Page 19 of Nothing Watching

“You’re the problem! You are the problem, and you’re bullying me. I’m not letting you inside! You’re going to search the place and arrest me for something! I used to work for the library and I’ve read enough stories to know about motives and framing people!” Schmidt shouted, now taking his defiance a step further.

Was he just trying to create an alternative version of events, so that he in turn could accuse the FBI of acting out of line? Juliette was wondering if this was calculated, and if he was planning it as a strategy. That would be a clever move if he was the killer, and wanted to create a defense for himself.

Of course, he could also just be a violent man with a short fuse. At this stage, there was no telling, but what she didn’t want to do was to get into a fight, or any kind of physical altercation with him.

The reason for this was that Schmidt’s loud words were already attracting other people. Three hard-faced men, who also looked like ex-convicts, were watching suspiciously from the direction of the stairs, and she was sure that they were ready to step in, join the fight, and it wouldn’t be on the police’s side.

This was exactly what they didn’t want on their first day in Berlin. This could mean a whole new level of trouble and delay. The FBI would be accused of stirring up conflict, and they’d end up managing this situation instead of catching the killer.

Was Schmidt their killer? If they could only calm him down for long enough to ask a few questions, they’d have a clearer idea.

“The only problem here is you! You need to calm down, sir. This shouting is working against you!” Wyatt retaliated.

“I’ll shout at the cops whenever I want. And I’ll do more than just shout. If you won’t leave, I’ll make you!”

He was now veering all the way out of control. Turning, Schmidt grasped a thick wooden mallet that he had clearly positioned beside the front door—for reasons that Juliette guessed only he knew.

He turned back, brandishing the mallet. Lightning quick, Wyatt grabbed his wrist. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he threatened.

Juliette could see Schmidt tensing and knew that he was going to attack, launching himself at Wyatt. Worse still, she could see more people now gathered at the bend in the corridor.

This was turning very bad, very fast. Stepping forward, Juliette knew she was the only one who had a hope of controlling the situation.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Juliette began speaking as fast as she could, and in her efforts to calm this angry man down and defuse the situation, she used the best and most fluent German she could muster up. Hopefully, his mother tongue—which she hadn’t used so far—would increase the chances of him seeing reason.

“Mr. Schmidt, please put that mallet down. We are not here to bully you at all. If you want, I will talk to you alone. See, I have nothing in my hands.”

She opened her hands to show him, before placing her hands gently on his arm, and Wyatt’s.

“This is not a time for fighting.”

She gently disengaged them. Juliette guessed it was sheer shock at what she was doing, and her use of German, that persuaded Schmidt to lower his hand. Even he looked surprised by his own actions.

The scenario seemed frozen in time. An angry Schmidt, a defensive Wyatt, who’d seen that hammer and was now trying his best to protect both of them. And then she herself—the one who’d stepped into the conflict and used a quick intervention to buy a few moments of time.

Schmidt paused for a moment. His eyes darted between Wyatt and Juliette, his demeanor relaxing slightly.

“Attacking the police is only going to cause problems for all of us. You don’t seem to realize how fast we will leave, if you can answer our questions,” she said, now injecting a note of persuasion into her voice. “We are not here to bully you, and we are not trying to frame you in any way at all.”

Schmidt looked uncertain, glancing nervously at the small group of men who were still watching from the end of the hallway. Juliette sensed that she had a chance to de-escalate the situation, and she pressed on.

“Put down the mallet,” she said, her voice firm but calm. “We are not here to hurt you. We just want to talk.”

For a moment, it seemed like Schmidt might resist. His jaw clenched, and he tightened his grip on the mallet. But then, slowly, he lowered it to the shelf he’d picked it up from. Wyatt stepped back, but stayed on guard.

“Fine,” Schmidt said gruffly. “Ask your damn questions.”

Juliette felt a wave of relief wash over her. She had managed to defuse the situation before it got out of hand. Now, she just had to get the information they needed.

“Can we go inside?” she asked, conscious of those watching men.

He turned around and stomped inside. Quickly, wanting to capitalize on this moment, Juliette followed.

The apartment was small and sparsely furnished, with a single battered sofa and a small table in the corner of the living room. A bookshelf was crammed with books, but she didn’t spot many older works. Schmidt’s reading material seemed to consist of recent, well-thumbed thrillers and, strangely, a few hair and beauty magazines.

Beyond that, she caught a glimpse of a better-equipped bedroom, but the living room was where they were now.

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