Fishtown: A Jack Regan/Izzy Ichowitz Novel

by Neal Goldstein

  Jack felt his face flush.

  “Do ya think they’re comin back here then?”

  “I don’t think we should underestimate what they’re capable of.”

  She took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes, “If you think that’s what we should do.” She saw a look of indecision on his face. “What are ya thinking?”

  “I don’t know,” he sighed. “Let’s sleep on it.”

  Jack knew he should have told Kate they were getting on a plane and leaving town right away. Was he really willing to expose Kate and Liam to unnecessary risk just to get his boss’ endorsement to be the next District Attorney?

  November 1986

  “So what do we know so far?” O’Reilly asked Ichowitz and Regan.

  “Not as much as we hoped. John did the background check on Heilman,” Ichowitz said and signaled Regan to give O’Reilly his report.

  Regan checked his notebook and began, “Aron Heilman was born July 20, 1949 in Cleveland Ohio. His parents are deceased. Based on records from the local social services agencies he was diagnosed with personality issues when he was a student. According to school records he tested out with an IQ of 130, but his academic achievements were spotty at best. He dropped out of high school when he was 17 and joined the army, served 13 months and got a medical discharge with a diagnosis of ‘schizoid personality disorder’. After his discharge he held a number of dead end jobs until he resurfaced again in 1981 when he incorporated the Church,” Regan closed his note book and looked up.

  Ichowitz took over the briefing, “Heilman claims he didn’t kill anyone. He insists that he didn’t even know there were women buried in the cellar. We still haven’t established IDs on the two Jane Doe corpses. There are no dental records or finger print matches, so we figure the women were foreigners, from the size and physical characteristics of the remains likely Asian, maybe from the Philippines or Vietnam. Sammy Boyle from the 26th told us that Vice noticed an influx of young Asian women on the stroll over the past several years. He’s checking to see if any were reported missing.

  So far the only other person we know of who had contact with Heilman is Jerry Kastanski, the rent collector. He also claims he doesn’t know anything about the murders, but there’s something about Kastanski that just doesn’t ring true. Our witnesses claim they never saw any Asian women at the church. These bodies might have been buried in the cellar before they were held captive there.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I think we should try DNA profiling,” Ichowitz said.

  “What’s that?” O’Reilly asked.

  Ichowitz explained that it was an identification technique Scotland Yard had been using for the past couple of years.

  O’Reilly gave him a sideways look. “I think you’ve been reading too much science fiction or something. Anyways, we don’t do stuff like that in Philly. Listen to me, the bosses want us to wrap this up, so don’t waste any more time chasing the Kastanski angle. Don’t over think this. Get a list of missing hookers from Boyle and see if you can trace them back to Heilman. In the meantime take what you got to the DA and let him decide if there’s enough to charge him with the homicides.

  Fellas it’s our job to close cases not to make fancy new science. Capisce?”

  Regan and Ichowitz nodded.

  “By the way is Heilman lawyered up yet?”

  “Yes, he hired a young lawyer from South Philly, Vito Coratelli,” Regan responded.

  “Christ, that guy’s like horseshit, he’s all over the place. He also represents the Celebrity Room shooter. Be careful, he’s one slick guinea. And Ichowitz, don’t mention nothin about that DNA crap. He’ll turn something like that into an argument to use against us.”

  That afternoon Sammy Boyle gave Regan and Ichowitz the names of ten women from the Philippines, Korea and Vietnam who had been regulars on Frankford Avenue and had been reported missing since Heilman opened his church.

  “It’s probably a dead end. Hookers come and go all the time without leaving any clue as to where they’ve gone,” Boyle shrugged. “Did you get any hits on the dental records yet?”

  Regan shook his head.

  “Probably another dead end,” Boyle said. “Oh by the way, Heilman’s lawyer Coratelli is meeting with your guy at Holmesburg this morning. Watch out for that one, he’s a real shark.”

  “So we hear,” Ichowitz replied.

  Holmesburg Prison on Torresdale Avenue in Northeast Philadelphia was the pride of the Philadelphia prison system, an example of the most advanced theories and practices for penal institutions. However that was in 1896 when the prison was built. Holmesburg has been in continuous use since its celebrated opening. Its time as a model for innovation had, however, long since passed. The place literally sucked the life out of those unlucky enough to spend time within its walls.

  Vito Coratelli passed through the security screening without incident. He was a frequent visitor to the prison. During the short time he had been admitted to the bar Coratelli had gone out of his way to cultivate the correctional officers who worked at the prison to assure easy access to his clients. .

  “Thanks for taking care of that thing for my kid. Last thing he needs is a DUI on his record. It could have screwed up his chances of getting into college.”

  “Your boy’s a good kid. I’m glad I could be of service.”

  The Sergeant of the Guard nodded at the lawyer. He was ‘the man’ at Holmesburg and could make getting into the facility an ordeal if he so desired.

  “Make sure you send me your bill.”

  “It was a minor matter. Really not worth the time it would take me to generate a bill.”

  Coratelli and the guard went through the motions of offer and generous refusal. Both of them knew Coratelli never expected to be paid for his services in that manner. The compensation he wanted was far more valuable than a cash retainer. The guard also realized that Coratelli’s accomplishment of clearing his son’s record was nothing short of a miracle. He put the word out to all of his subordinates that the young lawyer from South Philly with the bad toupee was a tenacious bull dog in the court room.

  “Thank you counselor; your client has been processed and is waiting for you. Let Mr. Coratelli through the gate.”

  Aron Heilman, now wearing an orange jumpsuit, was seated in the metal chair at the table in the interview room. It was unusual for the District Attorney to place anyone with less than a capital offense in pre-trial detention at Holmesburg. Coratelli suspected that his client would be charged with two counts of Homicide as soon as the investigation was completed.

  “I didn’t kill those two women they found in the cellar of my church,” Heilman said when Coratelli entered the room.

  “Mr. Heilman, I understand. However, I must caution you that you have not been charged with homicide, and I have not been retained to represent you in connection with that. In the event you are charged we’ll have to review our relationship to determine if I’ll continue to represent you and, of course, to work out fair compensation for the additional work,” Coratelli smiled.

  “I want you to represent me. I did not …”

  Coratelli held up his hand cutting Heilman off, “I will never ask you to tell me if you are guilty of crimes for which you have been charged. I repeat, you have not been charged with homicide. As your attorney I must remind you that there are limits to the attorney client privilege.

  With respect to the pending charges there will be a preliminary hearing next week. You’re going to need proper attire. Is there someone who can bring you a suit and other accessories?”

  Heilman shook his head.

  “Very well then I’ll make arrangements on your behalf. I’ll deduct the costs from your retainer. Now let’s get down to business.”

  Ichowitz and Regan worked the phones for the rest of the afternoon trying to run down the list of mis
sing prostitutes that Sammy Boyle had provided them.

  “Don’t you think this is a waste of time,” Regan asked. “I mean we don’t know if any of these women had anything to do with Heilman. There’s got to be a better way to find the identities of the two victims.”

  “We have to rule out the women on the list. You never know where a lead, even something as thin as this, may take you. What’s wrong, don’t you find the life a Homicide Detective leads glamorous and exciting?”

  Two hours later Regan motioned for Ichowitz to listen in on his conversation.

  “Mrs. Lee, you say your daughter Jinjing disappeared two years ago, is that right?”

  “Yes detective. My daughter is a very troubled young woman. I asked her friends if they could help me find her. One of my daughter’s friends told me Jinjing had become addicted to drugs and had done terrible things to support her addiction. She told me Jinjing lived with some other young women in Kensington. That’s the last location that I’m aware of.”

  “Can my partner and I come to your home and ask you some questions about your daughter?”

  They made arrangements to meet Jinjing Lee’s mother the following morning.

  “It’s probably a long shot,” Regan said as he hung up.

  “Long is better than none.”

  Chapter 13

  The Present

  “So Izz, were you able to establish the identities of the two bodies in the church basement?” Larry Jackson asked Ichowitz as they drove from the construction site on Delaware Avenue to the Medical Examiner’s office.

  “Yes and no.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Mrs. Lee, Jinjing’s mother told us she and her daughter had immigrated to the States from Korea a few years before her daughter disappeared. That explained the absence of dental records. She provided us with photographs and a detailed description of her daughter. Based on the information she gave us it was possible that Jinjing was one of the victims, even though we didn’t have fingerprints or dental records. Since we didn’t conduct DNA testing there was no attempt to link either of the bodies with Mrs. Lee.

  She gave us her daughter’s last known address, an apartment building in West Kensington. We went there to find out if any of the current residents had contact with Jinjing or knew anyone who might have. John and I were eventually able to locate some of the women who lived at the apartment building when she was there. The place catered to young women like Lee - crack heads, prostitutes, mostly Asian. We found out that Jinjing usually ran with another young woman, Bayani Sukarto. Sukarto had also recently come to the states from the Philippines. According to the women we interviewed both Jinjing and Bayani disappeared at around the same time, a couple months or so before the 911 call came in.”

  “So you determined that these two women were the victims whose remains were found in the church?” Jackson asked.

  “Well, Joe O’Reilly and Chief Haggerty were satisfied and they convinced the DA to indict Heilman on two counts of Murder 1.”

  “But you weren’t convinced, were you?” Jackson asked.

  Ichowitz gave him a sideways look, “No. For starters the bodies we found in the church looked to me too degraded to have been buried for such a short time before we discovered them.”

  “But didn’t the M.E.’s finding support the indictment?”

  Ichowitz nodded, “Yeah, but the Medical Examiner back then, Dr. James Elliot, was more of a politician than a forensic expert. It’s not like today. I can still remember that when he was performing the autopsies on the bodies I could smell the gin on his breath; it was 8:30 in the morning. I’m pretty sure the Homicide Chief had already told him our working theory of the case. So all he had to confirm was the probable time the bodies were buried.

  After we indicted Heilman for the murders of Lee and Sukarto he maintained his innocence. He admitted that he partied with them, but he changed his original story. That’s what happens when perps lawyer up, they try to pin the murders on someone else. First he claimed Jerry Kastanski let them out of the church so there was no way he killed them. Then he told us Jerry took them to one of his uncle’s other properties, and he made up some wild story about Kastanski and his mother being involved. We couldn’t verify any of it, but my gut told me that Kastanski knew a whole hell of a lot more about the homicides than he was telling us.”

  Louis Delgado looked up from the hoagie he was eating when Jackson and Ichowitz walked into his office. Jackson was already scheduled to meet with the Medical Examiner to go over his preliminary examination of the bodies from the slaughterhouse yard, so Ichowitz went along with him.

  “I thought you retired,” Delgado said as Ichowitz moved the pile of medical journals from one of the chairs in front of his desk and sat down next to Larry.

  “When Larry told me I could have yet another intimate encounter with the famous Louis Delgado, I couldn’t refuse. Besides I remembered our regular luncheon meetings at the morgue, and missed that incredible aroma of formaldehyde and garlic,” he replied with a smile.

  “If I knew you were coming I would have ordered another chicken parm with broccoli rabe from Shank and Evelyn’s for you. Larry you’ll have to share yours,” Delgado gestured to the enormous wrapped sandwich that sat on top of another stack of medical journals on the chair next to the one on which Ichowitz was sitting. “There’s cold soda and beer in the fridge, next to the specimens.”

  After they divided the sandwich and secured their drinks Ichowitz said, “Reminds me of the good old days, autopsies and hoagies.”

  “Good times,” Delgado nodded. “So nu? To what do I owe the honor,” he asked his visitors.

  “I asked Izzy to help me out with the Fishtown case. I remembered he had a case back in the day that had some similarities.”

  “The Heilman case?” Delgado asked.

  “Yep, that’s the one. Izzy would mention it from time to time,” Jackson said and turned to Ichowitz who was working on his sandwich.

  “We talked about it as well. I seem to remember that you weren’t a big fan of my predecessor,” Delgado said.

  Ichowitz took a sip of diet coke and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Elliot was a lush and a screw-up. Heilman was emphatic that he had not killed the women we found in the church. At the trial Vito claimed the kid who collected the rent took Lee and Sukarto out of the church so there was no way his client murdered them. But he only had his client’s testimony and nothing else to back it up so…”

  “Heilman was a total nut job. He kidnapped and tortured the three women who testified at his trial. I remember the case. I was a student at Penn at the time. It was all over the news; they called it ‘The House of Horrors,’” Delgado sighed. “Now a days seems cases like that are common place.”

  They sat in silence. “What are you thinking Izz,” Delgado asked.

  Ichowitz studied his sandwich for another moment and said, “Back then I suggested that we try DNA testing on the bodies. Joe O’Reilly looked at me like I had two heads. I realize it was relatively new, and probably wouldn’t have gotten us anywhere,” he shrugged his shoulders.

  “What about your buddy Coratelli? I’m sure that at one time or another you and he must have talked about it,” Jackson asked.

  Ichowitz nodded, “Yeah we discussed the case every now and then. You know Vito, he told me to forgettaboutit. He never asks any of his clients if they’re guilty. According to Vito, it’s a waste of time. They all deny it. I even asked him why he didn’t get his own forensic expert. He told me he couldn’t find anyone reputable who would support his theory. Louie, do you think DNA would have been determinative back then?”

  Delgado looked up at the ceiling for a moment formulating his answer. “That was 1986 right?”

  Ichowitz nodded.

  “The science was pretty new then, maybe in use in criminal investigation
s for a couple years or so. In the last 30 years the protocols have become much more sophisticated. Today we use STRs, short tandem repeats; and now there are several data bases in existence with millions of records. Back in 1986 defense counsel could argue that a one in 5 million match could mean that in a country with a population of 60 million 12 people could have the same DNA profile, that’s no longer possible. Who knows?”

  “So do you have anything to tell us about the bodies from the yard?”

  “We were able to get viable samples from both sets of bodies and send them off to the lab in Virginia. Problem is, if the bodies were buried before 1984, it’s unlikely the lab will have anything against which to map the DNA. We’ll just have to wait and see what comes back.”

  Jack and Kate decided not to move up their honeymoon. Instead they would keep a close eye on Liam and wait until they found out what happened when Nooris and Rabinowitz were released from Guantanamo Bay. In all honesty Jack didn’t want to jeopardize his chance to be the DA despite knowing how ruthless Nooris and his associates could be. He was banking on the Israelis’ extraditing them. But if Nooris and Rabinowitz somehow walked away from the Israelis and came looking to pay Flynn back, Liam could be a prime target. Jack would never forgive himself if the boy came to harm. So then what the hell was he doing?

  “Is the Martison file still in the war room?” he asked the DA.

  “Yes, you’ll find everything you need there.”

  “How solid is our case?”

  “You tell me after you go through the file. I’ll have Mark brief you when you’re done.”

  That afternoon after Regan had burrowed through a veritable mountain of pretrial pleadings, transcripts and discovery he met with Romansky and Mark Young.

  “So, what do you think?” she asked.

  Regan turned to Young, “You did a great job establishing a prima facie case at the arraignment, and through the pretrial motions. You successfully countered every stunt Vito pulled out of his bag of tricks to suppress the evidence and exclude the testimony of Martison’s assistant. The way I see it the defendant’s failure to follow the abortion law procedures is solid. Even according to Martison’s records the abortions took place beyond the 24 weeks that the current law allows.”