Fishtown: A Jack Regan/Izzy Ichowitz Novel

by Neal Goldstein

  “Is there anything else you want to know?” Nooris asked as if daring Jack to continue.

  There was a great deal more Jack wanted to ask Nooris. Why had he insisted that he and Izzy were the only individuals he trusted to review the documents and witness their statements? Nothing about that made any sense. And what were those questions concerning charges that could be lodged by other countries about? Jack checked his watch, should he risk spending the time to question Nooris? Did he really expect the former Mossad agent to reveal the truth? A Humvee was waiting to take them to the air field for their flight back to Philadelphia. Even if the flight back took longer than their trip down, he would still make it back with time to spare. Jack checked his watch again and shook his head, ending the interview.

  He watched as the guards led Nooris and Rabinowitz away. He thought he saw Nooris smile at him as he shuffled out the door. What the hell was that about? Were they being played?

  Ichowitz as if reading his mind asked, “Do you think we got the emes?”

  Jack shook his head, “I don’t know what Nooris is really up to, but I guess we’ll have to see how things shake out.”

  “And I’m sure he knows where Shona Cohen is and what she’s doing. I’ll feel a whole lot better when we get back home and make sure Katey and Liam are safe,” Izzy added.

  The Gulf Stream jet was waiting on the tarmac. When they took their seats the pilot entered the cabin and said, “Gentlemen, I’m afraid we have a problem.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “There’s a tropical disturbance about 250 nautical miles north of Cuba with hurricane force winds of close to 74 mph directly in our path. The tower will not give us clearance to leave on the flight plan I filed.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “The prudent course would be for us to wait until the storm passes.”

  “How long would that be?”

  “Not sure, at least several hours.”

  “I’m getting married at noon. I have to be back in Philly in time or else the shit storm at home will be far worse than anything we may encounter from the hurricane. Is there any way for you to get us there in time?”

  “Let me see what I can do.”

  After the pilot left the cabin Jack turned to Izzy, “My mother will kill me if we’re not back in time.”

  Rico Valdez smiled, “I’ve flown on CIA flights before. Their guys are all hot shots. I’m betting our pilot will find a way to get us out of here and back to Philly in plenty of time for you to walk down the aisle.”

  Jack watched the minute hand on his watch accelerate as the odds of his getting back in time for his wedding diminished with every passing second. They sat on the tarmac for forty-five minutes. When the pilot finally emerged from the cockpit, he was smiling. “Mr. Regan, it appears that your mother knows the Secretary of the Navy. She apparently was concerned when she was informed your flight was being delayed, so the tower gave us clearance.”

  “But what about the storm?”

  The pilot smiled and replied, “Maybe your mother can make another call and ask the big man to call off the storm.”

  Jack laughed, “My mother knows a lot of powerful people, but I don’t think she has a direct line up there.”

  “Gentlemen wheels will be up in 5 minutes. Prepare for takeoff. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

  True to his word the flight north was as turbulent as a white water raft ride, complete with stomach turning drops in altitude and maneuvers that tested the holding powers of their seat belts. The pilot took a northwesterly path that skirted the western edge of the storm adding over an hour to the flight time.

  “Gentlemen, we’re 90 miles from Philadelphia International. I’m told that an SUV with police escort is waiting for you. We’ll land at 10:45AM. Good luck Mr. Regan.”

  The drive from the airport to Logan Circle was nearly as harrowing as the flight from Cuba. Regan and Ichowitz changed in the sacristy. As the cathedral bells stuck noon, Jack was standing at the altar with Izzy by his side waiting for his bride to be escorted down the aisle by her father. He hoped that no one would notice that he wasn’t wearing any socks.

  He smiled as Kate’s father gave him his bride’s hand. As they turned to walk up to the altar he whispered in her ear, “I love you.” She turned and gave him a brilliant smile and replied, “Your mother is going to kill you the minute she gets you alone.”

  He laughed and the priest began the ceremony.

  Chapter 7

  The Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul, the mother church of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia, anchors the east end of the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, Philadelphia’s imitation of Paris’ Champs-Élysées. The building was modeled after the Lombard church of Saint Charles in Rome with an aqua-oxidized copper dome over 200 feet high and a 12 foot tall gold cross at the very top. By any measure the Basilica is a worthy counterpart to the Philadelphia Museum of Art located at the opposite end of the Parkway one mile to the west.

  According to legend when the cathedral construction began in 1846, the architect threw rocks as high as he could before placing the celestory stained glass windows high enough to prevent them from being shattered by rioting Protestants who resented the ‘hoards’ of Catholics invading their turf. The parishioners had to pray in the dark from 1864 when the building was completed until Cardinal O’Hara thought it was safe to install stained glass windows on the first floor nearly a century later.

  Jack and Kate stepped out into the brilliant sunshine of the summer-like day. From their vantage point on the top step of the Cathedral entrance they had an unobstructed view of the Parkway all the way to Eakin’s Oval and the Art Museum. The electric blue sky speckled with cumulous clouds intensified the brilliant hues of the autumn foliage along the boulevard. The Parkway looked surreal, like one of the impressionist paintings hanging in the Barnes Foundation Museum that the new money crowd in Philly had recently purloined from the old money crowd on the Main Line and relocated to Center City.

  The water spray from the fountain in the center of Logan Circle glistened in the sun’s reflection like dozens of miniature rainbows as it cascaded to the fountain’s basin. The crowd of wedding guests who lined the sidewalk applauded and threw rice as the couple made their way across 19th Street to the Four Seasons Hotel where the reception was being held.

  Ichowitz scanned the crowd; instincts honed after decades of policing left him with a gnawing concern that Shona Cohen was a continuing threat to Regan and his family.

  “Ya look like one of the G-men who escort the president. Relax, this is supposed ta be a joyous occasion. Besides, yer retired now,” Mike O’Malley, chided him as they entered the hotel lobby.

  Ichowitz sheepishly replied, “Old habits.”

  “Well, lookin around this crowd with all the police guardin the commissioner and the rest of the toffs, I think ya can relax and enjoy the festivities, don’t cha know. Let’s have a snort in honor of the luvly couple. I think Liam’s ready fer one of them Shirley Temples,” O’Malley said and winked at the boy.

  The wedding gala went off without incident. Jack’s mother had planned the event with the precision of an army maneuver without even so much as breaking a sweat, despite the fact that there were over three hundred guests in attendance and she had only six weeks to stage the event.

  “Mrs. Regan, I’m overwhelmed,” Kate hugged her mother-in-law.

  “Jack’s father and I couldn’t be happier for the two of you. I know you didn’t want all this fuss, but I’m so pleased you allowed us to make this party. Now go dance with your husband, who I noticed has been keeping his distance from me, and let him know he and I will be having a mother and son chat very soon.”

  Jack’s parents and Mike O’Malley stood together and watched as Kate and Jack took the floor.

  “I hate to admit it, but ya were right, this place b
eats the Grape Tavern. There’s no way we could have fit in all this crowd fer the party,” he observed as he raised his glass to the Regans.

  “Thank you for allowing us to arrange all of this,” the commissioner replied as they clicked their glasses.

  “Sláinte,” O’Malley gave his customary toast.

  “To your health,” Regan responded.

  “You’ll be comin to the Grape fer the after party? Kate’s folks and her friends from Ireland and all of your children will be there.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  When their first dance as husband and wife ended Kate asked, “Is that your boss standing by the bar?”

  He nodded.

  “She looks like she wants to talk to you.”

  They walked over to District Attorney Susan Romansky. Regan made the introductions and Susan asked if she could have a moment to speak with Jack.

  As soon as Kate walked away, Romansky, as was her custom, immediately cut to the chase, “I got a problem on the Martison case. Harriet Samitz was going to second chair for Mark Young. It’s Mark’s first major homicide trial, so I wanted one of our veteran litigators to assist. Anyway, Harriet has a family emergency, her father got sick and she has to fly out to LA to take care of him. So now I don’t have anyone available to second chair the kid.”

  Dr. Herbert Martison had been accused of running an abortion mill under the guise of a women’s health center in West Philadelphia. He had been charged with performing illegal late-term abortions, and killing babies who were born alive; altogether seven counts of First Degree Murder.

  Martison was represented by none other than Vito Coratelli. There was little doubt that Coratelli would try to take advantage of the relatively inexperienced Assistant DA who had been assigned to prosecute the case unless someone with experience and the balls to stand up to him was close at hand to help rein him in. Young was an able litigator, but Regan knew from his own experience that your first big time major trial was a huge step up from the run of the mill cases the younger assistants like Young were normally assigned. As far as Regan could tell there was no bigger case than the Martison trial.

  “Since you already cleared your calendar, do you think you can put off your honeymoon a little longer, at least until Harriet gets back? You and Vito are—what did Izzy always say? ”

  “Mishpocheh, like family.”

  “Yes mishpocheh that’s it.”

  Regan laughed and said, “You know Vito longer than I do. He wouldn’t care if his mother was prosecuting the case. He’s there to win and will do whatever it takes to come out on top. I agree you ought to have someone with experience to help Mark out just in case Vito tries to push him around. The thing is, I don’t think I’m the right guy to sit in the second chair. Besides, I was really looking forward to spending some time alone with my bride. And I almost missed the wedding. So there’s no way I’m gonna ask her to put off our honeymoon.”

  “Look, you can tell her I’ve been on three honeymoons, believe me they’re overrated. Besides, Harriet should be back in a week or so. She can step right back into the second chair. The trial is starting in a couple days and Mark’s going to be manning the heavy oar. What do you say?”

  He looked at his bride who was having an animated conversation with her uncle, “I don’t know.”

  She gave him an appraising look and said, “You know this is my last term as DA. The mahoffs in the party are going to ask me who I recommend to succeed me. I know you want the job. Being part of the Martinson trial team would be good for your political career.”

  Jack gave her a wry smile and said, “Susan, I might have been born at night, but I wasn’t born last night. Everybody knows the Martison case is toxic. Abortion is the new third rail in politics. No matter what happens, if he’s convicted or acquitted, someone is going to be pissed off. That’s why you dumped the case on the kid in the first place. Even if I was interested in succeeding you, and I’m not saying that I am, why would I agree to get involved in that mess?”

  “Civic pride?”

  “Pahleeze.”

  “Jack?”

  “I’ll think about it and get back to you,” he smiled at her. “Susan, if I do agree, I’ll want your immediate endorsement.”

  “But I thought you hadn’t decided to run.”

  “And I didn’t hear you decided to retire.”

  “Touché.”

  Later as he left the wedding reception Ichowitz felt like a heavy weight had been lifted off his chest. Old habits he thought once again as he and his wife hugged the lucky couple good-bye. Like Jack he assumed there was a lot more to Nooris’ insistence that the two of them vouch for the the deal they struck with the CIA than he was able to figure out. While he waited for the valet to bring his car he had the feeling someone was watching him. He looked up and noticed a young woman sitting at one of the tables outside the “Fridays” across 19th Street from the hotel entrance. She had a sketchpad on her lap and a pencil in her hand and appeared to be studying the cathedral. O’Malley was right, he thought, he wasn’t on the force anymore; it was time for him to let it go.

  Shona ignored the panhandlers who approached her as she made her way through Love Park. As dusk was falling the homeless assembled at the park to set up their quarters for the night. A toothless woman approached her, pointed a knife and screamed, demanding that Shona give her the backpack she was wearing. Shona smiled at the woman and shook her head. When the woman lunged at her Shona swung her backpack at the attacker knocking her to the ground. She grabbed the knife from the woman’s hand and held the point at her throat. “I better take this with me so that you don’t hurt yourself,” she said. None of the crowd who gathered to watch bothered her as she walked away.

  She had gone to Logan Circle strictly out of curiosity. She had already decided that following Ari’s plan didn’t make any sense. Ari would never be released from the CIA’s custody so why bother helping him even the score? But as she watched the wedding party make their way to the hotel she momentarily felt the adrenalin rush she experienced whenever she was fulfilling one of her assignments. She wondered if she would ever find anything to replace that feeling if she was actually able to walk away.

  Chapter 8

  When he left the reception the commissioner checked his calls. Among the messages was one from his Chief of Homicide.

  “Larry how are things in the Homicide Division now that Izzy retired?”

  “Sorry to bother you sir, but as a matter of fact I was calling you about Izzy.”

  “Does this have anything to do with an active investigation?”

  “Well, I guess the best way to answer your question is maybe,” Jackson replied.

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “As you know the remains of four individuals were discovered at a construction site on Delaware Avenue. There’s something about the location, it’s in Fishtown, and the peculiar fact that some of the remains are 10 or 20 years older than the rest. I don’t know, but I seem to recall Izzy telling me he worked on a case about twenty or so years ago in Fishtown that bothered him.”

  “The Heilman case?”

  “Yes sir, that’s the case. From time to time he would question whether he got it right. Whether Heilman had killed the two women that were found buried in the cellar of the church.”

  “I was temporarily assigned to Homicide and worked the case with Izzy. It was his first job in the division. I remember how meticulous he was in documenting the investigation. Izzy’s rabbi, Joe O’Reilly, told him the murder book was too heavy for him to lift. O’Reilly was a good cop. He was trying to make sure Izzy didn’t overthink the investigation.”

  “Izzy was my rabbi when I got to the division. He talked a lot about Heilman. ‘Trust your instincts and don’t just go along to get along,’ he told me.”

  “I know, he mentioned it to me for
several years. But what does the Heilman case have to do with your job?” Regan asked.

  “I’m not sure; maybe nothing. I just can’t shake the feeling that Izzy would know something that might help us close the case.”

  “It sounds like a long shot to me. But if you think Izzy can assist your investigation give him a call. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help out.”

  “I saw you in deep conversation with your uncle,” Jack said as they drove to the party at the Grape Tavern.

  She nodded, “And I saw the look you gave yer boss when she asked to speak to you in private. What was that about?”

  He told her about Romansky’s request that he delay their honeymoon so that he could second chair the Martison trial.

  “So what did you tell her?”

  “I told her I wanted to go on my honeymoon. What?”

  “You’re not goin to believe this, but I was going to ask you if we could put it off for a while.”

  He waited.

  “Eduardo has whatever it is that’s been goin around and I can’t have O’Malley interferin with my chefs. He’ll have liverwurst and onion sandwiches back on the menu and return the Grape to a shot and a beer joint if I don’t keep him in check.”

  “So you want to delay our honeymoon?”

  “If we do that, we can wait until Liam’s holiday break and he can join us.”

  Jack frowned and replied, “But I thought a honeymoon is supposed to be for just the two of us.”

  Kate laughed and said, “Having Liam around hasn’t seemed to interfere with our alone time so far. Besides, didn’t your boss tell ya they’re overrated anyway?”

  “Yeah, and she also told me if I helped her with the Martison case she’d owe me a favor.”

  “What favor?”

  “Her endorsement for me to succeed her as District Attorney.”