Murder and Mayhem in Manayunk

by Neal Goldstein

  “Listen to me gov,” the driver said. “Don’t be foolish. Open the feckin gate and let us in, and no one needs to get hurt. D ‘ya understand me?”

  Harlan Johnson nodded.

  “All right then, I’m gonna let go of your arm. But my mate here is not what I would consider a very understanding fella. He wanted to shoot you as soon as we pulled up to the gate. Matter of fact, he still wants to blow ya away, d ‘ya get what I’m tellin ya?”

  Harlan Johnson nodded again.

  “OK, nice and easy now, open the latch manually right here. I know ya can do it,” the driver said and released his hold on the guard.

  Harlan Johnson pulled the pin from the lock. The driver immediately pushed the gate aside. The driver now pulled a pistol from behind his back and pointed it at the guard. He motioned to the second man to drive the van on to the property.

  “What’s your name, mate?” the driver asked him.

  “Johnson, Harlan Johnson.”

  “Harlan, listen to me and do everything I tell ya to do, and no one needs to get hurt. D ‘ya understand?”

  The guard nodded.

  “Good. Now Harlan, are there any more security guards on duty?”

  Johnson shook his head.

  “OK. How many people are here loadin the truck?”

  “The curator, the driver and three others.”

  “Good. Now you and me and my mate are gonna walk over to the van over there and make acquaintance with your friends. And you’re gonna tell them to follow my instructions, or people are gonna get hurt.”

  They walked slowly towards the loading dock. The driver held the guard from behind, pinning his wrist in a vice lock grip with the pistol thrust firmly in the guard’s spine. They walked up the four steps to the loading dock.

  “Harlan, who are these men?” a tall elderly man asked as they approached.

  “Dr. Abernathy, please don’t make any sudden moves and follow this man’s instructions,” Johnson responded.

  “What?” Abernathy asked.

  At that moment, the driver released his grip on the guard and pushed him in the direction of the older man. Both the driver and his passenger pointed their weapons at the guard and the man called Abernathy.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Abernathy said.

  The driver pointed his index finger at his lips and shook his head motioning the man to be quiet. He approached the two men and said, “Are ya the curator?”

  “Yes.”

  “Call everybody here right now, but do it calmly. If you don’t, my mate here is gonna shoot you and the guard, and then we’ll kill everyone here. Doctor, don’t make us do that.”

  Abernathy’s eyes widened. For a moment he looked like he was about to faint.

  “Dr. Abernathy, please do as he asks,” Harlan Johnson said.

  Within minutes, all of the Foundation’s personnel were sitting on the loading dock facing the wall with their hands holding the backs of their heads.

  “All right folks, here’s what’s gonna happen. My mate is gonna search each of you one at a time. We’ll be takin your cell phones and watches. Don’t be worryin, we’ll leave them for ya. Now remember as long as everyone continues to cooperate, nobody’s gonna get hurt. Don’t anyone do anything stupid like tryin to be a hero.”

  After the gunman collected all of the cell phones and watches, the six individuals were taken to the second van. Their hands were secured behind their backs with plastic ties and they were gagged.

  When all six were in the van, the driver said, “Thanks fer your cooperation. Ya see there are plenty of pads fer ya to sit on. Now we’ll be shuttin the door so make yerselves comfortable. It shouldn’t be too long before someone comes looking fer ya.”

  Harlan Johnson and the others sat on the pads. The sun light from the early dawn filtered through the cracks of the trailer’s doors providing them with limited visibility. Abernathy tried to stand up; Johnson grunted, shook his head and motioned for Abernathy to remain seated. Johnson slowly moved behind Abernathy and placed the back of his head where the gag was tied close to Abernathy’s hands. It took the older man close to ten minutes to loosen Johnson’s gag.

  “Thanks doctor,” Johnson whispered. “We need to remain calm, and keep quiet, until we hear them pull the van away. “Now doctor, I’m going to loosen your gag. Is everyone OK?” he whispered. The others nodded. “OK, after I get Dr. Abernathy’s gag off we’ll work on everyone else. Then we’ll work on the plastic ties on our hands, OK?”

  Johnson estimated that it took them more than an hour to free everyone. He motioned for them to remain quiet and calm. “We need to make sure they’re gone before we try to get out of here,” he whispered.

  As best he could determine it was somewhere around 7:30. They could hear the gunmen continuing to take the crated works of art to the van.

  “I guess they want to fill the truck before they leave,” Johnson said. “I’m not sure, but I think they want to stick to the schedule for the transport to Center City. That way they might not attract too much attention,” he hesitated and then said. “The thing is how do they know the schedule?”

  Johnson knew that according to the schedule, the moving van was supposed to leave the facility around 11 AM. That would mean if his calculation of the time was accurate that they would have to remain in the van for at least two more hours. That was a long time for him to keep everyone calm. The last thing they needed was for anyone to become hysterical and make a racket that brought their captors back.

  He motioned the group together and shared his thoughts. “Listen, if they wanted to hurt us, we’d all be dead by now. All they want is the art. As soon as we hear them drive away we’ll try to get out of here and alert the police. It’s not going to be easy for them to hide an eighteen-wheeler.”

  Jack Regan was getting used to waking up every morning with Kate O’Malley at his side. He loved the feeling of intimacy, and realized how much he had missed being with someone he cared about.

  “Jack, it’s time to get up,” she said and playfully poked him. He pulled her closer and kissed her.

  She pulled away. “No Jack, we can’t be doing this in your parents’ place.”

  He kissed her again and she reacted and almost surrendered.

  “Jack stop please,” she said as she wrestled out of his embrace. “Behave now, and I promise I’ll reward you later. I have to wake Liam; he’s going with his friend Ryan and his family to the Constitution Center and some ceremony downtown. Liam’s really excited about it… What?”

  Jack’s face tightened and his eyes narrowed. “I know I’m being overly cautious but I’m concerned about Liam and Ryan and his family going there,” he said. He told Kate about the website chatter and the steps his father and the federal agencies were taking in response.

  “Jack, Liam’s really been looking forward to this. I’ll call Ryan’s parents and let them know what you told me. Maybe they’ll postpone the trip downtown to another day. In the meantime, I’ve got to get the boy up.”

  Liam was sitting at the kitchen table with Jack’s mother. He was eating cereal and reading the back of a box of Captain Crunch.

  “We keep this on hand for when Jack stays over.” He heard his mother tell the little boy. “It’s still his favorite.”

  Liam looked up at the woman and smiled. “It’s really good. I’ll tell Mum to buy some so we have it when Jack comes over.”

  “What are the two of you talking about?” Jack asked as he sat down at the kitchen table next to the boy. “Hey, who told you you could have my Captain Crunch?”

  Liam laughed and nodded towards Jack’s mother.

  “Mother,” Jack said and sighed.

  Kate walked in the kitchen and motioned for Jack to follow her into the dining room. “I just got off the phone with Ryan’s mother. I told her about your concerns. She told me they would just go to the Constitution Center and see the exhibits and then take the boys to the waterfront before the ceremony begins. I thin
k I really scared the poor woman. Jack d ‘ya think they’ll be safe?”

  “Katey, I wish they would avoid the whole area. I’m concerned that some nut-job will do something to disrupt the celebration.”

  “I’ll talk to them when I drop Liam off. Maybe I can convince them not to go. Your mother is going to drive us over to Manayunk. I have to take care of some things at the Grape.”

  “OK, but call me and let me know what they decide. I have to meet Izzy at the Fourth District this morning. If they decide to go to the Constitution Center, I’ll meet them there.”

  They went back into the kitchen. Jack’s mother asked Jack if he would drop off a package at the Barnes. “Jack, you can leave it with Harlan he’ll know what to do with it.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  “Izz, it’s been nearly a month since Megan Larson’s murder and we’re no closer to solving it than we were at the beginning of the investigation. For that matter we’re no closer to solving the Coratelli and Saunders’ murders either,” Regan said as he sat down at the conference table and stared at the wall on which they had posted the summary of the investigation and the pictures of the victims and suspects.

  The big detective shook his head and replied, “Jack I’ve been going over the evidence and I think we’re closer to solving these murders than you think.”

  Regan looked at him and waited for further explanation.

  “Jack who did you originally suspect killed Megan Larson?”

  “Dorothy Wiggins.”

  “But what about the hole in Avi Nooris alibi?” Ichowitz asked.

  “I still like Wiggins. She had a motive. Why would Avi Nooris kill Larson?”

  “Jealousy?”

  Regan stared at the wall for a moment and said, “I’m not feeling it.”

  “And who do you think killed Coratelli and Saunders?”

  “Someone connected to the court house scam, one of the Nooris’, or someone working for them.”

  “So you no longer believe that one person is responsible for all of the homicides?”

  “Izz, I only thought that when we eliminated Wiggins as a suspect for the Larson homicide. Remember, you’re the one who told me Gold the Comcast tech was a reliable witness. Since he left the vic alive and well forty-five minutes after Wiggins had already come and gone I figured there’s no way Wiggins was the doer.”

  “What about Coratelli and Saunders?”

  “It’s got to be the Nooris’ or someone connected to them,” Regan replied.

  “So maybe we’re missing something,” Ichowitz said.

  “Yeah, like the video surveillance of the condo the night Larson was killed.”

  Ichowitz smiled and said, “Well, based on my experience when you hit the wall, it’s time to go back to the beginning.” The big detective saw Regan’s look of concern and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Izz, that’s going to take considerable time,” Regan replied.

  Ichowitz nodded.

  “I can’t start over now. Liam’s at the Constitution Center with one of his friends. My father told me all about the buzz on the Internet that there might be some kind of terrorist attack at the awards ceremony today. I have to get down there and get Liam out of harm’s way.”

  “Jack, I’ll go over to the tactical HQ we set up near Independence Mall. Do you have a picture of the boy on your phone?”

  Regan nodded.

  “OK, send it to me. I’ll get it out on the street and we’ll find him. Take one of the rovers with you so that we can keep in communication.”

  Regan left the Fourth District with one of the rovers, the hand-held two-way radios the detectives used, but instead of driving directly to Independence Mall, he drove across the Green Street Bridge towards Lower Merion to drop his mother’s package off with Harlan, the security guard at the Barnes Foundation.

  Harlan heard the rumble from the other truck as soon as the gunmen turned on the ignition. He jumped up, moved to the door, and tried to push it open. There was no give and he figured that the thieves must have secured the door.

  He could hear the driver of the rig nearly strip the gears as the van with the works of art maneuvered around them. Harlan motioned for the others to remain still. “We need to wait until someone comes looking for us. There’s no sense in screaming yourselves hoarse if there’s nobody in earshot. Save your energy.”

  Harlan put his ear to the back door of the van. He could hear the driver shift gears as the van drove towards the gate. He could tell by the sound that whoever was driving was not experienced at maneuvering a rig of that size.

  As Regan approached the entrance to the Foundation he saw an eighteen-wheeler driving east on North Latches Lane towards him. He looked up at the cab and could see the driver look down at him as the van drove past him. The driver stared back at him. Their eyes met for a moment. It looked like Michael Flynn. Maybe it was time for him to have his vision checked, since he was sure that there was no way Flynn would be driving an eighteen-wheeler for the Barnes Foundation. Regan looked up again and the driver who resembled Flynn smiled at him as he drove by.

  The electronic gate at the foundation’s entrance was open. Regan looked at the guardhouse. It was empty. Regan knew there must be something wrong because Harlan Johnson would never leave his post unattended.

  He drove onto the grounds and saw an eighteen-wheeler identical to the one that had just driven past him parked at the turnaround near the foundation’s rear entrance. Regan parked his car behind the van. He looked up at the loading dock, and the rear entrance to the building was also open. “Anyone here?” he shouted.

  He heard the muffled sounds coming from inside the van and ran over to the trailer. The back door of the trailer had been secured with a chain and lock. He worked the handle on the door to the open position and was able to open the door six or eight inches. Harlan Johnson looked out at him.

  “What happened?”

  “Someone stole the van with all the art,” Johnson said. “Call 911and notify the police. They just drove off less than five minutes ago. They can get …”

  Before Harlan could finish they heard what sounded like an explosion.

  “What was that?” Harlan Johnson asked.

  Regan pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and hit the emergency number. There was a busy signal. He immediately redialed and got the same result.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said as he ran to his car to get the rover radio Ichowitz had told him to take from the Fourth District.

  “Izz, it’s Jack. Do you hear me? Over.”

  “Jack where are you? Over.”

  “At the Barnes; what’s happening?”

  “Bombs are exploding at the Mall. I have to help. There’s…” Another explosion cut off his transmission. Regan’s first thought was, God … please don’t let anything happen to Liam!

  Regan could hear the sound of multiple sirens approaching from a distance. People from the houses nearby were coming out on the street. Someone approached and shouted, “Is everything OK?”

  Regan shook his head and motioned for the man to follow him back to the van.

  “What’s happening?” Harlan asked.

  “I’m not sure. I think there’s some kind of attack at the Independence Mall. We need to get you out of there. Is everyone all right?”

  “Yes, so far,” Harlan replied.

  “We need a crow bar or something to break the chain.”

  Johnson told him where he could find an iron rod he could use. Within minutes Regan, with the help of two neighbors, freed the six foundation staff from the van.

  Harlan Johnson told Regan how two armed men had managed to steal the van with the Barnes collection.

  “Mr. Regan, they knew the schedule. They got here when we were short staffed and most vulnerable,” he said. The frustration was apparent in the clenched manner in which he spoke.

  They were still trying to get through on the 911 number to alert the police. Obviously all the circuits were overlo
aded with calls over what ever was happening at the Independence Mall. Regan realized that with every passing moment the odds of recovering the art were slipping away.

  “Harlan, did you hear anything that might indicate where they’re taking the art?”

  He shook his head, and said, “Mr. Regan, I think we can track the art, at least if we hurry.”

  Regan looked at him, “What do you mean?”

  The guard explained that with the rotation of works in the collection and the world tour a few years before to raise money for the Foundation, his company had electronically tagged the collection to make sure that individual works would not be misplaced. “I’m not certain how far the range of the transmitters will work.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Mayor Gallo was running late for the photo op at the National Constitution Center that had been scheduled to begin at 11 AM. Gallo never passed up an opportunity to get some free face time on TV. It was 11:04 when his car pulled up to the no stopping/tow away zone in front of the 6th Street entrance to the center. He nearly collided with a young man dressed in traditional Indian or Pakistani clothing, a kameez, a loose fitting tunic, who was hurrying along the sidewalk directly in front of his car.

  As Gallo was about to shout at the man, who was less than three feet from where he was standing, the young man literally vaporized in a violent force of sound, heat, shock and raw carnage. In the instant of recognition before the shock wave and shrapnel from the explosion engulfed him Gallo knew that his life was over. The full force of the bomb blast decapitated the Mayor and lifted his SUV six feet into the air, tossing it half way into 6th Street. The shrapnel from the bomb shattered the glass doors of the Constitution Center fifty yards from the epicenter of the blast, spraying shards of glass on the twenty or more people who had been standing in line waiting to gain access to the building. Before the full impact of the destruction and agony of the survivors had set in, the sound of a second explosion nearby heightened the panic among the crowds that streamed out of the museums and historical sites onto the street.