Schiller sat on the bed in the dark, chilly cell, holding a black umbrella. He had not gone looking for any evidence at all. His trip outside had merely been to retrieve his umbrella.
The process of his being taken away had been utterly unremarkable. A car stopped in front of him, someone told him to cooperate or die, and Schiller chose to cooperate. They apparently had not noticed anything strange about the umbrella. After locking him up, they simply placed it beside the corridor on this floor.
After retrieving his umbrella, Schiller remained seated where he was. Before long, the elevator stopped on this floor again, and a group of people came down, cursing. Soon, someone was thrown into the cell next door.
A wall separated the two cells. Schiller could not see the other person's appearance, but he could guess who it was. Before he could speak, the person rolled over and said,
"Were you brought here by them too? You have to believe me, I'm not crazy. They want me to admit that I'm mentally ill so that my testimony becomes invalid. But you have to believe me, I'm really not crazy! I saw what they did!"
"Who are you?" Schiller asked.
"I... if I tell you, maybe you won't help me." A young female voice came from the other side. She had a distinct Gotham accent and was probably a local.
"Go ahead and tell me."
"My surname is Richie... but I have nothing to do with that Mafia boss named Richie. More accurately, we're distant relatives, but he never helped us with anything. And I've never done any of those Mafia dealings. You have to believe me!"
She kept emphasizing that he had to believe her. That likely meant very few people had believed her