Frozen Summer
August emerged an idyllic summer month in Stevens Point. Temperatures hovered in the mid-80s and the humidity, oppressive in earlier weeks, dropped to merciful levels. Arriving late on the heals of an unusually wet spring, the postcard weather was embraced by grateful locals, as is all moderate weather in Wisconsin, but perhaps more so in this flatland region where there’s little hiding from oppressive summer heat or stinging winter cold.

The few hundred college students remaining in Point to work or take classes made their plans based only on the weather, hoping to squeeze as much fun as possible out of the waning dog days. Summer session was over. The only activity on campus came from the practice fields where the football team endured calisthenics in the sun. A Welcome Back Students banner was hung across Main Street in front of Old Main. In three weeks the balance of the university population, more than 8,500 students, would descend on the town. The routine of fifteen-credit semesters, textbooks, reports, exams, and parties would start all over again just as it had every year for a hundred years.

Even the “townies,” the people living in Point who didn’t go to school or work on campus, took their cue from the university. The pace of life would quicken a bit; the bars, theaters and fast food restaurants would see more business; concerts would be held in Quandt Gymnasium on campus. The previous year, Mary Chapin Carpenter, the World Wrestling Federation, and the Gin Blossoms had appeared in Quandt.

For now it was in-between time, one of the rare periods when the university was nearly deserted, leaving Stevens Point even more small-town quiet than usual. The town’s inhabitants moved at a pace equal to the languid summer breezes.

Such carefree days were over for Jennifer Bognar, who graduated from UW-SP in the spring. Like many college graduates, she had moved back home to save money and look for a job. The realities of post-graduate life were sinking-in for Bognar. She was living with her parents in Hartland, Wis., and working as an office assistant for a failing computer sales company.

Bognar knew Point had been the ideal college town, the quintessential college experience, just as she knew life after college could be unfulfilling and spiritless. The adjustment was eased somewhat by visiting friends in Point over the summer and by a having a close friend from her recent college days, Tiffany Valona, living nearby in Milwaukee.

On Aug. 18, 1993, Bognar woke to face another day of office work. She was alone, her parents had already gone to work, and Bognar turned on the small radio sitting atop the kitchen refrigerator and began her morning routine. Her head not yet clear in the early morning and walking back and forth between the bathroom and bedroom, Bognar was perplexed for a moment.

Maybe it was something from the past weekend that crossed her mind, Bognar thought. She and Tiffany, along with another Point grad, stayed with Vicky Friday and Saturday in Point. The group had spent the weekend together -- went to a fish fry Friday night, stopped at Ella’s for a beer, sunned themselves in dilapidated lawn chairs Saturday afternoon, and made the rounds at the Square that night -- a typical if not forgettable summer weekend in Point.

Whatever it was that caught Bogner’s attention the morning of August 18, the monotone din of a radio newscast or a subconscious thought of her friend in Point, she dismissed it and hurried out the door for work.

“House keeping.”

The maid at the Stevens Point Best Western Royale conducted her usual room-to-room chores, knocking on each door before lifting her overburdened key ring to the lock. Hearing no answer from Room 226, she unlocked the door and stepped inside. The room was freezing, air conditioner at full blast, and the television set was on. Glancing around the corner of the bathroom, on one side of the first queen-sized bed, the maid saw a person laying face down, covered by the bedspread, the crown of the back of the person’s head showing slightly where the pillow and bedspread met.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

The maid didn’t expect the occupant to hear her quick apology as she left room. If they can sleep through that cold and noise...

An hour later, she tried again. It was checkout time, after noon.

“House keeping.”

She knocked several times for fair warning and announced “house keeping” again for good measure as she entered. She saw exactly the same thing.

Explaining her predicament in the hotel office, the manager pulled the registration before dialing room 226 to wake the guest who had probably passed out in one of his rooms. He hung up after a minute and summoned an assistant. The three walked upstairs.

More knocks for fair warning. The trio entered the room, manager first, and stood a few feet from the bed.

“Ma’am,” he said loudly. “Checkout time…ma’am.”

The three stood there.

“I don’t think she’s moved since I first came in here,” the maid said, raising her hand to her mouth as the first pangs of fear hit her stomach.

The manager walked around and lifted part of the bedspread.

Stevens Point Police Officer Mallek was the first to the scene. Several others soon followed. They found a naked corpse of a young college-aged woman and a pair of black sandals placed neatly next to the television stand. Any property belonging to the subject was gone -- purse, clothing, car keys, money, jewelry -- not a thing was in the room other than the corpse and the sandals. There were no obvious signs that a crime had occurred.

It was 12:43 p.m., August 17, 1993.

Mallek called the coroner, Scott Rifleman, and two officers were dispatched from the state crime lab in Wausau. They began their methodical processing of the scene, discovering quickly that the room had been wiped clean of all fingerprints.

The body was transported to St. Michael’s Hospital morgue late that afternoon. The ambulance drove quietly down Main Street to the hospital’s back entrance across the street from the University Center building.

Hotel registration showed that Vicky Schneider had rented the room. Mallek ran a registration check on the red Volkswagen Rabbit parked in the Best Western parking lot, which confirmed ownership by Vicky Schneider of West Allis.

Police were searching the car when a man approached the officers. He said he had seen the two people who arrived in the Rabbit. The car was parked in front of his room. One officer asked the man why he would have noticed the people in the car.

“They seemed like a really odd couple. The girl was driving. She looked like a college student, pretty, with long blonde hair. He was skuzzy looking. It just didn’t seem right.”

Jennifer Bognar had to cover the office phones whenever the receptionist took a break. Two fellow employees were standing around chatting when Jennifer grabbed the headset to answer a call buzzing on the line. It was Tiffany. She was out of her mind, barely able to speak.

“Would you calm down and tell me what the hell is wrong?” Bognar demanded. Her co-workers stopped in mid-sentence and stared.

“What are you talking about?”

Jennifer’s voice began to crack.

“Was she in an accident? What happened? Tiffany, would you just take a deep breath and tell me what is going on?”

“Somebody killed her. Vicky’s dead. Vicky’s dead.

The two met at Tiffany’s house. Tiffany, who had been Vicky’s roommate in Point, was inconsolable. Vicky had been murdered in a hotel room, she explained, and that was all anybody knew.

It made no sense. They had been with Vicky days before. There was no indication anything was amiss, and no reason for her to be in a hotel.

Within minutes, a West Allis police car drove up. Tiffany buried her head in her hands; Jennifer answered the door. They were told to drive to the Stevens Point Police Department immediately for questioning.

The two packed not knowing how long they would be gone. They sat in silence much of the way, Jennifer driving, the two occasionally venturing a guess as to what happened.

Jennifer and Tiffany were headed back to Point again. Vicky was going home. Somewhere on the Wisconsin interstate, the two vehicles carrying the friends passed one another.

The Aug. 18 Stevens Point Journal article, appearing on the very top of the front page under the headline UW-SP student found dead, was brief. The lead stated that Vicky was described as a “lovely, bubbly person who was always happy.” Schneider attended summer school, majored in French and hoped to study abroad during the second semester of the year. Her mother said the family had no idea what happened or why she was at the hotel.

The police chief offered what little facts were known: Vicky had checked into the hotel at 1:30 p.m., Aug. 16; a maid found the body the next afternoon. Anyone with information about Vicky or her whereabouts over the last several days should contact the police department. On Aug. 19, the Journal ran a longer story, Women’s death still a mystery, which contained a photo of Vicky from one of the snapshots her roommates had provided the police. The picture showed Vicky with a broad smile, hair flipped over her left shoulder framing part of her face and slightly obscuring her cheekbone. It was first glimpse of Vicky Schneider that Stevens Point saw. It was a photo that would run countless times in the next year and become embedded in the memories of residents.

Officials would not rule out foul play, the article said. Coroner Rifleman stated, “Everything’s a wide open door.” He would have to study the results from the autopsy in Milwaukee. Natural causes such as heart or liver disease were eliminated, although there were some “unexplained internal changes.” Rifleman would not elaborate. Drug screening would take another week to 10 days.

“Mystery surrounds Schneider’s death and it continues to stump police, family and friends,” the newspaper wrote. “Police are trying to paint a picture of who she was. Who did she know? Where did she go? And what did she like to do?”

“We’re trying to find out what her activities were the last few days and why she was at the motel,” said Police Chief Robert Kreisa. “We’re trying to put together some kind of composite to see what type of person Vicky Schneider was.”

The police knew who Vicky Schneider was. They had interviewed 12 people, half of whom were Vicky’s roommates and friends, in the 48 hours since they found the body. Police realized from the outset that none of Vicky’s friends could be considered suspects. What’s more, the friends, not even Beth Lueders and Tiffany, Vicky’s closest friends, had the slightest idea of what led to her death. Vicky was the most virtuous person they had ever known.

“I’d hope someone would walk in and tell us what happened,” Kreisa wished out loud.