It is autumn. But not as in the cliché, gloomy and rainy - no. The warm evening air covers the gentle landscape like a blanket. The former Benedictine monastery of Malgarten stands out against the clear starry sky. In front of me, the small church tower stretches up into the air as if to greet the moon and the stars in person and congratulate them on their successful play of light. Enviously, the grave lights below in the small cemetery flicker in the next warm breeze. Even at the beginning of my week, Malgarten Monastery makes every effort to tell stories. Slowly and carefully I walk ahead. The strap of the heavy travel bag full of books and everything else needed for a week of writing workshop cuts into my shoulder. Step by step I approach the monastery door - the portal to a week full of experiences, full of impressions, full of literature. Hesitantly, I place my hand on the cool handle made of tarnished iron. It absorbs the warmth as if to welcome me. I step inside.

There is a lamp on the table. A black lacquered one like one might expect to find on an investigator's desk. A heavy, circular base holds a slender arm at the end of which a bowl-sized shade gives its socket to a bright light bulb. Unlike many of her other lamp companions, she has traveled extensively. A deep scratch testifies to her adventures. Life on a single table must have been too bland for her, so she set out. In her bright cone of light stretching across a wooden table, life-tanned hands hold a book: "The Diagrams of Death" is written on it. Slowly, fingers seek the bottom of the page, apply gentle pressure, then slap it across. The hands belong to the author of the book himself, who reads from his text in the glow of his adventurous lamp. His name is Petermann, Axel Petermann. Former head of the first homicide unit in Bremen, case analyst from the very beginning. A man who has had to face crime in his career. Had to? He not only had to, he wanted to. Why will remain his secret, but one thing is clear: he dedicated his life to dealing with the most serious breach of taboo - the crime against the life of another human being. The participants of the writing workshop listen spellbound, following the prologue of his crime novel. After that, Petermann takes his time. Time to let what he has read take effect. It is the scenic introduction to an evening in which he describes his life, how he went from conscientious objector to commissioner to author. He has brought photographs from his time as an investigator. Images that convey the imprint that crime leaves on the canvas of the everyday. Images that make you think and humble - and yet also arouse interest. Why does this particular situation show up at the crime scene, what caused a person to leave it like this? Petermann explains, describes, typifies the mainly male perpetrators and their behavior. Then he devotes himself to the questions of the audience. They are looking for answers, to understand what they have seen. And they look for advice to sharpen their crime projects on the edges of reality. A reality that Petermann has brought to them today.

A toy pug the size of a mouse stands on the table. Next to him is a small, brown notebook. A logo has been printed on it by hand in blue ink. An octopus entwines elegant letters: "Königsblau - Die Schreibwerkstatt der Friedel & Gisela Bohnenkamp-Stiftung". The little dog - he was christened Mopsi - has passed through many hands in the last few days. Hands of people who dedicated an entire week to writing. People who had intense conversations about their ideas, their language, their plot. Whoever held Mopsi or put it in front of them had their turn, gave new input on the content of the crime novel or read out their latest text. Today, however, it is not Mopsi who wanders around. It's the participants who come to him. To the front of the table where he is already waiting. They come forward for their first reading - their zero number.

Katharina takes heart, voluntarily she will make the beginning. She leaves her old seat and joins the little pug at the table set up in front of the U-shape. She settles in, then sits down and tells her story: a young woman who commits and covers up her crimes like a spider in a web. A detective named Cohen who is no match for her. A work of art, painted with her father's blood. Then Katharina recites a scene from this story - word for word. The others listen intently. At the end, she looks expectantly into the round, which rewards her zero number with the applause it deserves. Salima is next to go forward: in her story, a forensic case analyst hunts down a serial killer and becomes the target of the investigation herself....

And so each outlines her blood-red crime story, each proudly recites a scene: The stories lead from a small Westphalian village in 1966, to a lagoon city of the future, whose buildings are constructed from wooden wreckage. They deal with a deceased school principal whose case is uncovered by students; with a nouveau riche snob who, in a moment of weakness, commissions a murder and can't stop it. Of a young journalist who investigates the theater world after finding incriminating files. Of a podcaster who investigates a mysterious missing person case with her oddball grandpa. These are stories as varied and interesting as the women who wrote them. So exciting, in fact, that they're bound to find an audience larger than the day they hit zero.