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 down 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
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 down 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
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