Chapter 16
A little over an hour later, we stopped back at the bar so I could grab the information sheet we’d been given the night before to get the address for William Schneider. The bar was empty and the guys waited outside in the car, so I took a moment to enjoy the peace and quiet. Looking at the bar, it was easy to imagine Duncan behind it, mixing drinks, something he discovered he enjoyed doing. I couldn’t wait to see him later and the time seemed to be crawling by. Still, it was better that I was busy and distracted, and with that in mind, I pushed Duncan to the back of my thoughts and headed outside.
Twenty minutes later we pulled up in front of a house that had definitely seen better times. There were some scraggly half-dead bushes in the front yard, bare spots in the lawn, and the concrete stoop on the small bungalow was crumbling away, its wrought-iron railings tilting at precarious angles. The paint on the door and window trim was peeling and appeared to have been white at one time, although now the color was more of a dingy gray. Oxidation on the aluminum siding left many of the pieces shiny and metallic along their edges instead of the brown they used to be. The roof appeared similarly neglected and pathetic, with missing shingles, sap stains from a towering pine in the backyard, and a chimney that looked ready to crumble if someone blew on it too hard. Bring on the big bad wolf.
Every window in the front of the house had blinds that were down and closed, but as we pulled into the driveway—which had more grass growing in it than the lawn did—I saw the slats in one of the windows move.
“We’re being observed,” I said, and Tyrese nodded.
“How are we going to approach this guy?” Mal said. “Same story we’ve been using?”
“Might as well,” I said with a shrug.
We all piled out of the car and headed for the front door, stepping carefully as we climbed the steps to the stoop. Mal raised his hand to knock—there was a hole in the wall where the doorbell should have been—but before he could do anything a male voice hollered out from within.
“Go away! I ain’t interested in buying nothing and my soul don’t need saving.”
We all looked at one another and through some unspoken agreement, Mal took over. “We aren’t selling anything and we aren’t from any church. We’re here to talk to you about the deaths of Lori Gruber and Anna Hermann twelve years ago.”
He paused, and when we heard nothing, he added, “We’re conducting research for a true crime book. We’re hoping we’ll finally uncover the real culprit and clear the names of those who were falsely accused.”
Another interminable wait and after a minute or so, Tyrese shrugged and said, “I don’t think he’s going to talk to us.”
And then we heard a lock thrown. Then another. And another. Finally, the front door cracked open. Beyond, I could see a grizzled, bearded face, filthy, thick-lensed glasses, and pasty white skin that I guessed was due to an utter lack of exposure to sunshine.
“Mr. Schneider,” Mal said with a warm smile. “May we come in and talk to you?”
He stared at us with wild, rheumy eyes, his gaze darting back and forth between the three of us. Something about the way he looked suggested a mind bordering on the edge of sanity, losing its grip on reality.
“You trying to pin what happened to them girls on me?” he said, his voice gravelly and rife with suspicion. It triggered a taste that was like eating a handful of salted nuts and I wondered if the food choice was somehow predicated by my opinion of the man. It didn’t last long enough for me to give the idea much thought because a cloud of alcohol-infused breath hit me seconds later. With it came a tinny, tympanic grating sound mixed with the deep bass sounds of a cello, similar to what I’d heard when I smelled the most recent, blank letter. This told me that Schneider’s boozes of choice were beer and cheap whiskey. It was all I could do to keep my expression neutral and not back up a few steps.
“No, sir,” I said. “We’re conducting interviews and looking into the case for a writer who is working on a true crime book about the case. Mainly, we’re interested in getting facts from you as to your whereabouts on the day in question, anything else you saw or heard that day, and any ideas you might have about the case. With luck, we might be able to identify the real killer and figure out what actually happened to those girls.”
He narrowed his eyes at me as I spoke and I sensed his skepticism. But after weighing us and our intentions for a few seconds, he apparently decided we were okay, at least for now.
“Come on in,” he said, stepping aside and opening the door wider.
We entered the house, which was dark and musty smelling. The windows were all covered with closed blinds and the few stray beams of sunlight that managed to eke their way around the edges highlighted a thick layer of dust atop everything. I was relieved when Mr. Schneider bypassed the living room area and headed for a small table in the kitchen because I sensed that settling into any of the chairs in the living room would have triggered a mini dust storm.
The kitchen was cluttered, but it didn’t appear particularly dirty. There were dishes and an assortment of boxed food items covering the counters, but the dishes appeared clean. There were empty beer cans piled high in the trash and a smattering of alcohol bottles on the counter—cheap whiskies, thus proving my nose correct once again. Most of the bottles were empty, though a few had a little left in the bottom. We settled in at the table, a retro chrome and yellow Formica set with matching chairs. The set was in surprisingly good shape, although one of the vinyl seats did have a small tear in it, stuffing protruding. I settled into that chair and the feel of the rip beneath my thigh made me see smooth, rounded pebbles.
“I don’t know that I can help you much in figuring out what happened to them girls,” Schneider said once we were all seated. “I wasn’t anywhere near ’em when it happened.”
“Where were you?” Tyrese asked.
“I was home,” Schneider said, scowling.
“I understand both girls lived near here,” Mal said.
“So? What’s your point?” Schneider grumbled. “I was here in my house and I didn’t leave it.”
“Did anyone see you here?” Mal asked.
Schneider turned his rheumy gaze toward Mal and narrowed his eyes down to a steely glint. “No, and no one seen me anywhere else either, because I was here and never left. I didn’t go out much then. Still don’t.”
“Why is that?” Mal asked.
Schneider looked at him like he was stupid. “People ain’t never liked me much. They think I’m crazy or something and the kids make fun of me whenever they see me. They did it back then and they still do. Heartless little bastards!” He spat this out with a surprising amount of venom and the nutty taste in my mouth turned rancid.
I sensed his anger rapidly building and decided to try to defuse it. “You had a child once, didn’t you?”
The change in his demeanor was startling. It was like watching a balloon deflate. He sank back into his seat, his face sagged, and his whole body went limp. A devastating silence followed and Mal, Tyrese, and I exchanged worried looks.
Finally, Schneider spoke, though it was as if the flat, tinny voice was emanating from a dead body. “We don’t talk about that anymore, understand?”
No one said a word for a minute or so. Schneider didn’t move. I don’t think he even blinked. My heart ached for the man. Clearly, his daughter’s death had been a life-shattering event for him. So I decided to leave that topic alone for now and get back to the case at hand.
“Mr. Schneider,” I said in a soft, nonthreatening voice. “Do you have any theories about what might have happened to those two girls, Anna and Lori?”
His head snapped up, he leaned forward again with his arms on the table, and looked me straight in the eye. It was as if some switch had been turned off and then back on again. “How would I know?” he said with an irritated tone. “And why should I care? Ain’t like anyone is ever nice to me, or says a kind word.”
“That must make you mad,” Tyrese suggested.
“Damn right, it does,” Schneider said, shifting his rheumy gaze. “Nobody has respect for a man like me who fought for the freedoms these snotty kids these days take for granted. I watched men die, young men, men filled with hope, men cut down in the prime of their lives.” His voice and his emotions were both escalating again. “Those men died so folks in this country could live and live well. I almost died, too, and what do I get for my efforts? Gratitude? Hell, no! I get insults. I get rocks thrown at me and my house. I get people looking at me like I’m crazy, and talking ’bout me like I’m something for them to be scared of. Hell, people these days don’t know the meaning of scary.”
“You were in the military,” I said, stating the obvious.
“Damned right,” he said, puffing his chest out a little. “I was a Marine and proud of it. Not that anyone respects that anymore.” He shoved his chair back and stood up suddenly, startling us all. Both Mal and Tyrese rose, too, and as Schneider spun around and stormed out of the kitchen, they stared after him with worried, questioning looks.
“Maybe we should leave,” Mal said.
Tyrese nodded, but I stayed where I was. “Give him a minute,” I said.
Seconds ticked by and the two men stood there, twitchy, nervous, ready to jump at the first hint of a problem. I probably should have been nervous too, but for some reason I wasn’t. Schneider was a broken, bitter, and angry man; there was no denying that. But my gut told me he meant us no harm. He finally returned from whatever dark recess he’d retreated to, carrying a small wooden box.
“What have you got in there?” Tyrese asked, his voice as suspicious as Schneider’s had been moments ago. Tyrese’s hand moved to the back of his waist inside his jacket, and I knew he was reaching for a gun. Except I also knew he didn’t have one there, because we’d been searched at the prison.
“Sit down,” Schneider grumbled.
Tyrese remained standing, as did Mal. Schneider ignored them both and took the seat he had vacated moments ago. He set the box on the table and opened it. Inside I saw a bunch of papers and some old photos. He moved the papers aside and grabbed a handful of photos, tossing them onto the table. Beneath them in the box was something metallic and colorful. He grabbed it and held it out to us in the palm of his hand. It was a round, brass colored medal attached to a gold ribbon with green and red stripes. The medal had the words REPUBLIC OF VIETNAM SERVICE on it.
“This is all I got out of that war,” Schneider said. “Wait, I take that back. I also got a chunk of metal in my head, a bum hip, and a whole lot of nightmares.” He dropped the medal on the table and grabbed a couple of the photos he’d tossed down. “Even so, I got out with my life, which is more than these guys got.” One by one he looked at, and then dealt each picture back onto the table.
He stared off then, and I sensed he was lost in some memory of those times, but whether it was a good memory or a bad one, I couldn’t tell. Tyrese and Mal had both relaxed by now, and the three of us watched Schneider in silence, leaving him to whatever tortured reverie he was in. When he finally snapped back to the present he said, “I think kids today are spoiled, disrespectful, and unappreciative, but that ain’t no reason to kill them.”
Outside a car backfired and Schneider leapt from his chair and ducked beneath the table, knocking into my legs. I scooted my chair back and stood. Mal and Tyrese, both of whom were still standing, stepped back. And the three of us stared at the sight beneath the table. Schneider’s face had changed so dramatically that he didn’t look like the same person. His eyes were wild with fear and tension. He was squatting beneath the table, arms wrapped around his legs, muttering some type of wartime rhetoric peppered with racial slurs and geographic references specific to Vietnam. I got the sense that he didn’t know we were there any longer, or perhaps he didn’t know where he was any longer. Then he looked me dead in the eye and stopped rocking. “You can beat me, you can starve me, you can torture me all you want. But I’ll never talk. And you better stay on alert because if you turn your back on me I’ll slit your throat the first chance I get.”
Schneider’s eyes were filled with hatred and venom, all of it directed at me, or whoever he thought I was, because I felt pretty sure that his mind was lost in some other time and place. It was sad, but it was also very scary because he looked mad enough to do what he said. Tyrese and Mal must have come to the same conclusion because Tyrese said, “We’re outa here.” The two men came toward me and quickly escorted me out of the house, never once taking their eyes off Schneider as we left.
Once outside, I breathed a sigh of relief. “That was creepy,” I said.
“No kidding,” Tyrese agreed. “Now we know why Schneider is called the strange neighbor.”
“It’s kind of sad,” I said, my heart aching for the man Schneider might have once been and could have become if not for his family tragedy and that war. “Clearly his time in Vietnam had a profound effect on his mental health. It sounds like he was a POW or something. That makes his paranoia a little easier to understand. He’s probably been suffering from PTSD all these years. And I’m sure the death of his wife and daughter did little to help the situation.”
“That may be true,” Mal said as we all settled back into Tyrese’s car, “and if it is, it is indeed sad. But it’s also dangerous. Based on the look in his eyes, the behaviors, and the things he said there at the end, it’s clear that the man has a slippery grasp on reality at times. If those two girls were nearby when Schneider went off like he just did, I could see him thinking they were there to hurt him. He might have killed them because he thought they were the enemy.”
Tyrese nodded his agreement. “He may not have meant to do it. He may not even remember doing it, or believe he did.” Tyrese glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Did you pick up on any deception with him, Mack?”
I shook my head. “Either he was honest the whole time or lying the whole time, because the basic quality of his voice didn’t change significantly except for that one weird episode when he went all limp after I mentioned his daughter. His voice made me taste nuts and the taste turned bitter when his emotions did, but other than that it stayed the same but for that one episode.”
“That was a creepy moment,” Tyrese said. “It was like the guy had died and then reanimated or something.”
We all nodded and then Mal said, “There may be a problem with your lie detecting tricks, Mack. What if Tyrese is right? What if Schneider did kill those girls but has no memory of doing it? If he doesn’t know he did it, saying he didn’t do it wouldn’t be a lie to him, right?”
Tyrese rolled his eyes. “Oh, man, I hadn’t thought about that, but you’re right.”
I shook my head and said, “I understand what you’re saying, but I’m not sure it matters because there’s another aspect of this that makes me think Schneider didn’t do it.”
“What’s that?” Mal asked.
“The sexual assault. If Schneider killed those girls because he thought they were Viet Cong spies, or soldiers or whatever, why would he rape one of them? And why was Lori the only one who was sexually assaulted?”
Both men thought about this for a moment. Then Tyrese said, “Maybe it started out as a sexual assault but then escalated into one of Schneider’s episodes when the girls fought back.”
Mal added, “Plus it certainly wasn’t unheard of for soldiers in that war to rape young girls in the villages they seized. Maybe the sexual assault was part of whatever scene Schneider was reliving.”
Both points were valid, and I cursed under my breath.
Mal gave me a puzzled look. “What? Do you feel so sorry for Schneider that you want to exonerate him?”
“No, but I was hoping we could eliminate someone from the suspect pool. So far all we’ve done is come up with reasons why any of them could have done it.”
“Which, no doubt, is why the case was never solved,” Tyrese pointed out.
“I wish we could find out more about Schneider’s psychiatric illness,” I said to no one in particular. “We should come back and bring Sam with us next time, see what his take on Schneider is.”
“Sam?” Mal said.
“Sam Warner. You met him last night. He’s one of the Capone Club members and he’s also a doctorate student in psychology.” Mal still looked lost so I elaborated. “He was the short, kind of pudgy guy with the glasses and longish brown hair who was sitting next to Carter. The two of them have been friends since they were kids.”
I saw dawning on Mal’s face and he nodded. “Okay, now I remember him. Is he a practicing psychologist?”
“He doesn’t have his own office yet or anything like that,” I said, “but he does provide counseling services as part of his school clinicals, and he also volunteers at a crisis center. He’s a very bright and insightful person, and I’d be curious to see what he thinks about Schneider as a suspect.”
Tyrese said, “Just promise me you won’t go back to Schneider’s place unless you have me, Nick, or Duncan with you. That guy strikes me as a ticking time bomb and you’d be foolish to mess with him unless you have someone there to protect you.” He glanced over at Mal with an apologetic look. “Not to say you can’t take care of yourself, man,” he said, “but I think this Schneider guy is too dangerous to be around without a cop of some type.”
“No offense taken,” Mal said. “And I totally agree. Mack shouldn’t be doing any of this unless she has a cop with her.” He shot an amused side glance at me as Tyrese signaled for a turn and looked the other way. “Promise the man,” he said to me with a wink.
“I promise,” I said dutifully. “And since we have you for the day, Tyrese, let’s make the most of it. Who’s next on our list of suspects?”