Page 18 of Nothing Watching

The air was sour with the smell of mold, and the sound of dripping water echoed throughout the space.

They climbed the stairs quickly, their footsteps echoing off the walls. On the second floor, she heard sounds of a fight, and paused briefly, alerted by the woman’s angry screaming. All her cop instincts were telling her to get involved, to put a stop to this. But all they could do, as they passed, was quickly call it in to the local police station. Juliette did that, speaking in rapid German, as they ascended to the third floor. She wasn’t even sure if the police would come.

Reaching the third floor, they found themselves in a narrow hallway, lined with peeling wallpaper and old, worn carpet. The smell of stale cigarette smoke was even stronger here, and Juliette wrinkled her nose at the scent.

“Which door?” Wyatt asked, looking around.

“Number 305,” Juliette replied, pointing to her right, after consulting the faded signboard.

They headed in that direction, and after a short walk, reached the door they needed. Here was number 305, the number half chipped, the door itself scuffed and worn looking.

She raised her hand and knocked.

A shuffling sound came from inside, followed by a muffled curse. Juliette and Wyatt exchanged a look, and she knocked again, louder this time.

“Who is it?” a voice called.

“FBI Agents Juliette Hart and Wyatt Thompson, looking for Mr. Markus Schmidt,” she called back.

There was a pause.

“You can go away,” he called. “I do not speak to law enforcement, outside of my parole check-ins. I am not willing to help you with anything.”

Juliette had dealt with her fair share of difficult suspects, but something about Markus Schmidt’s reply was making her uneasy. He was very defensive. Why was that?

“Mr. Schmidt, we’re just here to ask questions,” she said, wondering what their next step would be if he continued to be obstructive. “We need your help with a case.”

“It’s private property,” he yelled back.

“We’re not arguing that fact. But this is investigating a murder case, so if you don’t agree to speak to us, we’ll need to take this further. I’m sure you don’t want trouble, as a paroled offender?” Juliette reasoned. “It would be a shame if we had to call your parole officer to intervene here.”

That veiled threat was luckily enough to convince him. After a few seconds, the door creaked open. He stood in the doorway, a tall man with broad shoulders and a thick neck, a scruffy, short beard, and messy hair. Graying at the temples, Juliette noticed immediately, thinking of those hairs that forensics were testing. He was very different from the ID photo he’d seen in terms of his grooming and appearance, though it was undoubtedly the same person.

He was wearing jeans and a leather jacket, and his arms were crossed over his chest.

She was immediately impressed by his height and his strength. Physically, he would have had no problem at all in grabbing and strangling the women. His hands were strong, and she saw the dark shape of tattoos on the fingers of his left hand.

“Markus Schmidt?” Juliette asked, showing her badge, and his aggressive expression intensified.

“I don’t have anything you need,” he growled, eyeing them suspiciously. His English was highly accented, his voice low and rough. “I’ve done my time, and I don’t want to get involved in anything again.”

“We need to ask you a few questions,” she said.

“Why?” he shot back. “Why bully me? You want to get me back inside, I know it. Can’t you police just leave me alone?” He sounded angry and as if he was already losing control.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” Juliette replied, her tone firm. “We need your cooperation in our investigation. Mr. Schmidt, there have been two recent murders in the city center and we need to check your whereabouts at the time of the crimes.”

“You’re looking to make me responsible for them! I can tell!”

“Sir, we’re not doing any such thing!” Wyatt shot back, and Schmidt turned to him, now looking enraged.

“I can tell you are! I can see what you’re doing. You’re not even our German police! You’re American FBI and this is a plot, it’s all just a plot to put me back again, like the parole agent threatened if I so much as raise a hand to anyone at the wrong time!”

Juliette exchanged a quick glance with Wyatt, who stepped forward, also making a huge effort to be calm and reasonable in the face of Schmidt’s defiance, even though Juliette could tell that he was also feeling very wary about this overreaction, and wondering about the reasons for it.

“Mr. Schmidt, we’re just doing our job. We need your cooperation in this investigation. If you have nothing to hide, then answering our questions shouldn’t be a problem. Can we come in?”

Equable as he was trying to be, there was clearly something in Wyatt’s tone that Schmidt took real exception to, or perhaps it was just that he was also a tall man, and therefore more of a threat to him than Juliette was.

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