room for a moment.

Not because it is a confession.

It is not.

But because a distinction has suddenly appeared between knowing and believing that you know – a distinction that may become important later.

“Where did that knowledge come from?”

Matthias explains.

The presiding judge continues asking questions. Not about what the expert will eventually say concerning the correct use of such a device. Nobody in this courtroom knows that yet. She wants to know what Matthias knew at the time and why he believed that this device could end the cat’s suffering.

Then his account reaches the moment when the device is used.

The presiding judge interrupts him.

“Not yet.”

Matthias looks at her.

“Before we talk about that, I want to know what the other three are doing at this point.”

Now Matthias has to bring each of them back into his memory.

Where is Lukas?

Where is Daniel?

Where is Simon?

Who is holding the cat?

Who is speaking?

Who is watching?

Who takes out the mobile phone?

And when does the recording begin?

At the final question, Matthias becomes uncertain.

“I don’t know exactly.”

“Were you aware that someone was filming?”

“Later, yes.”

“What does ‘later’ mean?”

“I saw the camera.”

“Before or after the captive-bolt device was used?”

Matthias thinks.

His gaze moves for a moment towards the black screen on the wall.

“I think before.”

The presiding judge records the answer.

The video remains switched off.

For now, the court will not test whether his memory corresponds with what the recording will later show. His account must first be allowed to stand in full.

The Captive Bolt

“Then please continue.”

Matthias describes how Schmotzer is held. He describes taking the device and positioning it. His language becomes more concise the closer his memory comes to the moment that everyone in the courtroom will later see on the screen.

“And then I fired it.”

The presiding judge does not immediately ask another question.

“What happens next?”

“He moved.”

“Schmotzer?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Matthias tries to describe it. They were movements, twitching perhaps. He assumed they were reflexes.

“How did you know that?”

“I thought so.”

That word again.

The presiding judge notices it but does not comment.

“At that point, were you certain that the animal was unconscious?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Matthias hesitates.

“Because of the bolt.”

“So you were certain that the shot had achieved its intended effect?”

“Yes.”

“Then why were further actions necessary?”

For the first time that morning, Matthias does not answer.

His defence lawyer shifts in his chair. The prosecutor has her pen in her hand but is not writing.

The presiding judge waits.

“Mr Matthias?”

“Because he was still moving.”

“You just said you believed those movements were reflexes.”

“Yes.”

“And you were certain that Schmotzer was unconscious.”

“Yes.”

“Then why did anyone still need to strike him with a shovel?”

The defence lawyer intervenes.

“Madam Presiding Judge, we need to distinguish carefully here between my client’s perception and actions carried out by other people.”

“We will.”

The presiding judge looks at Matthias.

“Did you personally strike him with the shovel?”

He answers.

And with that begins the separation that prosecution and defence alike demanded at the start of the trial.

No longer four men.

Four individual courses of conduct.

The presiding judge asks who takes the shovel, how many blows Matthias observes and what is said immediately beforehand. She does not ask whether anyone appears “cruel” or “cold-hearted”. Those are not facts Matthias is being asked to establish for the court.

She asks about words.

Movements.

Sequences.

Decisions.

Then she comes to the knife.

“When is the decision made to cut the animal’s throat?”

Matthias exhales audibly.

He says they wanted to make certain that Schmotzer was dead.

“Who is ‘they’?”

Once again, he has to give a name.

“And who makes the cut?”

He answers that as well.

The presiding judge writes.

For the first time, the court now has a continuous account from one of the defendants.

It has not yet been tested.

No other defendant has given his version. No witness has testified. No expert has even taken his seat.

Most importantly, the video still has not been played.

The Prosecutor Asks Questions

The presiding judge looks towards the prosecutor and gives her the floor.

She does not begin with the captive bolt.

She returns to the beginning.

“Mr Matthias, you have repeatedly said that Schmotzer was seriously injured. Have I understood you correctly that today you can no longer say precisely what specific injury you saw?”

Matthias disagrees. That is not quite what he meant.

The prosecutor lets him explain.

Then she asks about blood, body position and movement. Some answers match those he gave to the presiding judge. On other points, he phrases things more cautiously.

The prosecutor does not press him.

Not yet.

“You say that you wanted to end Schmotzer’s suffering.”

“Yes.”

“You say that very clearly.”

“Because that’s how it was.”

“Good. Then I would like to understand what you meant by ending his suffering.”

The defence lawyer looks up.

The prosecutor continues before he can say anything.

“You decide to use the captive-bolt device. You use it. Afterwards, Schmotzer moves. You say you assumed those movements were reflexes and that the animal was no longer conscious. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“How did you establish that he was unconscious?”

“The bolt had been fired.”

“That is the action. I am asking about its effect.”

Matthias does not answer.

“Did you check his breathing?”

“No.”

“Pupillary response?”

“No.”

“Any other sign indicating whether the animal was still capable of perception?”

“No.”

“So your certainty was based on your assumption that the captive-bolt device had worked.”

“Yes.”

The prosecutor picks up a pen, then puts it down again.

“And at the same time, the cat’s movements lead to further actions.”

“We wanted to make sure.”

“Of what?”

“That he wasn’t suffering anymore.”

“But you have just said you were certain he was unconscious.”

The defence lawyer intervenes.

“Madam Presiding Judge, that question has already been asked.”

The presiding judge looks towards the prosecutor.

“The point has been answered. Move on.”

“Of course.”

The prosecutor turns a page.

What Happens Between the Actions?

She no longer dissects the decision to kill Schmotzer. Now she dissects what happens afterwards.

Who takes the shovel? Where is Matthias at that moment? How much time passes after the captive bolt is fired? Does anyone speak? Does anyone react to Schmotzer’s movements? When does the knife appear? Who decides that a cut is necessary?

Matthias answers. On some points, the answer comes immediately. On others, he has to think. Several times he says that, after so much time, he can no longer remember the exact wording.

For the moment, the prosecutor accepts that.

“Do you remember whether anyone laughed during what was happening?”

Matthias looks at her.

“Could be.”

“Did you laugh?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Why do you remember the intention to end Schmotzer’s suffering, but not how you reacted while it was happening?”

The defence lawyer is there immediately.

“That is not a permissible conclusion to draw from a gap in memory.”

The presiding judge intervenes.

“Not in that form. Madam Prosecutor, ask about his recollection, not your assessment of it.”

The prosecutor nods.

“Do you remember the mood among you while this was happening?”

Matthias thinks.

“We were agitated.”

“Agitated in what sense?”

“The whole situation.”

“Was anyone frightened?”

“Yes, probably.”

“Who?”

Matthias names no one.

“Was anyone sad?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was the situation distressing for you?”

“Yes.”

“How did you notice that in yourself at the time?”

Now Matthias has to think longer.

The question seems more difficult for him than the one about the captive-bolt device.

“It just wasn’t a pleasant thing.”

The prosecutor watches him for several seconds, then closes that line of questioning.

The audio track is still not played. What can actually be heard on it, and whether individual voices or statements can be attributed to particular people, will be examined later during the taking of evidence. Matthias should not first be allowed to adjust his memory to evidence that has not yet been presented.

The Camera

“When did you realise that someone was filming?”

“I saw it at some point.”

“Earlier, you said you thought that was before the captive bolt was used.”

“Yes.”

“Did it bother you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why should it?”

The prosecutor waits for a moment.

“That is what I am asking you.”

“Because we weren’t trying to do anything wrong.”

For the first time, the prosecutor immediately writes something down.

“So at that moment you regarded what was happening as something that could be filmed.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then please explain what you mean.”

Matthias sits a little straighter.

“I just didn’t think about it. There was a camera. It wasn’t important at that moment.”

“Did you know why it was being filmed?”

“No.”

“Did you ask?”

“No.”

“What was supposed to happen to the recording?”

“No idea.”

“Did you watch the video later?”

Matthias looks towards his defence lawyer.

The lawyer leans towards him. This time their brief consultation lasts a little longer. Afterwards, Matthias turns back towards the presiding judge.

He answers the question.

The prosecutor continues. When did he first see the recording? On what device? Was it discussed? Did anyone suggest deleting it? Was it forwarded?

At this point, the presiding judge intervenes.

“We must be careful to distinguish between established events and matters that still need to be determined through further evidence. Mr Matthias, please answer only as to what you personally did or perceived.”

The prosecutor agrees.

This boundary will matter throughout the trial. A video may exist without all four defendants knowing where it later went. One person may forward it without the others being involved.

Here, too, there is no collective memory and no collective responsibility merely because four people were present at the same place.

The Defence Takes Over

When the prosecutor has no further questions, the presiding judge gives Matthias’s defence lawyer the floor.

He does not rise immediately. First, he arranges two sheets of paper in front of him, then begins while still seated.

“Mr Matthias, the prosecutor has questioned you extensively about why you did not contact a veterinarian. I would therefore like to look at the situation from your perspective at the time. Did you have the impression that you were standing before an animal that could wait several hours for help?”

“No.”

“What was your impression?”

“That it had to end immediately.”

“Why?”

“Because he was suffering.”

“Did you want to cause Schmotzer pain?”

“No.”

“Did you want him to remain alive for as long as possible even though you believed he was suffering?”

“No.”

“What did you want?”

“For it to be over quickly.”

The prosecutor makes a note.

The defence lawyer asks about Matthias’s experience with livestock and with the captive-bolt device. He tries to establish that his client did not simply invent the idea that such a device could render an animal immediately unconscious.

The presiding judge allows the questions.

Then he returns to the movements after the shot.

“You said you believed these were reflexes. Why?”

Matthias explains what he believed at the time.

“Did you have the impression at that point that Schmotzer was still aware of what was happening?”

“No.”

“Did you therefore believe that the subsequent actions were causing him additional conscious pain?”

“No.”

“Then why were they carried out?”

“To make sure it was really over.”

The defence lawyer nods.

Another interpretation of the same actions is now before the court. The prosecutor has asked why further violence was necessary if Matthias believed the cat to be unconscious. The defence argues that the very intention of ensuring death may explain why further action was taken.

Which interpretation is correct will not be decided by whichever one sounds better.

That is why the expert witness is needed.

One Question from the Presiding Judge

The defence lawyer is about to finish his questioning when the presiding judge raises a hand slightly.

“One more thing, Mr Matthias.”

He looks at her.

“You have said several times that you wanted it to be over quickly.”

“Yes.”

“Was that also why no veterinarian was contacted? Because you believed that any delay would prolong the animal’s suffering?”

Matthias initially nods, then says:

“Yes.”

The presiding judge looks down at her papers.

“Then I want to understand this precisely. On that day, did you actually weigh two alternatives – veterinary assistance, with the possibility of delay, on the one hand, and immediate killing on the other?”

Matthias opens his mouth but does not speak at first.

“Or did you not think about a veterinarian at all?”

The two answers sound similar.

They are not.

Matthias looks down at the table.

“We didn’t really think about it.”

The presiding judge writes something down.

That brings his initial examination to an end.

Nothing has yet been proved beyond his own testimony. The court does not know whether Schmotzer actually had the injuries Matthias has described. It does not know whether the captive bolt produced the effect Matthias assumed. It does not know whether the movements were reflexes. Nor does it yet know whether the other three defendants will confirm his account.

But one thing now stands before the court in his own words: according to Matthias, the decision to kill Schmotzer was made within a matter of minutes. None of those involved had veterinary training. Professional assistance was not contacted and, according to his final answer, was not seriously considered as an alternative.

The presiding judge looks towards the next defendant.

In this story, his name is Lukas.

Before she asks her first question, Lukas glances across at Matthias.

Then his examination begins.

The Prosecutor’s Questions

The prosecutor remains standing. The case file lies open in front of her, but she barely looks at it. Matthias has told his story. Now the task is no longer to hear it a second time. It is to find out how much of it will hold.

“You said that you did not consider any alternative to killing the animal.”

“Yes.”

“Why not?”

Matthias draws his shoulders back slightly. “Because we could see how bad he was.”

“But you also said that you could not determine exactly what injuries he had.”

“You could still see that he was badly injured.”

“I am not trying to take that away from you. I am asking something else: How did you get from seeing a seriously injured animal to being certain that the animal could no longer be helped?”

Matthias is silent.

His defence lawyer watches him but does not intervene.

“That was just the situation.”

The prosecutor nods slowly. “Then let us try to reconstruct that situation as precisely as possible.”

She asks whether anyone had a mobile phone with them. Matthias confirms that they did.

“Could you have used it to call a veterinarian?”

“Yes.”

“An animal clinic?”

“Probably.”

“Did you try to contact anyone?”

“No.”

“Did any of the others try?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Did anyone say: We should ask a veterinarian first?”

“No.”

The prosecutor leaves the answer where it is. She does not yet try to draw a conclusion from it.

“How long do you think it would have taken to obtain professional help?”

“No idea.”

“Did you check?”

“No.”

“Then you did not know how long it would have taken.”

“No.”

Matthias sounds more irritated now than he did at the beginning of his examination. He is not loud, but his answers are becoming shorter.

The prosecutor notices and changes the subject.

“You wanted to spare Schmotzer further suffering.”

“Yes.”

“You say that very clearly.”

“Because that’s how it was.”

“Good. Then I would like to understand what you meant by putting him out of his suffering.”

His defence lawyer looks up.

The prosecutor continues before he can say anything.

“You decide to use the captive-bolt device. You use it. Afterwards, Schmotzer moves. You say you assumed those movements were reflexes and that the animal was no longer conscious. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“How did you determine that he was unconscious?”

“The bolt had been fired.”

“That is the action. I am asking about the effect.”

Matthias does not answer.

“Did you check his breathing?”

“No.”

“His pupillary response?”

“No.”

“Any other indication of whether the animal was still capable of perception?”

“No.”

“So your certainty was based on your assumption that the captive-bolt device had worked.”

“Yes.”

The prosecutor picks up a pen, then puts it down again.

“And at the same time, the cat’s movements led to further actions.”

“We wanted to make sure.”

“Of what?”

“That he wasn’t suffering anymore.”

“But you have just said that you were certain he was unconscious.”

The defence lawyer intervenes.

“Madam Presiding Judge, that question has already been asked.”

The presiding judge looks towards the prosecutor.

“The point has been answered. Move on.”

“Of course.”

The prosecutor turns a page.

What Happens Between the Actions?

Now she is no longer dissecting the decision to kill the animal, but the sequence that follows.

Who takes the shovel? Where is Matthias at that moment? How much time passes after the captive bolt is fired? Does anyone speak? Does anyone react to Schmotzer’s movements? When does the knife appear? Who decides that a cut is necessary?

Matthias answers. On some points, his answer comes immediately; on others, he has to think. Several times, he says that after so much time he can no longer remember the exact words that were spoken.

For the moment, the prosecutor accepts that.

“Can you remember whether anyone laughed while this was happening?”

Matthias looks at her.

“Possibly.”

“Did you laugh?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Why do you remember the intention to end Schmotzer’s suffering, but not how you reacted while it was happening?”

His defence lawyer responds immediately.

“That is not a permissible conclusion to draw from a gap in memory.”

The presiding judge intervenes.

“Not in that form. Madam Prosecutor, ask about his recollection, not your assessment of it.”

The prosecutor nods.

“Do you remember the mood among you while this was happening?”

Matthias thinks.

“We were agitated.”

“Agitated in what sense?”

“The whole situation.”

“Was anyone frightened?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

Matthias names no one.

“Was anyone sad?”

“No idea.”

“Was the situation distressing for you?”

“Yes.”

“How did you notice that in yourself at the time?”

Now Matthias has to think for longer.

The question seems more difficult for him than the one about the captive-bolt device.

“It just wasn’t a pleasant thing.”

The prosecutor watches him for several seconds, then closes that line of questioning.

The audio track is still not played. What can actually be heard on it, and whether individual voices or statements can be attributed to particular people, will later form part of the taking of evidence. Matthias should not be allowed to adjust his memory to evidence that has not yet been presented.

The Camera

“When did you realise that someone was filming?”

“I saw it at some point.”

“Earlier, you said you thought that was before the captive bolt was used.”

“Yes.”

“Did it bother you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why should it?”

The prosecutor waits for a moment.

“That is what I am asking you.”

“Because we weren’t trying to do anything wrong.”

For the first time, the prosecutor immediately writes something down.

“So at that moment, you regarded what was happening as something that could be filmed.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then please explain what you mean.”

Matthias sits a little straighter.

“I just didn’t think about it. There was a camera. It wasn’t important at that moment.”

“Did you know why it was being filmed?”

“No.”

“Did you ask?”

“No.”

“What was supposed to happen to the recording?”

“No idea.”

“Did you watch the video later?”

Matthias looks towards his defence lawyer.

The lawyer leans towards him. This time, their brief consultation lasts a little longer. Afterwards, Matthias turns back towards the presiding judge.

He answers the question.

The prosecutor continues: When did he first see the recording? On what device? Was it discussed? Did anyone suggest deleting it? Was it forwarded?

At this point, the presiding judge intervenes.

“We must be careful to distinguish between established events and matters that still need to be determined through further evidence. Mr Matthias, please answer only as to what you personally did or perceived.”

The prosecutor agrees.

This boundary will matter throughout the trial. A video may exist without all four defendants knowing where it later went. One person may forward it without the others being involved. Here, too, there is no collective memory and no collective responsibility merely because four people were present at the same place.

The Defence Takes Over

When the prosecutor has no further questions, the presiding judge gives Matthias’s defence lawyer the floor.

He does not rise immediately. First, he arranges two sheets of paper in front of him, then begins while still seated.

“Mr Matthias, the prosecutor has questioned you extensively about why you did not contact a veterinarian. I would therefore like to look at the situation from your perspective at the time. Did you have the impression that you were standing before an animal that could wait several hours for help?”

“No.”

“What was your impression?”

“That it had to end immediately.”

“Why?”

“Because he was suffering.”

“Did you want to cause Schmotzer pain?”

“No.”

“Did you want him to remain alive for as long as possible even though you believed he was suffering?”

“No.”

“What did you want?”

“For it to be over quickly.”

The prosecutor makes a note.

The defence lawyer asks about Matthias’s experience with livestock and with the captive-bolt device. He tries to establish that his client did not simply invent the idea that such a device could render an animal immediately unconscious.

The presiding judge allows the questions.

Then he returns to the movements after the shot.

“You said you believed they were reflexes. Why?”

Matthias explains what he believed at the time.

“Did you have the impression at that point that Schmotzer was still aware of what was happening?”

“No.”

“Did you therefore believe that the subsequent actions were causing him additional conscious pain?”

“No.”

“Then why were they carried out?”

“To make sure it was really over.”

The defence lawyer nods.

Another interpretation of the same actions is now before the court. The prosecutor has asked why further violence was necessary if Matthias believed the cat to be unconscious. The defence argues that the very intention of ensuring death may explain why further action was taken.

Which interpretation is correct will not be decided by whichever one sounds better.

That is why the expert witness is needed.

One Question from the Presiding Judge

The defence lawyer is about to finish his questioning when the presiding judge raises a hand slightly.

“One more thing, Mr Matthias.”

He looks at her.

“You have said several times that you wanted it to be over quickly.”

“Yes.”

“Was that also why no veterinarian was contacted? Because you believed that any delay would prolong the animal’s suffering?”

Matthias initially nods, then says:

“Yes.”

The presiding judge looks down at her papers.

“Then I want to understand this precisely. On that day, did you actually weigh two alternatives – veterinary assistance, with the possibility of delay, on the one hand, and immediate killing on the other?”

Matthias opens his mouth but does not speak at first.

“Or did you not think about a veterinarian at all?”

The two answers sound similar.

They are not.

Matthias looks down at the table.

“We didn’t really think about it.”

The presiding judge writes something down.

That brings his initial examination to an end.

Nothing has yet been proved beyond his own testimony. The court does not know whether Schmotzer actually had the injuries Matthias has described. It does not know whether the captive bolt produced the effect Matthias assumed. It does not know whether the movements were reflexes. Nor does it yet know whether the other three defendants will confirm his account.

But one thing now stands before the court in his own words: according to Matthias, the decision to kill Schmotzer was made within a matter of minutes. None of those involved had veterinary training. Professional assistance was not contacted and, according to his final answer, was not seriously considered as an alternative.

The presiding judge looks towards the next defendant.

In this story, his name is Lukas.

Before she asks her first question, Lukas glances across at Matthias.

Then his examination begins.

Lukas

Lukas is already sitting a little more upright when the presiding judge calls his name. Unlike Matthias, he has heard the entire examination of his co-defendant. He knows the questions that have been asked, and by now he also knows the points at which the judge becomes more precise when an answer begins to evade the issue.

As she did with Matthias, she reminds him that he is free to give evidence or remain silent. Lukas speaks briefly with his defence lawyer and then says that he wants to testify.

The presiding judge begins at the beginning again.

“When do you first see Schmotzer?”

Lukas describes the place and the situation. His account resembles Matthias’s, but not in every detail. He too says that the cat was already injured.

“What exactly do you see?”

Lukas answers more quickly than Matthias did. He describes the position of the animal’s body and says that, as he remembers it, Schmotzer was unable to stand normally. He speaks of a very poor general condition and says that it was immediately obvious to him that something was seriously wrong with the cat.

The presiding judge lets him finish.

“Did you see a specific injury?”

Lukas thinks.

“Not in a way that I could tell you today: exactly there was this or that injury.”

“Blood?”

“I think so.”

“Where?”

“I don’t remember.”

The presiding judge writes something down.

For the first time, the two accounts lie side by side. Both defendants speak of a seriously injured animal. But so far, neither has been able to identify a clear, specific injury from which it could immediately be concluded why, in their view, Schmotzer could no longer be saved.

That does not yet mean anything.

Memories fade. People describe situations differently. A serious internal injury does not necessarily have to be clearly visible from the outside. That is precisely why the presiding judge refrains from drawing any conclusions.

“Who is the first person to say that Schmotzer should be killed?”

Lukas gives a name.

It is the same one Matthias gave.

For the first time, two statements agree on a point that goes beyond a general recollection.

The presiding judge continues.

“What was said?”

Lukas remembers the meaning, but not every word. The cat was suffering. They could not simply leave him lying there. Someone had said that it had to be ended.

“Did anyone object?”

“No.”

“Did you object?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Lukas glances towards his defence lawyer.

“Because I thought it was better too.”

“Better for whom?”

The question comes quietly.

Lukas answers just as quietly.

“For the cat.”

The presiding judge barely nods.

“How did you know that death was better for the cat than treatment?”

Lukas is silent.

When the answer finally comes, it resembles Matthias’s.

“Because he looked so bad.”

“Did anyone assess the cat’s condition professionally?”

“No.”

“Did anyone try to contact a veterinarian?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because we assumed there was no point anymore.”

The presiding judge looks down at her papers for a moment.

“Mr Lukas, did you personally think about calling a veterinarian?”

“No.”

The same distinction now stands before the court in his case as well: there was no conscious weighing of veterinary treatment against immediate killing. According to his own account, the decision arose from the group’s shared perception of the animal’s condition.

Whether that perception was correct, the court still does not know.

Who Does What?

The presiding judge now leaves the collective decision behind and begins examining Lukas’s own role.

“What do you do after it has been decided that Schmotzer is to be killed?”

Lukas describes the sequence.

According to his account, he does not fetch the captive-bolt device. Nor does he operate it. While Matthias prepares the device, Lukas remains close by.

“Do you hold Schmotzer?”

Lukas answers.

The presiding judge asks about his hands, the position of the animal’s body, who is immediately beside the cat and who is standing further away.

Suddenly, the case is about small details.

But these small details determine whether four people once again become four individual contributions.

“What is Simon doing at that moment?”

Lukas describes it.

“And Daniel?”

He answers that too.

“Who is filming?”

Lukas gives a name.

The presiding judge briefly looks towards the defendant concerned. His expression does not visibly change.

“Do you know why it is being filmed?”

“No.”

“Did you ask?”

“No.”

“Did anyone say that it should be filmed?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Were you aware that the camera was running?”

“Yes.”

“From when?”

“Pretty early on.”

His recollection differs slightly from Matthias’s. Matthias was uncertain about when he first noticed the camera. Lukas now says that he knew quite early that a recording was being made.

The presiding judge does not comment on the difference. She records it.

Later, the video itself may show what happens in front of the camera. Whether it can reveal the exact moment when each defendant becomes aware of the recording is another question entirely.

After the Shot

“What happens after the captive-bolt device is fired?”

Lukas glances briefly towards the wall where the black screen hangs.

“The cat moves.”

“How?”

He describes the movements differently from Matthias. Not fundamentally differently, but in different words. He speaks of strong twitching and movement of the legs.

“What do you think at that moment?”

“That they are reflexes.”

The presiding judge looks up.

“Where does that assessment come from?”

“Because Matthias said that something like that can happen.”

For the first time that morning, new information enters the proceedings.

The presiding judge leans forward slightly.

“When did Matthias say that?”

Lukas thinks.

“I think after the shot.”

“After Schmotzer started moving?”

“Yes.”

“Not before?”

“I don’t think so.”

The presiding judge writes for longer than before.

If Lukas’s memory is correct, the explanation that the movements were reflexes did not necessarily arise from knowledge all of them already possessed. It may only have been given after the shot, once the movements were already visible.

That does not prove the explanation was wrong. An explanation given afterwards can still be medically correct. But it changes the question of what the defendants were actually relying on in those seconds.

“Did you believe that Schmotzer was still conscious at that point?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because of the captive bolt.”

The same answer Matthias gave.

“Did you personally check whether the animal was unconscious?”

“No.”

“Did anyone check?”

Lukas thinks.

“Not that I know of.”

The presiding judge now comes to the shovel blows.

“Who takes the shovel?”

Lukas gives a name.

She asks about the first blow, the further blows and what is said while they are happening.

When it comes to the number of blows, Lukas becomes uncertain.

“Several.”

“How many?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Two? Five? Ten?”

“I can’t say.”

The presiding judge accepts the limit of his memory.

“Did you strike him yourself?”

Lukas answers clearly.

She records the answer and moves on.

“Why was he struck?”

“So that it would be over.”

“Who said that?”

“It was just obvious.”

“No, Mr Lukas. What I want to know is whether somebody actually said something.”

He thinks again.

Now he remembers a sentence.

Not completely. Perhaps only in substance.

But he gives it.

One of the defence lawyers immediately looks up.

The prosecutor writes.

The presiding judge asks who is supposed to have said it. Lukas attributes the statement to one of the other defendants.

Nothing is made of it yet.

Because a memory is not the same as a proven quotation.

Later, the audio track will be heard.

The Prosecutor Tests the Difference

When the presiding judge finishes her questions, the prosecutor is given the floor.

She begins exactly where Lukas’s account differs from that of the first defendant.

“Mr Lukas, have I understood you correctly: you heard the explanation that the movements after the captive bolt were reflexes from Matthias?”

“Yes.”

“And only after the animal had started moving?”

“That is how I remember it.”

The prosecutor glances briefly at Matthias, then back at Lukas.

“Before that, did you have any knowledge of your own about how an animal might move after being struck with a captive-bolt device?”

“No.”

“Had you ever previously seen a cat killed with such a device?”

“No.”

“Had you ever seen a cat treated with such a device at all?”

“No.”

“So at that moment, you did not know from your own experience whether those movements were reflexes.”

Lukas’s defence lawyer raises his hand.

“My client does not need to be an expert in order to trust an explanation given by someone else.”

The presiding judge looks towards the prosecutor.

“The point has been established. No argumentative summary in the question.”

The prosecutor nods.

“Mr Lukas, did the movements frighten you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I wasn’t expecting them.”

“What did you think when you saw them?”

Lukas is silent.

“That maybe something had gone wrong?”

His lawyer reacts immediately.

“Leading.”

The presiding judge agrees.

“The question will not be answered. Madam Prosecutor, phrase it openly.”

“What did you think?”

Lukas looks down at his hands.

“That I didn’t know what was happening.”

The answer does not visibly change the atmosphere in the courtroom.

But it changes something in the sequence.

So far, both defendants have said that after the shot they assumed Schmotzer was unconscious. Lukas now also says that immediately after seeing the movements, he did not know what was happening.

The two things do not necessarily contradict each other. A person can be uncertain for a few seconds and then accept an explanation.

But transitions like that are exactly what interest the prosecutor.

“How long is it before someone says they are reflexes?”

“No idea. Maybe seconds.”

“And what happens during those seconds?”

Lukas describes it.

The prosecutor lets him tell it fully.

Then she moves to another question.

“If you did not know what was happening at that moment, why did you not ask everyone to stop first?”

Lukas looks at her.

“Because it had to happen quickly.”

“Why?”

“So that he wouldn’t suffer.”

“But at that moment you did not know whether he was still suffering.”

The defence lawyer intervenes.

So does the presiding judge.

“Madam Prosecutor, that is something the expert will have to address. The defendant can only describe his perception at the time.”

“Of course.”

The prosecutor accepts the correction and moves on to the knife.

The Final Step

“Who decides that the throat should be cut?”

Lukas names another participant.

It is not the same person he named in connection with the original decision to kill the cat.

The presiding judge looks up from her notes.

The prosecutor asks why another step appeared necessary if they were already assuming unconsciousness after the captive bolt and approaching death after the blows.

Lukas says they wanted to make sure.

“How would you have known that the cat was already dead?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Did anyone check whether he was still breathing?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Heartbeat?”

“No.”

“Pupils?”

“No.”

“So according to your recollection, the cut was not made because you had established that the animal was still alive, but in order to make sure that he died.”

Lukas’s defence lawyer raises his hand again.

“That is the prosecutor’s interpretation.”

The presiding judge looks towards Lukas.

“Mr Lukas, explain in your own words why the cut was made.”

“So that we could be certain it was really over.”

The prosecutor nods.

This time, she writes nothing.

“No further questions.”

His Own Defence Lawyer

Lukas’s defence lawyer takes over.

He first tries to put the uncertainties in his client’s testimony into context. More than a year has passed. No one, he says, can expect a person to reconstruct every second of a brief and chaotic event word for word.

Then he asks about the central motive.

“Mr Lukas, did you ever want to see Schmotzer suffer?”

“No.”

“Did you do anything in order to prolong his suffering?”

“No.”

“Why did you not stop the killing?”

“Because I thought it was the right thing.”

“Right in what sense?”

“That we were helping him.”

The lawyer lets the answer stand for a moment.

Then he asks about Lukas’s age, his experience with situations like this and whether he regarded the decisions of the older participants as reliable.

Lukas confirms that he did.

“When Matthias told you that the movements were reflexes, did you have any reason at that moment not to believe him?”

“No.”

The prosecutor raises her hand.

“Madam Presiding Judge, that presupposes that it has been established that Matthias possessed some particular expertise for that assessment.”

The defence lawyer shakes his head.

“No. I am asking about my client’s trust, not the objective correctness of the explanation.”

The presiding judge allows the question.

Lukas repeats that he had no reason to doubt it.

And with that, a possible exculpatory explanation is now before the court as well. A person can be mistaken without acting intentionally. A younger participant may trust the explanation of someone older, even if that explanation later proves to be wrong.

Whether that is what happened here, the court does not yet know.

Two Statements

When Lukas’s examination ends, two complete accounts now lie side by side.

They resemble one another in many respects. Both defendants say that Schmotzer was already seriously injured when they found him. Both say that they wanted to end his suffering. Both confirm that no veterinarian was contacted and that no other option was seriously considered. Both assume that Schmotzer was unconscious after the captive bolt was fired.

But there are also the first differences.

Matthias describes his assumption that the movements were reflexes as his own understanding of what was happening. Lukas remembers hearing that explanation from Matthias only after the shot. He also says that for several seconds after the movements began, he did not know what was happening.

None of these differences decides anything yet.

Perhaps they will disappear later.

Perhaps they will become more significant.

Perhaps the video will show something that supports both memories.

Perhaps it will show something else.

The screen remains black.

The presiding judge looks towards the third defendant.

In this story, his name is Daniel.

And before asking him to give evidence, she rearranges the papers in front of her.

Because one examination has now become two.

And from two stories, a comparison is slowly beginning to emerge.

Daniel

Daniel has shown little reaction during the first two examinations. He has listened as Matthias described the decision to kill Schmotzer and as Lukas spoke about the movements after the captive bolt was fired. From time to time he has exchanged a few quiet words with his defence lawyer. Now the presiding judge calls his name.

Daniel too is reminded that he does not have to give evidence. After a brief consultation with his lawyer, he decides that he will.

The presiding judge begins where she began with the others.

“Please describe the moment when you first saw Schmotzer.”

Daniel talks about the cat and about his condition. In his memory too, the animal is already seriously injured. Schmotzer looked bad, he says, barely moved and gave him the impression of being in considerable pain.

“What injuries did you see?”

At first, Daniel names none.

The presiding judge becomes more precise.

“You say the cat was seriously injured. What did you actually see with your own eyes that led you to that conclusion?”

“The way he was lying there. The way he moved.”

“I am asking about injuries.”

Daniel thinks.

“I can’t tell you today exactly where any particular injury was.”

The presiding judge glances at the notes she has already made.

Three defendants have now described Schmotzer as seriously injured. So far, none of them has been able to identify a concrete injury so clearly that the cat’s condition could be reconstructed from that description alone.

That may be because so much time has passed. It may be because the injuries were not clearly visible. There may be other reasons.

The court does not yet know which explanation is correct.

“Did you see blood?”

“Yes.”

This time the answer comes quickly.

“Where?”

Daniel hesitates.

“On the head, I think.”

The presiding judge looks up.

“You think?”

“I know there was blood. I just can’t say exactly where anymore.”

For the first time, Daniel has given a slightly more specific description than the two defendants before him.

The presiding judge notes it.

“Did you touch or examine the cat?”

“No.”

“Did anyone examine him?”

“Not properly.”

“What does ‘not properly’ mean?”

“People looked at him.”

“Did anyone try to establish where the blood was coming from?”

Daniel thinks.

“Not that I remember.”

A Decision Already Made

The presiding judge comes to the question of who first suggests killing the cat.

Daniel gives the same name as Matthias and Lukas.

Three statements now agree on that point.

“What was said?”

“That he had to be put out of his suffering.”

“Those exact words?”

“Something like that.”

“And what did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Why not?”

Daniel looks at the presiding judge.

“Because I thought it was better too.”

“Did you personally suggest contacting a veterinarian?”

“No.”

“Do you remember anyone else suggesting it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Daniel takes longer to answer.

“Because we didn’t think anyone could help him anymore.”

This time, the presiding judge does not immediately ask what that assessment was based on. She has already asked that question twice without the court getting much further.

Instead, she tries something else.

“Mr Daniel, please do not think about what you know today. Try to put yourself back into that moment. You see an injured cat. What happens next?”

Daniel closes his eyes briefly.

“We talk about it.”

“About what?”

“What we should do.”

“What possibilities are mentioned?”

Daniel opens his eyes again.

“Basically only that we should end his suffering.”

The presiding judge waits.

“So according to your recollection, there was no real discussion about whether Schmotzer should be killed?”

“Not really.”

“Only about how?”

Daniel’s defence lawyer raises his hand.

“My client did not say that.”

The presiding judge nods. “Correct. That is why I am asking.”

She looks back at Daniel.

“Had the decision to kill the cat already been made before the captive-bolt device was discussed?”

“Yes.”

The sequence is becoming more defined.

According to the statements given so far, the four men find an injured cat and, within a short period of time, decide that he should die. No veterinary assessment is obtained, and treatment is not investigated. Only afterwards does the question arise of how the killing is to be carried out.

Whether that decision was understandable, mistaken or criminally relevant in view of Schmotzer’s actual condition has not yet been answered.

But the order of events is becoming clearer.

The Captive-Bolt Device

“Who brings the device?”

Daniel answers.

“Do you go with him?”

“No.”

“What do you do while that is happening?”

“I stay with the others.”

“With Schmotzer?”

“Yes.”

“What is the cat doing?”

Daniel describes movements.

The presiding judge becomes attentive.

“This is before the captive bolt is fired?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of movements?”

“He moved. His legs.”

“Did he try to stand?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he move his head?”

Daniel thinks.

“Possibly.”

The presiding judge puts down her pen.

This is new.

So far, the defendants have mainly spoken in general terms about Schmotzer’s condition. Daniel is now the first to describe more specifically what the cat may have been doing before the device was used.

“Did Schmotzer react to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“If someone approached or touched him, did his behaviour change?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Did he make any sounds?”

Daniel looks towards his defence lawyer, then back to the presiding judge.

“I think so.”

The prosecutor begins writing.

“What kind of sounds?”

“I can’t describe them.”

The presiding judge does not press him further. Not because the answer is unimportant, but because Daniel has reached the limit of his recollection.

Whether Schmotzer actually made sounds does not become an established fact simply because Daniel now believes that he did.

Daniel’s Role

The presiding judge now comes to the point that must be answered differently for each defendant.

“What do you do when Matthias returns with the captive-bolt device?”

Daniel describes his position.

“Do you hold Schmotzer?”

He answers.

“Do you operate the device?”

“No.”

“Do you take the shovel?”

“No.”

“The knife?”

“No.”

“Do you film?”

Daniel answers that as well.

His defence lawyer has barely intervened so far. Now he leans back slightly. The line of his defence is becoming visible: Daniel does not deny being present, but according to his account the directly lethal acts were carried out by others.

The presiding judge does not leave it there.

“Did you at any point tell anyone to stop?”

“No.”

“Did you try to prevent any of the actions?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I thought we were doing the right thing.”

“What did you personally contribute?”

Daniel does not immediately understand.

“To what?”

“To what happened to Schmotzer.”

“I was there.”

“I know that. What did you do?”

Daniel looks towards his defence lawyer.

The lawyer says nothing.

“Not much.”

“What does ‘not much’ mean?”

The presiding judge waits for a concrete answer.

Daniel eventually describes his own role.

It is smaller than Matthias’s. At least according to his account.

But it is not automatically irrelevant.

What Daniel Sees After the Shot

The presiding judge comes to the moment the device is fired.

“Did you expect Schmotzer to move afterwards?”

“No.”

That distinguishes Daniel’s starting point from the way Matthias later described his own understanding of the situation.

“What did you think when it happened?”

“I was startled.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought it would be over immediately.”

“What did you do?”

Daniel describes the next few seconds.

He says that people spoke. Someone explained that the movements were reflexes.

“Who?”

Daniel names Matthias.

That confirms Lukas on this point.

The presiding judge asks about the timing.

“Immediately afterwards.”

“Had you known beforehand that such movements could occur?”

“No.”

“Did you believe Matthias?”

“Yes.”

“Immediately?”

Daniel hesitates.

“I didn’t know anything about it myself.”

The presiding judge lets the answer stand.

“Why was the shovel used then?”

“Because it didn’t stop.”

“What didn’t stop?”

“The movements.”

“And if you believed they were reflexes, why did the movements need to be stopped?”

Daniel is silent.

The question is familiar by now. But with each defendant it produces a slightly different answer.

“Because it looked terrible.”

The presiding judge looks up.

“For whom?”

Daniel immediately understands what she means.

“For us.”

There is silence.

Not for long. Perhaps two seconds.

But the answer is different from those before it.

The presiding judge continues very calmly.

“Was the next action therefore necessary to end Schmotzer’s suffering, or because the movements were difficult for you to watch?”

Daniel’s defence lawyer intervenes.

“That is an alternative my client has not himself set up.”

The presiding judge partly agrees.

“Mr Daniel should explain it in his own words.”

Daniel tries.

They believed the animal could no longer feel anything. At the same time, the movements suggested to them that something more had to be done. Nobody wanted it to drag on.

“But you did not know whether Schmotzer could still feel anything.”

“No.”

“And you did not know whether the movements were reflexes.”

“Matthias said they were.”

“I am asking whether you knew.”

Daniel shakes his head.

“No.”

The Prosecutor Hears One Word

When she is given the right to ask questions, the prosecutor does not begin with the injuries or the failure to contact a veterinarian.

“Mr Daniel, you have just said: the movements looked terrible for us.”

Daniel nods cautiously.

“Why did you put it that way?”

“Because it was terrible.”

“I want to distinguish very precisely. Was your thought at that moment: the animal is suffering? Or was your thought: I cannot bear to watch these movements?”

“Both, maybe.”

“But you had just said that you believed Matthias when he said Schmotzer was unconscious.”

“Yes.”

“So at the same time you believed that Schmotzer was no longer aware of anything.”

“Yes.”

The prosecutor shifts slightly closer to her table without leaving her place.

“Then please explain why you believed further violence was necessary for Schmotzer.”

The defence lawyer raises his hand.

The presiding judge nevertheless allows Daniel to answer because the question is now directed at what he believed at the time.

“To make sure he was really dead.”

“Why did he have to be really dead at that exact moment if you believed he was unconscious and no longer capable of feeling anything?”

Daniel looks at the prosecutor.

Then down at the table.

“Because we wanted to finish it.”

The prosecutor says nothing at first.

She writes the sentence down.

Daniel’s defence lawyer does the same.

Another Interpretation

When he is given the right to ask questions, Daniel’s defence lawyer does not try to make the sentence disappear.

He puts it into another context.

“What do you mean by ‘finish it’?”

“So that the cat wouldn’t wake up again and then be in pain after all.”

“So not: we had started something and wanted to complete it?”

“No.”

“But: you wanted to prevent a possibly unconscious cat from regaining consciousness?”

“Yes.”

“Were you afraid that could happen?”

“Yes.”

The prosecutor listens closely.

The defence has given the same sentence a completely different meaning. What might sound like a desire to complete an act becomes concern that an incomplete killing could result in renewed suffering later.

Both interpretations are possible.

Neither has yet been proved.

That is exactly why this trial exists.

One Sentence, Two Meanings

The presiding judge asks one final question.

“Mr Daniel, if at that moment you were concerned that Schmotzer might regain consciousness, does that not mean that you yourself had doubts about whether the captive bolt had produced a final effect?”

Daniel’s defence lawyer starts to move, then remains seated.

Daniel thinks for a long time.

“Yes. Maybe.”

“Maybe today, or maybe at the time?”

Daniel understands the distinction.

“At the time.”

The presiding judge records the answer.

That brings his examination, for now, to an end.

Three defendants have now testified. Their accounts agree on essential points: according to their perception, they find a seriously injured cat, decide within a short period of time to kill him, do not contact a veterinarian and use a captive-bolt device. After it is fired, movements occur that at least Lukas and Daniel say they had not expected. Both remember Matthias explaining those movements afterwards as reflexes.

But for the first time, doubt has also entered the record.

Daniel says that at the time he considered it possible that Schmotzer might regain consciousness.

That may explain why further measures were taken.

But it may also open another question: what did those involved actually know about the cat’s condition during those seconds?

The answer may not lie in their memories.

The screen on the wall is still black.

The presiding judge looks towards the final defendant.

Three stories have been told.

One remains.

Simon

Simon is the last.

For almost the entire morning, he has listened as the other three defendants have pieced together the same event from their memories. He has heard Matthias describe the decision to end Schmotzer’s suffering, Lukas speak about the movements after the captive bolt was fired, and Daniel finally admit that at the time he was not certain whether the cat might regain consciousness.

Now it is his turn.

The presiding judge also reminds him of his right not to give evidence. Simon speaks briefly with his defence lawyer. Their exchange lasts longer than it did with the others. Finally, he turns forward again.

“I want to testify.”

The presiding judge nods.

“Then we will begin with you where Schmotzer enters this story for you. When do you first see the cat?”

Simon describes the place. He explains who is there and where he himself is standing. In his memory too, Schmotzer is already lying on the ground.

“What does the animal look like?”

“Bad.”

“What does ‘bad’ mean?”

Simon thinks.

“Injured. Finished, somehow.”

The presiding judge has encountered this problem several times already. She does not ask for an assessment. She asks for an observation.

“What do you see?”

Simon describes the cat. He remembers movements, the position of the body and the fact that the animal does not stand up normally.

“Do you see blood?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“On his head.”

The presiding judge looks up.

Daniel also spoke of blood and, though uncertainly, placed it in the head area. Simon is more definite on this point.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell where the blood is coming from?”

“No.”

“Do you see an open wound?”

Simon thinks.

“I don’t remember.”

His memory is therefore more precise and limited at the same time. Two defendants now speak of blood on the head. The court still does not know where it came from or what medical significance it had.

“Do you touch Schmotzer?”

“Yes.”

The presiding judge looks at her notes.

“When?”

Simon describes the moment.

Now his role becomes more concrete.

Hands on the Animal

According to his account, Simon is closer to the cat than Daniel. The presiding judge has him explain exactly how he approaches the animal and what he does.

“Do you hold Schmotzer?”

“Yes.”

The answer comes without hesitation.

“When?”

“When the device is used.”

For the first time that morning, a role is clearly identified that involves neither the captive-bolt device, nor the shovel, nor the knife, yet is still directly connected with what happens.

The presiding judge asks further questions.

“Why do you hold him?”

“So that he doesn’t move.”

“Who asks you to?”

Simon gives a name.

“Or do you do it on your own initiative?”

“He told me to hold him.”

“How do you hold him?”

At first, Simon demonstrates with his hands.

The presiding judge stops him.

“Please describe it in words as well. The record cannot later read your hand movements.”

Simon describes the position of his hands and the cat’s body. The presiding judge asks about the head, the front of the body and the legs. She wants to know how tightly he holds the animal and whether Schmotzer tries to escape his grip.

“He moved.”

“In what way?”

“I think he wanted to get away.”

The prosecutor immediately looks up.

So does the presiding judge.

“Mr Simon, that is important. Do you know that he wanted to get away, or are you interpreting a movement that way today?”

Simon thinks.

“I can’t say for certain.”

“Then let us stay with what you actually perceived.”

“He moved while I was holding him.”

“Strongly?”

“Not especially.”

“Did he react to your touch?”

Simon thinks for longer.

“I think so.”

The presiding judge writes.

There is now another observation from the period before the captive bolt was fired. Daniel remembers movements and possibly sounds. Simon describes a reaction while he was holding the cat.

Whether consciousness, pain perception or the severity of the injury can be inferred from that is not for this defendant to decide.

An expert witness will have to address it.

Who Makes the Decision?

The presiding judge goes back several minutes.

“Who first says that Schmotzer should be killed?”

Simon gives the same name as all three defendants before him.

All four now agree on that point.

“What exactly is said?”

Simon remembers a sentence, or at least believes he does.

He repeats it.

The wording differs from the memories already given, but not the meaning: Schmotzer was so badly injured that he had to be put out of his suffering.

“What do you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I could see the way he was lying there too.”

“Do you think about a veterinarian?”

Simon is silent.

“Yes.”

The answer comes unexpectedly.

The presiding judge looks at him.

None of the previous three defendants has said that veterinary treatment was even specifically considered.

“When?”

“When we saw him.”

“What did you think?”

“That maybe we should call someone.”

“Did you say that?”

Simon looks towards his defence lawyer.

“I don’t remember.”

“You remember thinking it, but not whether you said it?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did no one call?”

“Because the others said it wouldn’t help anymore.”

Now it is not only the prosecutor who begins writing. Two defence lawyers reach for their pens at the same time.

The presiding judge becomes more precise.

“Who are ‘the others’?”

Simon names two people.

“What did they say?”

“That the cat was too badly injured and that we shouldn’t let him suffer any longer.”

“Which of them said what?”

Simon tries to separate the remarks. He is more certain about one sentence than another.

The presiding judge does not allow him to guess.

“If you cannot attribute it with certainty, say so.”

“Then I can’t say for sure.”

“Good.”

It is only a small word, but perhaps one of the most important spoken that morning. Not knowing is not a weakness in this courtroom. It is better than a memory that first comes into existence during questioning.

The Prosecutor Pays Attention

The presiding judge is not finished yet.

“Why did you follow the others’ assessment?”

“Because they knew more about it.”

“More about what?”

“Animals.”

“Who?”

Simon names the people he believed had more experience.

“What kind of experience?”

He explains what he knows.

The presiding judge does not pursue details that can later be verified. What matters for the moment is Simon’s perception at the time: he considered other members of the group more experienced and relied on their judgement.

“So you thought about professional help, but then followed the opinion of the others that it would no longer be useful.”

“Yes.”

“Were you convinced?”

Simon hesitates.

“I thought so.”

“That is not quite the same thing.”

His defence lawyer moves slightly.

The presiding judge rephrases the question.

“Did you still have doubts at the time?”

Simon looks down at the table.

“Maybe.”

The word is spoken quietly, but the prosecutor hears it.

“What were you uncertain about?”

“Whether we should really do it.”

The presiding judge waits.

“And what happened to that doubt?”

Simon raises his shoulders slightly.

“We did it.”

Seconds Before the Shot

His memory now approaches the moment when he holds Schmotzer.

“You had doubts, and yet you still held the animal for the captive bolt.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because the decision had been made.”

The presiding judge looks at him.

“By whom?”

Simon does not name a single person.

“By us.”

“Including you?”

He needs a moment.

“Yes.”

With that, Simon expressly accepts a share in the decision while at the same time describing doubts about it.

The two things can exist together.

People do not always act only after every doubt has disappeared.

“What do you know about the captive-bolt device?”

“Not much.”

“Had you ever seen a cat killed with one before?”

“No.”

“Did you know where it had to be positioned?”

“No.”

“Did you know what effect it was supposed to have if used correctly?”

“That the animal would be gone immediately.”

“What does ‘gone’ mean?”

“Unconscious.”

“How did you know that?”

“That’s what was said.”

“By whom?”

Simon names Matthias.

Another connection now appears between the accounts. According to the testimony given so far, Matthias is not only the person who uses the device. At least two co-defendants also rely on his assessment of its effect.

The presiding judge looks towards Matthias.

He remains still.

The Moment After

“The device is fired. What do you feel?”

Simon looks surprised.

The others were asked what they saw.

Simon is holding the cat.

“He moves.”

“You feel the movement in your hands?”

“Yes.”

“How strong is it?”

Simon searches for words.

“Stronger than before.”

“Do you let go?”

“I think briefly.”

“Why?”

“Because I was frightened.”

“What did you think?”

“That it hadn’t worked.”

Nothing visibly changes in the courtroom, yet the sentence seems to occupy more space than the answers before it.

The presiding judge immediately follows up.

“That is what you thought at that moment?”

“Yes.”

“Before anyone said anything about reflexes?”

“Yes.”

The prosecutor writes quickly.

“What happens next?”

Simon continues. Someone says that the movements are reflexes. In his memory, it is Matthias.

Simon and Daniel now confirm the sequence Lukas described: the movements begin, at least some of those present react with surprise, and only then comes the explanation that the movements are reflexes.

It is still not established whether that recollection matches the audio recording.

But three statements now point in the same direction.

“Did you believe the explanation?”

“I don’t know.”

“At the time.”

“I wanted to believe it.”

The presiding judge watches him for several seconds.

That is a different answer from those given by the others.

“Why did you want to believe it?”

Simon breathes in.

“Because the other possibility would have meant that he was still experiencing it.”

His defence lawyer lowers his eyes briefly towards his papers.

This time, the prosecutor does not write anything.

The Shovel

The presiding judge now asks what Simon does during the actions that follow. Where is he standing? Is he still touching Schmotzer? Who takes the shovel? Who strikes? What is said?

Simon answers as far as he remembers.

He pauses at one statement.

“What was said?”

“That someone should hit him again.”

The presiding judge asks for the exact wording.

Simon cannot reproduce it with certainty.

“Who says it?”

He gives a name.

One of the other defence lawyers immediately raises his hand.

“I would like it noted that we are dealing here with a memory more than a year after the event and that the recording itself has not yet been introduced into evidence.”

The presiding judge nods.

“That is correct. We are treating this as this defendant’s statement, not as already established content of the audio recording.”

Then she turns back to Simon.

“How did you feel about the situation at that point?”

“Terrible.”

“Why did you stay?”

Simon does not answer immediately.

“I don’t know.”

“Could you have left?”

“Yes.”

“Could you have told them to stop?”

“Yes.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

The presiding judge leaves it there.

The Prosecutor Asks About the Doubt

When she is given the floor, the prosecutor does not initially need her file.

“Mr Simon, you are the first defendant to tell us that you thought about a veterinarian.”

“Yes.”

“You are also the first to say that you had doubts about whether Schmotzer should be killed at all.”

“Yes.”

“And immediately after the captive bolt was fired, you thought the device might not have worked.”

“Yes.”

“Nevertheless, you helped hold the animal.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I already explained that.”

“You said that the decision had been made. I want to know why your own doubts carried less weight for you than that decision.”

Simon’s defence lawyer listens carefully but does not intervene.

“Because the others were more certain.”

“Who?”

Simon names them again.

“So you trusted their judgement.”

“Yes.”

“Even though none of them was a veterinarian.”

“Yes.”

“Even though you yourself had thought about contacting one.”

“Yes.”

“And even though, after the captive bolt was fired, you thought it was possible that something had gone wrong.”

Simon becomes more restless.

“Yes.”

The prosecutor waits briefly.

“Then why did you not say: Stop?”

Simon looks at her.

“Because at that moment I didn’t know what was right.”

This time, the prosecutor writes the sentence down.

Then she asks something else.

“Who did know?”

Simon looks towards Matthias.

Only briefly.

But long enough for the presiding judge to notice.

“Please answer in words,” she says.

“I thought Matthias did.”

The Defence Draws a Line

Simon’s defence lawyer takes over and begins at precisely that point.

“Mr Simon, were you sixteen years old?”

“Yes.”

“How old were the others?”

Simon gives their ages.

“Did you have any experience killing injured cats?”

“No.”

“With captive-bolt devices?”

“No.”

“If older people whom you believed had more experience told you in that situation that an animal had to be put out of its suffering, how much weight did that carry for you?”

“A lot.”

“If those same people told you after the shot that the movements were reflexes, did you have any professional knowledge that would have allowed you to contradict them?”

“No.”

“So were your doubts knowledge that something wrong was happening?”

“No.”

“What were they?”

Simon thinks.

“A bad feeling.”

The defence lawyer nods.

“A bad feeling is not the same as knowledge.”

The prosecutor intervenes.

“And lack of knowledge is not a free pass.”

The presiding judge raises her hand before the exchange can develop.

“The legal assessment will be made at the end of the proceedings, not by the parties during questioning.”

Both fall silent.

Then the defence lawyer continues.

He asks Simon whether he wanted to cause Schmotzer pain. Simon says no. Whether he took pleasure in what was happening. Again, no. Whether he believed that by holding Schmotzer he was helping to make the killing happen quickly.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“So that it wouldn’t get even worse.”

The defence lawyer sits down.

Four Stories

The presiding judge looks at the time. The morning is long gone. Four defendants have now told their versions of what happened, and the longer the proceedings continue, the less the case resembles a single story.

On many points, their accounts agree. According to all four defendants, Schmotzer was already injured when they found him. Within a short period of time, they decided to kill him. No veterinarian was contacted. The captive-bolt device was fetched and used. Afterwards, the cat moved. Several defendants remember those movements being explained as reflexes. Further actions followed and ultimately ended with a cut to the throat.

But between those common lines lie differences.

One believes he understands what the movements mean. Others rely on him. One admits that he had doubts about whether the cat might regain consciousness. The youngest says he thought about calling a veterinarian and, immediately after the captive bolt was fired, believed the device might have failed. At the same time, he helped hold the animal.

Four people experienced the same event.

Already, they do not remember the same thing.

The presiding judge does not close her file yet. There are additional questions arising from the four statements. Some contradictions still have to be put to the defendants before the first day of the trial can end.

But she draws one boundary.

She looks towards the screen on the wall.

“We will not play the video recording today.”

Several heads turn in the same direction.

The screen remains black.

Before the images and audio are allowed to test the memories of the four defendants, their statements are to remain exactly as they have been given today.

They cannot yet adjust them to what the camera actually recorded.

And that is precisely why they matter now.

End of the First Day of the Trial

The presiding judge asks a number of additional questions, particularly where the accounts of the four men overlap or contradict one another. She asks about time intervals, individual statements, the order of certain actions and which perceptions come from the defendants’ own memories and which may have arisen later through conversations.

Not every uncertainty can be resolved.

The court does not expect that.

After several hours, one thing has become clear: memories are not video recordings. They change, they lose details, and they reorganise events afterwards. That is precisely why the statements are not discarded. They are recorded.

Later, they will have to be tested against other evidence.

The presiding judge looks once more at the four defendants.

“We will conclude the examinations for today.”

She gives the date for the continuation of the trial. On the next hearing day, the taking of evidence will begin. The video recording will be played, its audio track heard, and the veterinary expert will then be examined.

For the first time, the court will no longer merely hear people talk about what is said to have happened.

It will see and hear for itself what the camera recorded.

The presiding judge adjourns the hearing.

Chairs scrape across the floor, files are closed, defence lawyers lean towards their clients. One after another, the four defendants leave the courtroom.

The screen remains on the wall.

Black.

On the next day of the trial, it will become the most important witness in these proceedings.

Image Creation Note

The images accompanying this article were created with ChatGPT based on prompts written and directed by the author. The visual concepts, motifs and creative specifications originate from the author; ChatGPT was used as the image-generation tool to bring those ideas into visual form.

A Note on the English Edition

The English version of this article was created from the German original with the diligent assistance of ChatGPT. The aim was not merely to translate words, but to carry over the tone, cadence, tension and nuance of the original into natural, polished English.

The article itself, its ideas, structure and authorship remain entirely with the author. ChatGPT served as a linguistic assistant in shaping the English edition.