Medieval Italy. Two clans locked in a feud to the death. In the end, it all ends in tragedy for the young members of the warring families — though the clans themselves remain unreconciled. That, roughly, is the plot of “Romeo and Juliet.” Strip away the tender age of young love and the corresponding characters, and you get Berlin, circa 2015. The eastern part of the city. A hotel belonging to one of two brothers who own competing hotels. The brothers once had a falling-out, and ever since, Berlin has watched two warring camps wage a long-running feud. But on the stage of this particular war stood not star-crossed lovers, but young men in hoodies. One of them became our client. Let’s take it from the beginning.
The Beginning
Timofey was born in Russia and attended school there through the eighth grade, after which his parents moved to Germany. German never quite clicked for Timofey, and school in general didn’t go much better. By the time he became the central figure in a high-profile criminal case, he was twenty-four years old, unemployed, and without any plans for the future. Like Piglet in “Winnie-the-Pooh,” he could have declared himself “completely free until Friday” — except that “Friday” would have been an indefinitely distant point in time. The Arbeitsamt (job center) funded Timofey’s carefree existence, and his extended childhood might have gone on forever, had it not been for that unfortunate evening in July.
Timofey wandered aimlessly around the city — drove out to the western part of Berlin, turned around, headed east. It was hot and dull. His empty gaze measured the space around him like a void in which any point could become the center. The sun had already tinted the panel facades of the buildings orange by the time Timofey noticed a parking lot in front of a supermarket.
Is there some technology for measuring human trajectories and synchronizing them in time, to understand how certain human encounters turn out to be either magical or, as in this case, tragic? You can never quite bring yourself to believe it was all simply chance. In the parking lot, Timofey found himself a Russian-speaking companion. A few minutes after meeting, the two young men sat down on the curb to mark the occasion — beer was for sale just ten steps away. Before long, the conversation turned to money. Timofey had none. His new companion, dressed in the same brand of tracksuit as Timofey, had money and was willing to share it — but not for free.
A hundred euros could soon find its way into the pockets of Timofey’s tracksuit bottoms. All he had to do was cross the street, walk into a hotel, and, “as a joke,” pour out a bottle of liquid. Once Timofey did that, his new friend promised to hand over the hundred euros. The money was tempting. From how the task was described, it sounded like it meant nothing and posed no danger whatsoever — just a joke, and cash in his pocket. Timofey agreed. His new companion pulled a one-liter plastic bottle out of a bag.
The Struggle
Timofey, glancing around from under a lowered head, the way people do when they’re afraid of drawing attention to themselves and, in doing so, attract every gaze in the room, walked toward the hotel. The awkwardness of being watched made him consider walking past and hiding in a courtyard instead — but the promised hundred euros and the fear of looking like a coward proved stronger. Timofey unscrewed the bottle cap. A sharp, rotten smell hit his nose. Timofey thought he understood the joke: pour out the liquid so it would stink. Clearly that was meant to be funny. His own cleverness at figuring this out cheered him up.
Walking into the hotel lobby, he stopped, thrown off by the staff’s attention: “What can we do for you?” Within three seconds, Timofey composed himself, managed a smile, and turned the bottle upside down. The liquid spilled onto the marble floor, spreading the stench of rotten eggs through the lobby. The male staff members lunged at Timofey. A moment later, knocked to the ground, he lay in the foul-smelling puddle, pinned to the floor by two burly men in white shirts. Timofey strained through the dim light to make out his wealthy prankster friend — it was already obvious the joke had gone wrong, and he needed some way out. But instead of his companion, Timofey clearly saw police officers — and even they, at that point, felt to him like rescuers. His hands, side, and leg ached unbearably. He spent his first night in the hospital. The liquid that had stunk “as a joke” turned out to be butyric acid.
The investigation lasted nearly a year and a half. Timofey turned out to be the prime suspect in a whole series of attacks on that same hotel. This was, in fact, far from the first “prank” committed within the walls of this refuge for travelers. Before our client’s case, the hotel had already survived acid attacks — someone had poured acid down its hallways and stairwells. Guests had to be evacuated, and carpets eaten away by the corrosive liquid had to be torn out. On another occasion, someone threw a firework bomb into the hotel, hurling it through the doors as they opened. Fortunately for the guests and staff, the second set of doors stayed closed, and no one suffered burns — but the exploding firecrackers destroyed glass doors, chandeliers, walls, and flooring. One can only imagine what the repairs cost.
For the investigation, the key questions were who had committed these crimes and who had ordered them. It was extraordinarily hard to picture attacks on a hotel as a form of youth entertainment. According to the available information, there were strong suspicions that what was happening to the hotel was actually a war between the two brothers who owned rival hotels — but one of the brothers’ involvement in the attacks still had to be proven somehow, which explains why the investigation took so long. It required surveillance of the suspects and wiretapping of phone conversations.
The investigation ultimately established that our client had taken part only in the single episode described above. Footage from the security cameras showed young men wearing hoodies, which made identification difficult — but based on a combination of factors, such as gait and body proportions, it became possible to conclude that Timofey had no involvement in the earlier attacks. Even so, taken together, the criminal code provisions he was charged with carried a potential sentence of up to ten years’ imprisonment. The case was referred to trial.
The Trial
Attempted grievous bodily harm — §224 StGB, negligent bodily harm — §229 StGB, causing property damage — §303 StGB — this was the set of charges brought against our client. The public prosecutor’s office charged “negligent bodily harm” because one of the hotel staff had stepped in the spilled acid while restraining Timofey — the acid ate through his shoe and caused a minor burn to his toe. That same evening, several hotel guests also complained of feeling unwell, which was attributed to acid fumes spreading through the building. A carpet was ruined by the acid, and at trial the injured party even claimed that part of the marble floor had been damaged. The perpetrator of the first acid attack on the hotel and the firework-bomb incident was also identified during the investigation and stood trial as a co-defendant. Whoever had ordered the attacks, however, was never identified.
Our firm’s lawyers set out to minimize the punishment facing our client. In his closing argument, our lawyer emphasized that the defendant had had no intent whatsoever to cause bodily harm to anyone — the liquid had been clear, poured into an unmarked plastic bottle, and he had no way of assessing how dangerous it was. What’s more, the man who had asked Timofey to carry out the “task” had assured him it was harmless. The lawyer also had to convince the court that his client’s personality traits placed him outside the logic of premeditated behavior. It was necessary to have the most serious charge on the list dismissed — but a conviction for “negligent bodily harm” could not be avoided.
The second prong of our counterattack targeted the property-damage charge. German law does not have an offense for causing property damage through negligence.
If you accidentally break a Ming-dynasty vase, you’re not at fault — but if you deliberately knock it off the table, that’s a different matter. As for the ruined carpet, it turned out that the damage it sustained most likely resulted from circumstances entirely beyond our client’s control. Timofey had spilled the acid on the marble floor, well short of the carpet — meaning the liquid must have been tracked onto it later by hotel staff or the police on the soles of their shoes. As for the discolored patch on the marble floor, hotel staff couldn’t even recall whether it had appeared after the first acid attack or the second.
The prosecutor pressed for Timofey’s guilt on all three counts, but, given that he had himself suffered the most from his own actions, asked the court for a two-year suspended prison sentence.
On paper, given that our client was unemployed, a suspended sentence might have looked like an ideal resolution. But foreseeing the risk that, over the following two years, Timofey might fall in with more criminal company and end up serving an actual sentence, we decided to press instead for a fine — seventy day-fines (Tagessätze) of ten euros each.
Our lawyer’s arguments — pointing to the circumstances of our client’s life, his cooperation with the investigation, and his efforts to find work and put his life in order — achieved their goal. The court sentenced Timofey to sixty day-fines of ten euros each. A fine of six hundred euros amounted, for Timofey, to something close to an acquittal. Leaving the courtroom, he swore he would find work and turn his life around. Let’s hope he did. What is clear to us is that, without professional legal help, prison was a very real prospect for Timofey.
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