The frail, snowy-haired man was a familiar figure in the cafes and shops of Rice Village.

Some remember him as polite and quiet: a good neighbor, a generous tipper. Others paint a picture of an oddly unsettling eccentric.

But almost everyone who crossed paths with Robert Durst soon learned about his backstory, which shadowed him even as he led a seemingly ordinary life in the affluent Houston community.

The 71-year-old real estate heir has been linked to the 1982 disappearance of his first wife, the 2000 execution-style killing of a Los Angeles friend and the 2001 shooting of a Galveston neighbor. Durst admitted dismembering the neighbor, Morris Black, and dumping his remains in the bay, but was acquitted at trial.

On Monday, one day after he appeared to confess in the final episode of the HBO documentary "The Jinx," Durst was charged with first-degree murder in the Los Angeles death.

The new charge and the on-air confession, in which he can be heard murmuring, "What the hell did I do? Kill them all, of course," stoked both fears and puzzlement among those who shared space with Durst in his regular haunts.

Many people asked not to be quoted by name, afraid that he will once again be acquitted and back out on the streets. A few, still trying to reconcile the friendly man they knew with the image of a calculating killer, say they are reserving judgment about his guilt.

At Croissant Brioche, a French bakery Durst frequented two or three times a week, new employees immediately got a recap of his history, said one worker. Then they were offered this advice: "Don't get his order wrong or get him angry."

Durst was a creature of habit, always ordering the same meal - a ham sandwich with no ham. He also exhibited odd quirks, emptying a cup of coffee onto the floor, washing his hands under an urn that dispenses drinking water, referring to himself in the royal "we."

A stylist who works in the salon where Durst had his hair cut remembers that he carried a backpack filled with "wads of cash." He seemed, she said, sad and damaged, but so tiny and fragile that it was hard to imagine him as a murderer.

Durst's eccentricities were well-known in the neighborhood, including a 2014 incident in which he was charged with urinating on a candy display at a Rice Village CVS. He pleaded no contest and paid a fine.

The pharmacy is still a magnet for curiosity-seekers, who often sneak cell phone photos of the candy rack, an employee said.

A few blocks from the infamous drugstore, another image of Durst emerges.

"If you didn't know what he had done, he would not seem like a scary guy," said Sarah Holland, a barista at the Starbucks on Kirby Drive near Sunset.

Durst was a daily customer there, coming in around noon for a tall Americano, double cup, and sometimes, a vanilla almond biscotti. Some days, he would sit in the coffee shop, reading the newspaper. He was always pleasant. Always well-mannered. Always quick to tip.

So distant from the man portrayed in the HBO series and in media reports, said Jennifer Asumendi, another Starbucks employee. To her, everything about "Mr. Bob" - from his way of speaking to his way of walking - had seemed gentle.

That was also the impression formed by Bob Martin, an accountant who owns two condos in the Rice Village mid-rise where Durst lives. Property records show that Durst owns three condos, worth nearly $1.5 million, in the 78-unit complex.

Durst was an amiable neighbor, nice to the staff, and supportive of efforts to repair the building after damage from Hurricane Ike, Martin said.

Martin did not let Durst's past color his opinion of the man. Those incidents, Martin reasoned, had happened long ago.

The person Martin knew was an old man with a limp and a smile for neighbors, "nothing like the intimidating character portrayed in the media right now."

Still, Martin admits, there may be more than one Robert Durst.

One a quiet coffee shop regular. The other a cold-blooded killer.