Philadelphia Daily News
Wednesday, November 29, 2000

The last moments of Shannon's life

Court documents reveal the horror

By Nicole Weisensee Egan,
DAILY NEWS STAFF WRITER

 The first sounds of a violent struggle in Shannon Schieber's apartment came around 1 a.m. on Thursday, May 7, 1998.

Neighbors, attracted by sounds of scuffling, strained to hear what was going on. But then there was silence.

But about 45 minutes later, neighbor Parmatma Greeley heard cries from the apartment, cries that were abruptly cut off, like someone was being choked.

He frantically dialed 911. It was 2:04 a.m.

"I just heard . . . her yell help," Greeley told the 911 operator, according to transcripts of the call. "I knocked on the door and I just heard like a . . . choking-type sound."

Seven minutes later, while Schieber was drawing her last breaths, cops were pounding on her door.

That much is clear.

What is in dispute - and what was laid out in excruciating detail in court documents unsealed yesterday - is why police did not enter Schieber's apartment, and whether she was still alive when police got there.

And if the killer was still lurking inside.

A civil lawsuit filed by Schieber's parents is seeking the answers to those questions. Yesterday, U.S. District Judge Norma Shapiro unsealed hundreds of pages of depositions, interviews and transcripts in the lawsuit.

The documents are a heartbreaking account of the many things that went wrong as the 23-year-old Wharton School student struggled valiantly with her attacker and called for help.

Together they paint a frightening picture of the last hours of the young woman's life.

Greeley said he had run into Schieber about 5 or 6 p.m. on Wednesday, May 6, 1998, outside their apartment building on 23rd Street near Spruce.

He and his girlfriend, Leah Basickes, were on their way to Barnes and Noble, he said at his March 13 deposition.

He and Schieber exchanged pleasantries and went their own way.

Schieber apparently stayed in that night. Her brother, Sean, called her about 10 p.m. and they talked for about 15 or 20 minutes, firming up plans for lunch the next day.

When Greeley and Basickes returned around 11:15 p.m, they went into their apartment, just across the hall from Schieber's.

They plopped down on the couch to watch the Learning Channel, while across the hall, Schieber made preparations to turn in for the night.

Shortly before 1 a.m., Schieber drew a bath and took off her clothes.

Suddenly, she heard a sound from the living area of her studio apartment.

An intruder had entered from her balcony and through an unlocked sliding glass door, which he had carefully closed behind him.

She bravely confronted him, and the two began a violent struggle.

The scuffling sounds were loud enough for Greeley to hear across the three-foot-wide hallway, through two closed doors and a living room.

But Basickes thought the sounds were coming from outside. And because the sounds quieted, she went to bed.

Greeley maintained a worried vigil.

About 45 minutes later, he said he heard Schieber screaming for help, and he dashed across the hall.

"I knocked on her door and said, 'Shannon! Are you OK?'" Greeley said at his deposition. "And I actually tried the handle, but it was locked."

He ran back into his apartment and called police. The report went out over the police radio as a "female screaming."

While Greeley waited, he became increasingly frantic. He went to the downstairs apartment of Amy Reed to see if her boyfriend was around so they could break down Schieber's door.

"He was quite certain what he had heard, who he had heard and where it had come from when he woke me up," Reed said at her March 13 deposition. "He relayed that to the police."

Reed's boyfriend wasn't home so she went outside to wait with Greeley for the police.

Officers Raymond Scherff and Steven Woods arrived at 2:11 a.m. in separate cars.

But during the crucial seven minutes it took them to arrive, medical experts differ about what was happening to Schieber.

Dr. Michael Baden, a nationally known forensic expert hired by the Schiebers, who testified as a defense expert in the O.J. Simpson trial, said she was likely still alive when police got there.

He believes the sounds Greeley heard were of Schieber being gagged by her attacker and that she could have been alive until at least 3 a.m.

But Vincent DiMaio, a Texas forensic pathologist hired by the city, said there is no evidence that she was gagged.

He said she was being strangled when Greeley called police, and would have been rendered unconscious in 10 to 15 seconds and dead in five minutes, he said.

Whatever was going on inside the apartment, there was no response when Woods and Scherff pounded on her door. And when they grilled Greeley about what he heard and where the sounds were coming from, they said he wasn't sure.

"He was a wishy-washy type of guy. He wasn't sure," Scherff said at his March 7, 2000, deposition.

Greeley initially insisted he was more definite."I said I heard my neighbor scream for help and a choked-off sound," he said.

But later, he admitted he told the officers that the sounds might have come from outside.

Because of Greeley's uncertainty, cops said they could not legally break down Schieber's door. They are only allowed to do so under legally defined exigent circumstances, which include the belief that someone is in danger inside a locked dwelling.

Outside, Woods shined his flashlight at Schieber's balcony. He saw nothing amiss. Her curtains were drawn and the sliding glass door was closed.

Scherff called in the incident as "unfounded," police jargon that means no evidence of a crime was found. It was 2:16 a.m.

The next day, Sean Schieber showed up at his sister's apartment shortly before 1 p.m. He noticed that the sliding glass door on her balcony was open.

He pounded on Greeley's door. This time, the neighbor had no compunction about breaking down Schieber's door.

"I was sick of waiting at that point," he said. "I had enough of calling 911."

Once inside, they saw Schieber lying on her bed face down. She was naked, her face discolored and her hair disheveled. Her head was at the foot of the bed, toward the door, her arms thrust out stiffly at her sides.

Sean "basically dropped on the floor in a fetal position crying," Greeley said. He called police.