One of Locke’s primary concerns with any homicide scene, he explained, “is evidence preservation. Making sure that there haven’t been a lot of people tracking through the scene. And yet, right off the bat, the first thing I hope for is a search warrant.”
With his supervisor at the Schwartz crime scene, Locke knew it was under complete control. As he drove to the property, he refocused on his current role: talking to people, getting a lay of the land, and seeing if anyone in the Schwartz immediate neighborhood had seen or heard anything.
When Locke arrived, he stopped at a neighbor’s house, about a quarter of a mile away from the Schwartz home. There weren’t many neighbors nearby.
“It is an area with fourteen-hundred-acre farms spread out all over the place,” Locke said.
He parked, got out, and knocked on the door.
Locke didn’t say exactly what had happened, but he told the couple who had invited him inside that “there was an incident up the road and I was wondering if you saw or heard anything unusual over the past few days.”
Simple question.
The woman and man thought about it.
Locke waited, expecting to ask that same question to scores of neighbors for the remainder of the day.
But sometimes, all it takes is that one crumb.
“You know, last Saturday,” the man said, “there was this young person who came to our door and wanted to use our phone to call a tow truck because they had gotten stuck.”
This piqued Locke’s interest immediately.
We’ve got our first big break, the investigator thought.
“I drove that road in and where they got stuck, this is a dead end,” Locke explained to me. “Once you go in, you’re not coming back out until you leave.”
This was significant to him. It meant, in other words, that people didn’t pass by. You drove down that road for a reason: to visit someone, to go home, or, in this case, to commit a murder.
“Tell me about that,” Locke said.
“Well, they wanted us to call a tow truck for them. We could see other people down at the car. Only one of them came to the door. I offered my phone to him to call a tow truck. He told me, ‘I don’t really know who to call.’ So I said I know of a tow company that I use, do you want me to call them?”
Greg Locke cracked a slight smile.
We’ve got our second big break!
“Can you give me that tow company name and number and address?”
“Sure.”
Locke left, went to the scene, spoke to his supervisor, and explained that he was heading off to the tow company to see if he could get any additional information.
“Okay,” the supervisor told him.
When he arrived at the tow company, Locke spoke to the owner.
Hell yeah, he remembered that call, the owner said.
“They stiffed my driver.”
Locke spoke to the driver. Within a few moments, Locke was able to get it out of him that the driver had lied to his boss so he could, in turn, pocket the money that Mike had given him that night in the parking lot of the bank.
“You recall the bank and where it was?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I have his license plate number, too. His name. Address.”
There are two qualities all great detectives share: determination and persistence. They are obsessed over their jobs and do not give up easily when things get difficult. For Locke, at this moment, it appeared he would not have to rely on those characteristics. Things seemed to be taking shape for him without much effort.
This is too easy, Locke thought. What’s the catch?
Within hours, Locke had Mike on camera at that bank withdrawing money from the ATM on the night of the murder.
“From there,” Locke explained, “other detectives went and did surveillance on [Mike’s] house.”
CHAPTER 59
GREG LOCKE WAS confident that the three young adults who got stuck in the mud in Schwartz’s driveway on the night of December 8, 2001, were going to have a lot of explaining to do. Other investigators were working on bringing in Mike, Katie, and that third, unnamed person, whom the LCSO had heard about and had gotten a description of, but did not know how involved he was. As that end of the investigation was rocking and rolling along, Locke took on the grave task of driving to JMU in search of both Clara and her sister to inform them of the terrible news that their father had been murdered. It was early evening, December 10, when Locke pulled up to Rockingham Hall. Obviously, this was not his favorite part of the job.
After knocking on Clara’s dorm room, Locke introduced himself. Clara appeared in sweatpants, her eyes red, “as if she had been crying or had some sort of eye irritation,” Locke later noted.
“If we might speak with you, Miss Schwartz,” Locke said after identifying who they were.
Clara said something, but Locke could not understand her. She then closed the door and disappeared for “one minute,” Locke said. When she returned, she handed Locke her driver’s license, as though he’d asked for it. He noticed that “her hands were shaking and she held her wallet with both hands.”
“We don’t need to see your license, ma’am. But we’d like to come in and speak with you, if we could.”
Clara opened the door.
Locke was astounded by what he saw. The room “was in disarray, with clothes and food wrappers lying on most all areas of the floor.” Clara was a slob. She’d not cleaned up after herself in what seemed like weeks.
“Would you like to sit down, Miss Schwartz?” Locke asked.
Clara sat on the edge of her bed. She never asked why they were there or what the problem was.
“I’m afraid I have some terrible news. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but your father has died.”
“How?” Clara asked immediately.
Locke had to be careful. He could not divulge details about the crime scene or how Schwartz had been murdered. He was involved in an investigation. “He was found inside the home earlier today.”
Clara did not respond. [She] did not cry, and seemed to exhibit little or no emotion upon hearing the news . . . , Locke wrote.
“Her expressions and body language at that time, when I told her that her father was dead, told me one thing,” Locke told me later. “Clara knew about her father’s death before we delivered that news to her.”
Good detectives develop intuition they use to guide them—that is, until evidence sends them another way. As an investigator, you have to rely on your gut. Sometimes it’s the only way to gauge people, work a case, or develop new threads that become actual leads. Clara’s lack of emotion and immediate questions told Locke straightaway that someone who was there at the house had told Clara about her father. It was the only way she could have known. The news had not been released. Clara had not spoken to her neighbor, a man she didn’t even really know. Nobody else could have given her the news. It was either that, the inquisitive detective determined, or “she was involved in that death somehow.”
“Your father’s death is under investigation,” Locke explained to Clara as she stood emotionless and taciturn in front of him. “Which is the case with any unattended death.”
Clara didn’t ask any questions or say anything more.
Another red flag.
Locke asked, “Would you know where we might locate your sister?”
Clara got up and went over to her computer to check a message board. After reading it, she turned and said, “[She’s] in the library studying for exams.”
“Would you mind coming with us to her dorm room?”
“No problem.”
Locke had brought a counselor from JMU, a police officer from campus, and a second investigator from the Loudoun County Sheriff’s Office.
Clara rode with the counselor and arrived moments before Locke had with the other two cops. As they approached Clara’s sister’s dorm room, they assumed Clara had broken the news to her sister, because they heard a scream, followed by “No . . . no . . .
no!”
Clara’s sister was devastated—a normal, common response to such news.
It struck Locke that Clara and her sister had reacted so differently to the same news.
After calming Clara’s sister down, Locke pulled Clara aside and asked if he could run a few questions by her. They found a space in the dorm where they could speak alone.
“When did you last speak with your father?” Locke asked.
“Friday night. We talked about me coming home for the holidays. There was discussion and concerns because I didn’t have a vehicle at school. We, in fact, argued about me wanting to bring my car to school and he wouldn’t let me.”
“You haven’t spoken to him since?”
“No. He was actually supposed to come here today so we could chat more and have some dinner.”
As they talked, Locke paid careful attention to Clara’s emotional state. It was flat. She didn’t come across one way or the other. She talked about her “boyfriend,” as she referred to Patrick, and how he had recently moved to South Carolina. She never asked about her father and how he was killed, or what happened, or if they had any suspects. Nothing. Locke had gotten more emotion (and questions) from a smash-and-grab victim.
“Do you have any other friends you can tell us about?” Locke knew something, for sure. The fact that he was inquiring about Clara’s friends told her that.
Clara brought up a boy named Bradley Dander (pseudonym), who lived in Leesburg, she said. “We have a common interest in knives and swords. We share a storage unit together, where I store a sword and utility knife.” She gave Locke the town and unit number, where they could find it. She said she’d be happy to allow them to see the weapons.
Locke thought this was odd: Clara having brought up these facts. Offering up weapons. They had not told her that her father had been stabbed to death. What was she implying with this information?
Is she telling us she didn’t do it? “Here, check out my weapons.”
“Brad works at [a local supermarket], and he was discharged from the army . . . and determined to be ‘mentally unstable.’ I’ve known him about three years.”
“Can you tell us about anyone else?”
She mentioned Mike, telling them how old he was and where he lived. “His girlfriend, Kate Inglis, also lives there with Mike at his parents’ house.” Then she lied, for some reason: “I’ve known Kate about three years.” They’d known each other since middle school. “She was also in the navy, but discharged—she’s, like, nineteen, I think.”
Then she brought up Kyle.
“He lives with his girlfriend in Maryland,” Clara offered. She talked about how she had met him at the Renaissance Festival that fall. She said Kyle, Katie, and Mike had come to visit her at JMU recently. “Kyle was at my house during the Thanksgiving weekend. While we were ‘sparring’ with staffs [once], I fractured my thumb. I was prescribed pain medication after going to the clinic here and it made me fall asleep during class.”
“What else can you tell me about”—Locke referred to his notes—“Kyle Hulbert?”
“He was recently arrested at the mall for carrying daggers under his cloak.” It was odd language, but Locke was getting used to the way Clara spoke. “He stays with Mike once in a while. Mike had taken Kyle to court for that, because Kyle doesn’t have a car.”
“How’d that turn out for him in court?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve heard two different stories. One that he received community service, and another that he was fined. . . .”
“When have you last spoken to him?”
“Earlier today,” Clara said. “I called him at his girlfriend’s house.”
That was enough for now, Locke surmised. He could always call on Clara if he needed to speak with her again. Locke made plans with Clara to meet anyone Clara could get over to the Schwartz Stone House on December 12. Locke said he’d like to interview everyone in the Schwartz family formally, if they did not mind. It would help the investigation immensely.
Clara said no problem.
After saying their good-byes and offering condolences, as they walked out toward their car, Locke turned to the detective with him. “Clara Schwartz knew that her dad was dead before we told her.”
“I’m with you on that.”
Before getting into the car to head back to the LCSO, Locke took a look at the building where Clara’s dorm was located. He shook his head.
She knows a heck of a lot more.
CHAPTER 60
WHILE SCORES OF law enforcement personnel pored through Robert Schwartz’s house at the crime scene, Dr. Schwartz lying stiff and bloodied on the floor of his kitchen, Mike, Katie, and Mike’s mom were shopping at the mall.
After spending the day eating at the Chinese buffet, going to a computer store, and buying gifts, Katie later explained, she, Mike, and Mike’s mom drove to Walmart to buy some Pedialyte. Then they went home. Katie was wrapping presents in Mike’s mother’s room when the phone rang. Mike’s mom, of course, had no idea what was going on. She was, in a way, another innocent victim being dragged into what was careless behavior on Mike and Katie’s part.
“It’s Clara,” someone in the house said.
Katie took the call.
“What’s going on? Hey, I got you some Christmas presents today,” Katie told Clara, as if it was any other day.
“Be careful,” Clara warned. She sounded not so much scared, but in her protect-the-secret mode. “The police have your names. The OG was found this morning. They came here to my dorm room.”
Katie listened and it seemed to her that Clara had been crying.
“How are you feeling about this, Clara?” Katie asked.
“I’m sort of sad,” Clara told Katie. “Not sure what I am going to do.”
“Sort of sad” was her comment.
“Where will you go?”
“I’m gonna stay with my grandparents for a while in Maryland.”
Katie asked about the cops having her and Mike’s names. What was that supposed to mean?
“They might be contacting you,” Clara said.
After they hung up, Katie hopped into bed with Mike downstairs. She could tell Mike was worried.
“What’s wrong?” Katie asked.
“We could be charged with accessory to murder for driving Kyle up there,” Mike whispered. He had a nervous look to him. He was pale and tense. He knew they were in big trouble—even if they didn’t know what Kyle was going up there to do.
“The future isn’t set yet, Mike,” Katie said as reassuringly as she could. “Who knows what’s going to happen?”
“I don’t know,” Mike responded. “All that abuse she talked about. We don’t even know if it’s true!”
What a time to pose that question! Such a strange comment, and Katie never elaborated on what was said after it. But what did Mike mean by it? That if Schwartz had abused Clara that Kyle butchering him to death was justified and he deserved it?
Later, Katie recounted what, exactly, Clara had said over the past few weeks regarding the so-called abuse, encapsulating it into a sound bite.
“She had told us that her father had hit her on several occasions and tried to kill her more than once. She told me that he had tried to poison her at least eleven times, not just kill her. [Clara] had been considered to have serious mental illnesses, such as schizophrenia and . . . depression, by more than one psychiatrist.”
CHAPTER 61
AS CAPERS GO, this one was not going to require the tenaciousness or acumen of Lieutenant Columbo to solve—at least not in the sense of who murdered Schwartz and who had driven him to the scene. Maybe arresting the mastermind behind it all, if there was one, was going to take some time and effort. However, finding the murderer wasn’t that hard for Investigator Greg Locke and the LCSO. The fact that Kyle had gone to the neighboring couple’s house and called a tow truck driver, and no sooner had Mike used that ATM and the tow truck driver took down his license plate number, than the LCSO ha
d a bead on Mike and Katie.
Mike was on his way to a local body shop to get an estimate on his car on Tuesday, December 11, late afternoon, when he realized there were many police cruisers following him.
“Shit,” he said to Katie, who went along for the ride, “look.”
There were several plainclothes officers already in place around the shop. It took only a few moments for police to barge into the reception waiting area of the body shop (according to one report), put Katie and Mike in handcuffs, and read them their rights.
As Katie was brought down to the ground by cops, this same report of the arrest claimed, she allegedly yelled, “We didn’t do anything. . . . What’s going on?”
A second testimonial had Mike and Katie being pulled over for a routine traffic check near the body shop and taken into custody there.
Mike and Katie were, of course, separated. Eventually the local police department that had arrested them called in Greg Locke and his LCSO boys and girls to question Katie and Mike to find out where this thing stood. For investigators, the murder posed a lot of questions, the first of which was fairly obvious: What was the motive? It certainly wasn’t robbery. Nothing had been taken. So, why else would several young people get together and kill the father of a so-called friend—that is, if Katie, Mike, and Kyle actually had done it?
Mike had been with Deputy Michael Eiland, of the LCSO, who booked him into custody, as they waited for Investigator Locke to arrive. Basically, Locke had taken over the lead in the investigation. As they waited, Eiland just sitting, not saying much, Mike said, “It’s too quiet in here.”
“So talk,” Eiland suggested.
Mike mentioned The Lord of the Rings and how he liked the movie. Then: “I’m scared what’s going to happen to my girlfriend.” Katie was being booked somewhere else.
“Why?”
Mike thought about it. “I was there,” he stated. “I saw blood.”
This piqued Eiland’s interest: “Continue. . . .”
“Kyle went up to Schwartz’s house.... I stayed outside the house and prayed for Mr. Schwartz’s soul to go to Heaven.”
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