Crazy for You

by Michael Fleeman

  More important, unlike the other experts, Crawford conducted her interviews on video.

  They met on November 4 and 5, 2011, after the four defense mental health professionals had already talked to him. They covered the same issues, from his childhood through the hiring of Andrea Sneiderman, but Crawford delved deeper into Hemy’s claims of seeing the visions. Crawford asked first about the demon that appeared at the boarding school, at college, and then in the car.

  “How far away from you is he typically?” Crawford asked.

  “Probably arm’s length,” said Hemy. “I mean, he’s big.”

  “How big?”

  “Not as high as the ceiling but almost. Like towering over me.”

  Crawford asked what the demon sounded like. “It’s a voice outside your head? Is it a low or high voice?”

  “It’s a deep voice. I’ve never been asked before—almost like Barry White.”

  The female angel that appeared at the dinner party was also big, tall enough to reach the ceiling, he said. She had a wide face and a flowing light-pastel-blue robe. Hemy could both hear her and feel her, like an embrace.

  “What does the voice sound like?”

  “I compared his to Barry White,” he said of the demon. “She’s got a light voice.” Hemy tried to think of whom the angel reminded him of. “What’s her name? Oh, goodness, I can just hear her. The Australian who played in Grease, what’s her name?”

  “Olivia Newton-John?”

  “Yes, like that kind of soft.”

  “Does she have an accent?”

  “No.”

  “Not Australian like Olivia?”

  “No.”

  Crawford asked Hemy if he thought the visions were real.

  “When he comes, I think he is real.”

  “Do you think he is real now? What do you think he is?”

  “Now I’m talking to you and sort of analyzing,” Hemy said, “probably not.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know, my own fears, insecurities I have coming manifesting themselves in a physical way. I don’t know.”

  Asked who else knew about his visions, Hemy said that he never told anybody until after he was arrested.

  “You said you tell Andrea about things,” said Crawford. “Tell her about the demon?”

  “No.”

  “Do you remember consciously not telling her about it?”

  “I don’t know that we ever got—once again, it’s not a very pleasant experience.”

  The first person he told, he said, was his lawyer Robert Rubin.

  “What made you talk to him about it?” asked Crawford. “What made it significant to you?”

  “We couldn’t figure this out. For the life of us we couldn’t figure it out,” said Hemy, “and then it hit me because we talked about the angel.”

  * * *

  At best, an insanity defense is a major gamble, and history was not on Hemy’s side. Daniel McNaughtan may have avoided execution, but he did not escape punishment. He wound up in Bethlem Hospital, the infamous asylum for the mentally ill—from which the word bedlam comes—then transferred to another hospital for the criminally insane. He died in 1865 among the lunatics, remembered only as a legal abstraction.

  There was, however, one wild card in the defense strategy. While Hemy would admit that he killed Rusty Sneiderman, both the prosecution and the defense came to believe he was driven by more than spectral visions and voices.

  Andrea Sneiderman, the object of his passion and infatuation, was with him every step of the way, texting, emailing, talking, and phoning.

  How much blame for her husband’s death could be laid at her feet? And what did she have to say now?

  The wait for answers would not be long.

  CHAPTER 16

  Superior Court judge Gregory A. Adams doesn’t just take the bench. He makes an entrance. He bursts into his fifth-floor courtroom through a door just to the right of the bench, then slams the door behind him. The clock drives his courtroom; his favorite phrase is “at this point in time.” Minutes matter to him. Court starts promptly at 9 a.m. Ten-minute breaks last exactly ten minutes. His voice cuts through all others, loud but never shouting, and he gives lawyers what could be called a friendly glare. Even what are normally quieter moments in court make a racket. When the lawyers gather at the bench for a private sidebar discussion, Adams activates a switch that fills the courtroom with an abrasive static noise so nobody can hear what they’re saying. A former prosecutor for DeKalb County, he’s amassed awards and titles, from past president of the DeKalb Bar Association to an honor from the Boy Scouts of America. There’s even a building named after him: the Gregory A. Adams Juvenile Justice Center.

  On the morning of Tuesday, February 21, 2012, Judge Adams presided over opening statements in the case of Georgia v. Hemy Zvi Neuman, charged with murder and the use of a gun in a felony. From an initial pool of 250 people called to the courthouse in Decatur, a jury of nine women and three men was selected. As is often the case, this courtroom was smaller in life than it appeared on television, with four rows of wooden benches in the audience section where family members were seated. It was a tense group, invisible lines between Rusty’s family—his parents, his brother, and his brother’s wife—on one side and Andrea and her supporters, including her mother and friends, on the other. Rusty’s family had become convinced that Andrea was involved in the murder even though she hadn’t been charged. The news media came out in force. National network correspondents delivering reports for the Today show and Good Morning America joined the local television and newspaper reporters, who live-blogged and tweeted from the courtroom. HLN carried portions of the trial live.

  Hemy Neuman sat at the defense table between Robert Rubin and Doug Peters—Peters in his customary bow tie. Hemy dressed business casual in a zip-up navy sweater jacket over a blue dress shirt, with no tie, his white T-shirt poking through. The man who’d be called “the defendant” for the next several weeks appeared quiet, impassive, as if he were just another observer. DA Robert James took his seat at the prosecution table and watched as Chief Assistant District Attorney Don Geary stood and gave the opening statement for the state. In his presentation, Geary spoke of the one person not in the courtroom, Rusty Sneiderman. Retracing the bloody events of November 18, 2010, step by detailed step, Geary described how Hemy followed Rusty to the preschool parking lot, waited while Rusty dropped off Ian, then shot him. “As Rusty falls, the defendant’s not satisfied. He walks up and, in near contact, he puts [the gun] to Rusty’s neck and fires again,” Geary told the jury. “Then this man who didn’t know the difference between right and wrong goes to his van and drives off quickly.”

  The opening statement played to the emotions while also attacking the insanity defense, but as powerful a presentation as he delivered, Geary could not hold the jury’s full attention. For behind him in the audience section was Andrea in a gray sweater with a Star of David necklace. She was sobbing uncontrollably. She drew heaving breaths as her mother comforted her. It was the first time many people had seen Andrea, a powerful impression few would forget—and not the last one she’d leave at the trial.

  Next, Doug Peters gave the defense opening. “This case is about two good men,” he said, calling Rusty Sneiderman “a great father to his two children” and Hemy Neuman a “great father to three.” But on that morning in November “the lives of those men and their families were shattered, broken in pieces on the ground, never to be put back together again,” Peters said. “Why? Everyone in this courtroom and this community is looking for the answer.” He told jurors to look no farther than the victim’s wife. Hemy had an affair with her, Peters said, and by the end he became convinced he had to kill Rusty to save Andrea’s children, prodded into murderous action by visions of an angel and a demon. “Now, that’s a dad gum story,” Peters acknowledged, but insisted it was one he could prove.

  The lawyers done, Adams cleared the courtroom for a break
, during which prosecutors revealed they would call Andrea first. It was a surprise, not least for her. She had not spoken to police in months, her relations with authorities souring as they continued to suggest she played a role in Rusty’s murder. Her lawyer, Seth Kirschenbaum, requested a hearing. Ever mindful of the ticking clock, Adams welcomed Kirschenbaum to the podium with a most unwelcome stare. The judge bluntly reminded the lawyer that he had no standing in this criminal trial since Andrea was a party to the case and that technically Adams didn’t have to listen to a word he said. But as a “courtesy,” the judge would let him speak, briefly.

  “The purpose of the motion,” began Kirschenbaum, “is brought on by the fact that Peters made it clear in his opening statement that he plans to put Andrea Sneiderman on trial and shift the blame for this crime from his client to my client. The way he’s going to do it is to completely focus on the more salacious aspects of this case whether or not they are true.”

  The motion, he said, was to bar the television camera from the courtroom while Andrea testified. “I’m not asking you to clear this courtroom, but what I am asking you is to protect Andrea Sneiderman, to protect her children, and to protect the morals of all people who may hear this case that you order that Andrea Sneiderman’s testimony not be televised,” he said. “Why? Because it’s going to focus on alleged improper conduct or acts of the sexes. Not only to protect Sneiderman, society, to protect her children.”

  “Mr. Kirschenbaum,” the judge said, “as a courtesy I did recognize you. All right, as of this time, you may be seated.”

  No more would be said on the matter. The camera stayed on.

  “Bring in my jury, please!” the judge boomed. As they filed in, Adams prodded them, “Come on in, you may be seated in any seat, no assigned seats, come on in, ladies and gentlemen, make yourself comfortable.” The judge then barked, “Call your first witness!”

  Geary said, “The state calls Andrea Sneiderman.”

  “Come on up!” the judge said in a voice suggesting he wouldn’t be disappointed if she jogged to the witness chair. “You’ll be sworn in!”

  Andrea had her hair just past shoulder-length and wore glasses that were narrow and severe. Her expression was grim. She raised her right hand and heard the bailiff give the oath. She swallowed hard before saying yes. After spelling her name for the court reporter, she pulled her chair up and swallowed and shook her head as if she had a crick in her neck.

  “Ma’am,” said Geary, “did you know Rusty Sneiderman?”

  “Yes,” she said, smiling.

  “How did you know Rusty?”

  “He is my husband.”

  In a slow, deliberate, and business-like fashion, Geary elicited the basic personal details from Andrea—her date of marriage, number of children, their employment histories, including her hiring at GE Energy. She spoke about the family’s finances, how they saved money and lived within their means, amassing an eight-hundred-thousand-dollar bank balance despite Rusty’s periods between jobs, with two houses, their primary residence half paid off.

  “You wouldn’t consider yourself broke, would you?”

  “No,” she said.

  Geary then ventured into Andrea’s relationship with Hemy Neuman, a relationship that she acknowledged developed over the many hours they spent traveling for GE, when talk would drift from business to the personal. The prosecutor’s tone remained calm and respectful, ever mindful that the jury may empathize with the grieving widow.

  “In the course of the time that I knew him,” Andrea began, “he discussed in the beginning how he was very happy with his children, had some financial problems but happy in his marriage. Then it progressed on to: I’m not happy in my marriage and my wife, that we are not getting along. She’s confrontational.”

  Hemy told her about his early years, going to the boarding school in Israel, only he called it an “extremely positive influence,” Andrea testified, with Hemy telling her he became a leader and made many friends.

  “Ever tell you about encountering a demon?” asked Geary, his first of many jabs at the defense theory.

  “No,” she said.

  Instead, she talked to Hemy about “everything from hobbies I had, to my children’s interests, to Rusty’s business ventures, to previous jobs I had had. Everything you would talk about with something you’re developing a friendship with.”

  “Did you consider him a friend at that time?”

  “Yes.”

  “How would you describe him prior to November 18?”

  “Extremely friendly individual, caring—pretending to be a caring individual,” she added, “seemed to have a very close relationship with all the members of his team … willing to take on any obstacle. That, at the time, seemed like an admirable quality for somebody in a corporation like GE. It can be tough to navigate a company like that. He seemed to have that figured out.”

  “Prior to November 18, 2010, did the defendant tell you ever that he was having hallucinations?”

  “No.”

  “Did it ever appear to you that he was having hallucinations?”

  “No, he appeared to be an extremely normal individual.”

  “Did you ever hear anything about him having hallucinations?”

  “No.”

  “Did the defendant ever tell you that he saw or talked to a demon?”

  “No.”

  “Did the defendant ever tell you that he saw or talked to an angel figure?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever see the defendant, prior to November 18, 2010, act illogical or irrational?”

  “Never.”

  “Did you ever see the defendant act manically depressed such that he couldn’t function?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever see him confused?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever see him act bipolar or have extreme mood changes?”

  “Never.”

  “Was he pretty stable, pretty solid?”

  “Extremely stable person.”

  “Did the defendant ever tell you how many children he had?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many children did he tell you he had?”

  “Three.”

  “Did he ever tell you he thought he had five?”

  “No.”

  “Did he ever tell you that he thought your children were his children?”

  She answered with an emphatic, “No.”

  At the defense table, Hemy sat and watched. Sometimes he would look up at her through his glasses, sometimes looking down, his expression neutral, as if he were attending a slightly boring business meeting, attentive but not fully involved.

  Andrea seemed nervous. She wrung her hands in her lap and twitched. She spoke so softly at times that the judge had her repeat answers.

  “Did the defendant ever express his feelings to you?” asked Geary.

  “Yes,” she said, and recalled the business trip to Minden, Nevada. “Before dinner, we were outside the restaurant, and he pulled out his phone and read a poem. The insinuation of the poem to me was that he had deeper feelings for me than just friends. We immediately sat down. I remember the first question out of my mouth was: ‘Are you happy in your marriage?’”

  “What did he express to you?”

  “I don’t remember what the poem said. The poem insinuated that he thought I was beautiful, which to me meant that he had more romantic feelings for me than just being friends.”

  “Is that the only time prior to November 18, 2010, that he expressed that to you?”

  “It’s the only time that he expressed it in that way. There were other times where in passing, or in a fleeting moment, or in what seemed like a very silly email, he would seem to be expressing feelings for me. None of those feelings were ever returned and I made myself completely clear where I stood.”

  “Do you have any idea what would make, what you believe, why the defendant would have these feelings for you? Do you know why he might have them?”


  Andrea paused for a long time before answering. “Ummm,” she began, “I think I’m a pretty nice person. If you ask any of my friends, I get very involved in their life. I care about them. I get to know them. I try to help them. I did nothing but try to help Hemy Neuman. I suggested to him to seek counseling for him and his marriage, suggested that he not move out of his home, and I would do that for any friend. I think he viewed me as someone that had some sort of expert knowledge, answers.”

  “Did you ever tell Rusty about the poem or the defendant’s feelings towards you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I really thought that I could handle it,” she said. “I knew if I told Rusty that I would quit my job and it was the only source of income we had at the time. I thought I had everything under control. At the time it seemed benign in a sense, no reason to tell him, only to make him emotional and worried about my career and about me.”

  “Did you ever report the defendant’s conduct to anybody at GE?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  The question brought a change to Andrea. Her voice took on a firm tone, like she was lecturing the prosecutor.

  “I would have been fired,” she said. “I think that it’s fairly clear in writing how those things are handled, but I think that any woman that works in a corporation, that has just started her career over again, almost for the second time, knows if you were to report something like that, and you only worked at the company for two or three months, your chance of success at that company are pretty limited.”

  Geary then brought her through her business trips with Hemy, starting with a trip to Norfolk.

  “Do you remember that trip sharing a bottle of wine?”

  Andrea appeared thrown off by the question. “I think almost every time I sat down to a business dinner I had a bottle of wine—shared a bottle of wine.”

  He presented her with a receipt for a fifty-dollar bottle of wine.