Please allow me to introduce myself, my name is Erik Beken and I am a friend of Mr. Yohst. I will be reporting here on a more or less regular basis.
The other day I read the eyewitness account in the paper and I knew it wouldn't be long before the police would come knocking on my door.
They barged in, waving a search warrant, and tore up the place. No sign of Mr. Johst, of course. I could have told them that at the door, but they wouldn't listen.
One particularly big and nasty policewoman had me up against the wall and breathed in my face.
'Where is he, Mr. Beken? Where is your friend?'
At first I tried to deny I knew him, well... at least not very well, anyway, I mean, he is just an acquaintance, but then she pulled out a stack of photographs, taken from the cursed social media, snapshots which proved we met regularly in bars and restaurants, both here and abroad.
'It's just business,' I claimed.
'We think you were involved in that burglary, Mr. Beken.'
'Burglary? A shoot out, you mean, you killed two innocent men. And no, I had nothing to do with the burglary.'
'Do you have an alibi for that particular evening?'
'Evening? The terrible events took place in the middle of the night. I was in bed, where the hell do you think I was?'
'Anyone with you that night? In the bed?'
'I am single,' I said and made it sound as if living alone was my religion.
A detective in a dirty raincoat announced that there was no sign of Mr. Yosht and that nothing of a suspicious nature was found on the premises.
'Very well,' said the policewoman. 'Don't leave town,' she admonished me. 'We may need you for further questioning.'
'I am not going anywhere anytime soon,' I smiled sweetly. 'Cross my heart.'
'And we'll take your laptop.'
After the men in blue had left I grabbed my gear, stuffed it into my backpack and slipped out the back door. I knew what I had to do. Find Yosht.