Evan wondered if there was anything else he could get out of Guillory. 'Do you know if the husband still lives around here?'
'No idea. Anything else? Do you want me to pick up your groceries for you as well? I mean, it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.’
‘What about the address where he used to live?’
‘Yeah, I can give you that, seeing as it’s in the phone book. Just don’t go in heavy handed, okay.’
‘Like Ryder you mean.’
‘Do you want the address or not?’
Evan took down the address. Guillory promised to let him know if he found out anything else and ended the call. At least it felt like Guillory was on his side. He was responsible for setting it all in motion after all. Evan felt that gave him some leeway in what he could ask him. Whether he'd ever get to the point of being able to sound him out about Faulkner was another matter.
CHAPTER 13
He was starting to build quite a list of people he wanted to talk to and none of them were likely to be easy conversations. He thought he would start with Max Schneider who was likely to be the easiest. With him Evan was only going to be digging up painful memories. Hendricks and his next conversation with Faulkner were going to be a lot more difficult.
He also hoped he was going to be able to eliminate the Clayton-Schneider liaison line of enquiry; he didn't want to have to take that back to Linda Clayton. It would completely destroy what she had left of her life and he didn't need any more of that kind of thing on his conscience. This new direction was supposed to give him a chance to do some good and help people.
If it was still him, Max Schneider lived in a small farmhouse a couple of miles out of town. At one time it must have owned all the land surrounding it but that had all been sold off long ago. There was an old pickup in the yard and the whole place had a run-down feel to it. Evan could understand any woman wanting to run off with another man to get away, bigger dick or not. Or she might just be buried under all the junk in the back yard.
A man in his late fifties answered the door. He was short and wiry with a completely bald head that shone as if it had just been polished. He had the large, bulbous nose of a heavy drinker, and peered up at Evan from under some of the bushiest eyebrows Evan had ever seen. If this was Schneider he had clearly been a lot older than his wife who would only be early forties if she was still alive. Did that make it any more likely that she ran off with a younger man? If only you could rely on all those preconceived ideas, life would be so easy.
'Max Schneider?' Evan asked.
'Yes, that's me.' He had a faint German accident. He hadn't been born anywhere around here, that was for sure. It was only Evan's good manners that stopped him stepping backwards as a strong smell of garlic on Schneider's breath caught him full in the face. That would make anyone run away, he thought.
Schneider looked pleased to see him. 'Come in, come in. This way please,' he said, leading Evan down the narrow hallway to the kitchen, which had that peculiar smell of over-cooked cabbage like old people's houses do. Evan was surprised at Schneider's welcome. He knew for sure that Linda hadn't phoned him and told him to expect a visit, but the man was obviously expecting him.
'There it is; piece of Japanese crap,' he said pointing to the washing machine. 'I knew I should have bought German.'
He looked round at Evan, his eyes narrowing. 'Where are your tools?'
Evan almost laughed out loud. 'I'm sorry Mr Schneider, there's been a misunderstanding. I'm not here to fix your washing machine.'
'No? Then why are you here?'
'I'd like to ask you a few questions.'
Schneider looked crestfallen although Evan couldn't really see why. From the look and faintly sour smell of his clothes, he didn't look like a man who did his laundry on a daily basis. Maybe the machine had been out of service for a month or two. 'Are you sure you can't fix this?' he asked plaintively.
Evan ignored his plea. 'I'm working for Linda Clayton; looking into the disappearance of her son and husband.'
Evan watched Schneider carefully for any signs of recognition but the name meant nothing to him, that much was clear. Either that or he was a lot better than Evan at concealing his emotions.
'Linda Claxton? Never heard of her. Why would I be able to help you?'
Either Schneider hadn't heard any of the rumors or he was being deliberately obtuse. His mood had taken a marked turn for the worse. Evan felt like saying Ve haf vays of making you talk...
'It's Clayton, not Claxton, and they disappeared at the same time your wife did.'
Schneider looked at him as if he was crazy. 'My wife? What wife? I've never been married in my life. What are you talking about, you stupid boy?'
The way that he peered up through his eyebrows was quite disconcerting. Evan thought there was a very real possibility that the cantankerous old bastard was just plain nuts. The other alternative was that he had blocked the tragedy from his mind.
'Ten years ago you reported your wife missing to the police.'
'Pah! How could I do that when I never had a wife?' he almost shouted, giving Evan another generous dose of second-hand garlic.
'So you never reported anyone missing?'
Schneider's eyes positively bulged as if someone was throttling him. 'Did I say that? Did I? I said I never reported my wife missing. Don't you listen to anything?'
Evan decided to try a different tack. 'Have you ever reported anyone missing to the police?'
'Ja, of course. My sister - Barbara. Who do you think? Are you here to find my sister?'
Evan was tempted to have his own fun and say no, he was there to fix the washing machine. He wondered if there was any scientific evidence that linked excess garlic sausage consumption to early senility.
'That's right Mr Schneider. I'm here to investigate Barbara's disappearance.' There was every chance that the old fool would think he'd only reported it last week. If Evan didn't mention Linda Clayton's name again he doubted Schneider would remember it.
'Good. About time too.' He nodded vigorously, happy that he was finally about to get some answers, even if he wasn't going to get his washing machine fixed. If he was given the choice, Evan reckoned Schneider would opt to have his washing machine fixed.
'Can you tell me what happened?'
‘It started to make this funny noise.’ He made a strange sound in his throat. ‘No, more like this.’ He made another noise that he was equally unhappy with. ‘No, that’s not it either…’
‘I meant what happened to your sister.’ You stupid old fool
'She disappeared.' He made another attempt at the noise. He was determined to get it right.
Evan waited but that seemed to be all Schneider had to say about his sister. He thought about calling Tom Jacobson; he had a lot of experience pulling teeth.
'Do you have any ideas about what might have happened to her?'
Schneider's eyes bulged again. 'Why would I call you if I knew that? I don’t know what is wrong with you young people these days.'
Evan knew exactly what was wrong with this old person and was having serious doubts about the reliability of anything he might say. He decided to ask what should be a fairly straightforward question.
'Do you have a photograph? Of Barbara,' he added quickly, to avoid Schneider running off to fetch a photograph of his washing machine, or the Führer, or whatever else was dear to his heart.
Schneider nodded and walked over and picked up a framed photograph sitting on the dresser. Evan took it and looked at a picture of a good looking blond smiling back at him. The police report was obviously wrong – there was no way on earth this woman could have been married to the lunatic currently standing in front of him, looking up expectantly, as if Evan was about to pull Barbara out of his pocket, now that he had performed his side of the bargain and supplied a photograph.
'She was so beautiful,' Schneider said. ‘Such nice’ – he cupped his hands and squeezed the air as if fondling a pair of breasts – ‘too.’ Evan looked dow
n at the photograph again but it was only a head and shoulders shot. Looking at the photograph had a profound effect on Schneider. It was as if he'd been drunk and now he was suddenly stone cold sober. He'd regained control of his faculties for the moment. Evan wondered how long it would last.
'She knew it too. I had to beat the men off with a stick.’ He swiped the air with an imaginary switch making Evan wonder if it was only the men who got beaten. ‘But she wasn't too picky. Our parents were very strict with her and when they died she just let loose. Out every night. So many different men. She could have settled down with any of them but she was having too much fun playing the field. And then she disappeared. Bitch.'
The last word was said so quietly Evan wasn’t sure he heard it properly. Had he just called her a bitch?
‘Do you think she ran off with one of them?'
Schneider looked at him sadly and shook his head. 'That's what I want to believe, but it's not true. I was a lot older than her but we still got on too well for her to run off like that and never make any kind of contact. I know I tried to keep her under control, but we never had a fight over it or anything like that.'
He sat back down at the kitchen table and rested his head in his hands. Evan looked down at the shining bald dome and wondered what it must be like to be bald. There were a number of strange sticky patches that looked like glue dotted around his head. Evan choked back a laugh as he realized Schneider normally had a toupée glued to his head. Presumably he didn’t wear it in the house so that he felt the benefit of it when he went out. Perhaps that was what he wanted to wash so desperately.
'I didn't make a habit of rummaging through her underwear drawer or anything like that' - he looked up sharply to make sure that Evan wasn't smirking - 'but it didn't look to me like any of her clothes were missing.'
The comment made Evan think of his own situation. When Sarah had disappeared he'd done the same thing, of course. Anyone would. And he'd realized that he couldn't say for sure if any of her clothes were missing or not. The discovery had shocked and dismayed him. What else had he been oblivious to? Had the reason for her disappearance been under his nose the whole time? He didn’t know if it made him stupid or insensitive. Probably both.
'Are you listening to me?' Schneider barked, jumping out of his seat again and snapping Evan out of it.
'Yes, I'm listening,’ Evan said curtly. He was getting fed up with Schneider’s rudeness. ‘So you think something must have happened to her.'
'It's got to be one or the other. Either she hated my guts and I never knew it, or she's dead.'
After only ten minutes in his company, the first option seemed a distinct possibility, but it was the second one that made Evan stop and think. The word hung in the air. He realized it was the first time in the whole case that anyone had come out and said it. Up until then everyone had simply disappeared. Now it was out in the open, it brought it home to him that there was very little chance of a happy ending. The best he could hope to provide was the relief that comes from finally knowing.
'It's not too difficult to imagine, is it?' Schneider said. 'Some married man gets her in the family way...' He stretched out his hands and gripped an imaginary pair of hips, pulled them towards him and thrust his pelvis back and forward, grunting with an obscene leer on his face.
It was all Evan could do to keep a straight face. The guy should be in an asylum. 'Was there anyone in particular that she was seeing?'
Schneider stopped his gyrations, thought for a moment and then nodded to himself. 'Actually I think there was, just before she disappeared, but I don't know who it was.'
'Did you tell this to the Police back then?'
At first Evan thought he hadn't heard. He was staring absently at the table top. Then he gave a small shrug and sat back down again. 'I can't remember,' he said. 'I'd have told them if they asked. Why wouldn't I?’ He grunted as if someone had kicked him. ‘Not that it would have made any difference, the useless imbeciles.'
Evan hoped he didn't sound too much like Schneider when he talked about Sarah's disappearance.
'I think perhaps I talked to someone called Fukner,' Schneider said.
Evan coughed into his hand to hide a laugh. He couldn’t take much more of this nutty old man. He wasn't sure whether it was his accent, or whether Schneider was just being offensive. 'You mean Faulkner?'
'That's what I said, wasn't it. Are you deaf too?'
Schneider was starting to lapse back into his quarrelsome self. Time was running out. Evan wasn't going to get much more out of him. 'What did he say?' he asked.
'He said he couldn't waste his time chasing after some low-rent whore.'
Evan was glad that he didn't chew gum because he would have choked on it. 'He actually said that?'
'Well, no. Not exactly,' Schneider admitted, 'but that's what he was thinking.'
'How do you know that?'
Schneider looked at him like he was dealing with a retard. 'I could see it in his eyes. He looked at me like I was some stupid old man making it all up.'
Evan couldn't see how that made his sister a whore, but he definitely agreed with the stupid old man assessment. 'Whatever could have given him that impression?' he said under his breath.
He was still holding the framed photograph and set it down carefully on the table. Schneider looked at it. Suddenly he back-handed it violently, smashing the glass with the force of the blow and sending it flying across the room. A small trickle of blood appeared on the back of his hand. He lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked the cut. Evan went over to where the picture lay to pick up the pieces.
'Leave it there, where it belongs.' Schneider hissed. He slammed his fist down onto the table making Evan jump and muttered something under his breath. It sounded to Evan a lot like filthy whore.
The sudden outburst of violence and the venom in Schneider's voice surprised Evan. He felt guilty for invading Schneider's privacy and digging up memories that were capable of producing such rage. But it also made him wonder if Schneider had been completely truthful about the happy home life he'd lived with his sister.
It was clear there’d been some sexual interest on his part which hopefully hadn’t been reciprocated. You never knew in these small towns. It was obvious that it was him who thought she was a whore. Maybe he'd inherited his parents' strictness or maybe he was just jealous because he wasn’t getting what the other guys were. Perhaps she was locked in the basement as they spoke, desperately trying to get Evan's attention. Or buried in the back yard for refusing to come up with the goodies.
One thing was for sure; he wasn't about to get anything useful out of Schneider now. Not that he’d got anything useful so far, apart from prima facie evidence that anyone living with Max Schneider would run off at the first opportunity.
Evan left him alone with his memories and his dreams of a working washing machine.
CHAPTER 14
It was good to get back outside into the fresh air and sunlight. Schneider’s house had been oppressive and it smelled like the drains were backed up. That was probably the problem with his washing machine.
Evan got in his car and opened all the windows and let the wind blow through. He leaned back and closed his eyes and wondered what to do next. His phone rang. He thought it would be Guillory but he didn't recognize the number when he looked at the screen.
'I've been doing a bit of research into you,' Faulkner's voice said down the line. 'Not exactly a career to be proud of. Let's hope Linda Clayton doesn't end up like your last client.'
Evan groaned. He could have done without any of this. Okay, he wanted to talk to Faulkner again, but not now, and not on Faulkner's terms. And even though he knew Faulkner was just trying to rile him, the dig about Stanton still hurt. 'We've all got to make a living,' he said lamely.
'Yes, and when you couldn't make one doing a proper job, you decided to stick your zoom lens up some woman's tired old twat and then sell the pictures to her husband. I bet you kept copies too.'
It crossed Evan’s mind that it hadn’t looked tired or old as far as he could remember – he’d check his copies when he got back to the office - but that wasn’t the point. Faulkner sounded drunk.
'At least I'm not drunk in the middle of the afternoon.' You sad old bastard
'Up yours, sonny.'
The front door to Schneider’s house opened and Schneider started walking towards Evan’s car. Evan sighed heavily. He couldn’t deal with Faulkner on the phone and nutty Schneider at the same time. He put the car into gear and pulled away slowly. Behind him Schneider broke into a run and started shouting that he’d remembered how the noise sounded.
‘What was that?’ Faulkner said.
'Nothing. Anyway, now we've got the pleasantries out the way, why don't we see if we can have a normal conversation?'
'Conversation? Let me look that up in my dictionary. Here we go... conversation; as in some interfering individual, let's call him Mr Evan P-for-Peeper Buckley, bugs the hell out of some other person and asks him a whole bunch of questions that he's not entitled to have the answers to.'
Evan looked into his mirror and saw that Schneider had given up and gone back inside. He pulled onto the shoulder and stopped. 'Sounds like we've got the exact same edition,' he said. 'There's just one thing - I'm not bugging you - you called me.'
Faulkner laughed. 'You know, I can't help myself, but I actually like you.'
'Is that why you're calling me up? To tell me how much you like me? Or just to give me your considered opinion on my choice of career? It sounds to me like you’ve been discussing me with Detective Donut.’
'Who? Oh, Ryder.’ He laughed again. ‘No, I called to find out why you didn't come back to me if you needed more answers.'
Got you, Evan thought. Obviously he’d got under Faulkner's skin more than he'd realized. He grinned down the phone. 'So that's it - you can't keep the green-eyed monster in its cage.'
'I don't know what you're talking about,’ Faulkner said defensively, ‘but you should have come to me instead of Guillory.'
Cruel Comfort (Evan Buckley Thrillers Book 1) Page 8
