“You didn’t know she had money in the bank?” Reilly asked.
“No, sir.”
“Did Mrs. Reinert give you sums of money for an investment or any other purpose prior to her death?”
“No, sir,” Bill Bradfield said. “I would often give money to her. To make ends meet. As did Mr. Valaitis.”
When Bill Bradfield even took from Vince the credit for buying Michaels cub scout uniform, Jack Holtz’s grin got wider than the Delaware.
“Were you aware that she took out insurance policies naming you as beneficiary?”
“No, sir,” Bill Bradfield said.
“Were you aware prior to her death that she named you as a beneficiary in her will?”
“No, sir.”
As to the Jay Smith trial where he had been an alibi witness, it seemed so unimportant that it almost slipped his mind.
Reilly said to him, “Immediately after leaving Harrisburg on May twenty-ninth of last year, you went to Mrs. Reinert’s house, did you not?”
“Could you refresh my memory,” Bill Bradfield said. “Why was I in Harrisburg?”
“I can refresh your memory,” Reilly said. “But I think you know why you were in Harrisburg.”
“No.”
“Were you in Harrisburg testifying at the trial of Jay Smith?”
“Yes, I remember,” Bill Bradfield said.
The gate wasn’t just opened to them, it was blown off the hinges. Reilly could now call all of Susan’s friends and confidants.
As to the missing ring, Pat Schnure could testify that Susan Reinert was going to have her mother’s diamond ring reset and wear it at her wedding in England, and that Susan had said that Bill Bradfield knew a jeweler who could do the job.
The cops could testify that they’d taken the “ring to courier” notation on Susan Reinerts calendar and checked every courier in the Philadelphia area, and that the ring was gone.
The cops could bring in all the evidence of the “investment” with Bache and Company and produce company executives to testify that it was bogus.
Susan Reinert’s former banker could tell of her extraordinary cash withdrawal. And her brother could tell of her offer to let him in on Bill Bradfields investment.
The neighbors could tell of his car being there at all hours and even overnight.
Bill Bradfield had made so many demonstrably false statements under oath that the cops at last had enough evidence to consider a prosecution based on the theft of the investment.
About the extraordinary performance in Orphans Court, Sue Myers said, “Because all of his friends believed him utterly, he thought that everyone else should believe him utterly.”
Jack Holtz said to Joe VanNort, “We were dead, but now we’re born again!”
The Philadelphia Daily News had this to say in an editorial:
Putting it gently, Susan Reinert had an impressive amout of life insurance. Spectacular Bid is insured for more. So, presumably, is Streisand. But for a schoolteacher the figures a bit high.
What Bradfield is suggesting has a charm all its own. Susan Reinert, under the mistaken impression that she was going to marry Bill Bradfield, tiptoes out, purchases three quarters of a million dollars worth of insurance, didn’t tell him a thing about it, didn’t tell him about her estate, didn’t tell him she changed her will, didn’t tell him she had made him sole beneficiary of the estate and the insurance. Now if Mr. Bradfield could only put that to music we could all dance down the yellow brick road.
Bill Bradfield called Sue Myers the night that editorial ran. He was weeping. He said, “Why have you forsaken me?”
In August, the cops obtained a search warrant from the state of Delaware to search Jay Smith’s blue Capri, now in the custody of his brother.
Joe VanNort, Jack Holtz, a Delaware state cop and another trooper went to the home of the assistant attorney general of the state of Delaware to get a warrant drawn up. The next day it was signed by a magistrate and they waited until Jay Smith’s brother returned home in the evening to serve it. They’d brought a deputy attorney general with them.
Mr. Smith was clearly embarrassed by the presence of all the cops and protective of his niece, the twenty-three-year-old daughter of Jay who was without a real home. The cops searched through all of the belongings that he was holding for his imprisoned brother.
In a filing cabinet, Joe VanNort found another bogus Brinks identification card with Jay Smiths picture on it. The deputy attorney general didn’t think it fell under the scope of the search warrant, and Joe VanNort handed the card to Mr. Smith.
That bothered Jack Holtz Maybe they couldn’t use it in a subsequent court case against Jay Smith, but maybe they could. In any event, why give away potential evidence or contraband? They were outside at the time and he spoke to Joe VanNort about it. He knocked on the door and asked for the card back.
But Jay Smith’s brother had already burned it on the kitchen stove. He said that all of that theft business had humiliated his family.
Jack Holtz later felt troubled that Joe VanNort had lost that card. In the old days Joe VanNort would never have done something so careless. Jack Holtz didn’t say a word to anyone, but he was concerned.
“I hated to think it at the time,” he later said. “But I was starting to feel that Joe was losing it.”
In the blue Capri they found more red fibers, but all that proved was that he could have used the Capri to haul away the carpet remnant they believed had been in the basement on that weekend last year.
The interior of the trunk had been painted with a sticky substance that looked like some sort of rust inhibitor or sealant, and the car had been outside in the weather. The cops were very disappointed with the search.
Then Trooper Dove of the identification unit walked up to Jack Holtz and said, “I found this pin under the right front passenger seat.”
It was dusted for prints but they couldn’t lift anything from it. Jack Holtz took it in his hand and examined it.
It was just a little lapel tab. A green metal pin with a white P on it. At first Jack Holtz thought it might be something they handed out at the ballpark, but it wasn’t the right color and the P was wrong to be part of the Philadelphia Phillies logo.
He didn’t know what it was, but his investigator’s intuition told him that it didn’t belong in this car. Something about that pin wasn’t right.
For two weeks he worked on it in his spare time. The more he looked at the little metal tab, the more he believed it was something a child would keep. He went to the residence of Susan Reinert’s neighbor Donna Formwalt and talked to her eight-year-old daughter.
The little girl said, “Karen wore a pin like that. I think she got it on a school trip.”
Jack Holtz started devoting more than spare time to it. He found another neighbor who told him that the pin looked like something she’d seen at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
It was a hopeful cop who arrived at the museum that afternoon in August and climbed the steps made famous in Rocky. He talked to the director who verified that the pins had been in use in June of last year, and were given to show that admission was paid. They were handed out by museum guards who used eight different colors on various days.
Jack Holtz went to Karen Reinerts neighborhood school and learned that the fifth- and sixth-grade classes had gone to the museum on a field trip in the spring of 1979. The principal informed Jack Holtz that Karen Reinhert had, in fact, attended school on the day of the museum field trip. Then he learned that four boys from her class remembered the pins. They’d been green. Two remembered Karen being along on the trip. One boy had saved his pin and turned it over to the police. It was identical to the one they had.
Their chain was getting longer. Not long enough to bind. But longer.
The last real duty Chris Pappas ever performed for Bill Bradfield had to do with closing out the safety deposit box. He did an extra-swell job on that mission.
When the bank teller had concluded their business and told
him to have a good day, she’d left the signature cards on the counter. Chris Pappas leaned over and snatched three of the four signature cards, so that if the authorities found the box they wouldn’t be able to prove that Bill Bradfield had anything to do with the rental.
His mentor was very proud of him.
Chris Pappas was at Shelly’s house when he saw a news report that detailed Bill Bradfields testimony in Orphans Court. Chris was stunned. Bill Bradfield had lied under oath about everything.
An hour later, Bill Bradfield and Chris and Shelly were strolling through Valley Forge Park having a little rehearsal. Bill Bradfield was positive that when the grand jury sat in September, they’d all get a subpoena. He asked Shelly if she’d take a walk and let him talk privately with Chris.
When they were alone Bill Bradfield asked, “How do you feel?”
“Okay. I feel okay.”
“Will you stand by me?”
“Haven’t I always?”
“Vince deserted me. I think Sue might desert me. You won’t, will you?”
“Desert you? No.”
“Will you keep your silence about certain things?”
“What things?”
“The money? All the other things?”
“I’ll try to stay loyal. Greeks’re stubborn,” Chris Pappas said.
Bill Bradfield didn’t look too happy about the evasive reply.
As they walked, Bill Bradfield made notes on a checklist and scratched things off. And Chris was getting sick to his stomach as he realized that Bill Bradfield was not only trying to maintain his allegiance but was letting Chris know how strong and dangerous was this bond between them.
They sat on the grass, on the ground consecrated by the Revolutionary patriots, and Bill Bradfield handed Chris a brief on what to tell the grand jury. It was actually a scenario. The dialogue didn’t sparkle, but it made its point:
Bill told me that this Smith is really a bad person with a bad character. He said, “I wish I hadn’t seen him at Ocean City but I did, so I’ll have to testify to that because it’s true.”
Smith talked about getting the police and other people. Wishing, thinking, they ought to be dead, wanting to kill them.
Bill said, “I don’t know whether he’s serious or not. I sure hope no one kills Susan Reinert.”
Bill Bradfield must’ve thought that was a wee bit self-serving so he crossed out the last line. He also deleted a reference to Jay Smith wanting to kill the cops, possibly figuring it might not play in Peoria.
That woman has told me she’s leaving her children to me and all sorts of crazy stuff. She’s sure chasing me. She says she’s dating some real weirdos too. I told her she’s going to get herself beat up or killed.
If she gets herself killed and leaves me her children, if she pushes her children on me, I’ll fight it in court. That’s illegal.
But that also seemed a bit over the top for a budding scenarist, so he crossed out the part about her leaving him the children.
That’ll sure put me in a horrible mess. I wish she’d leave Upper Merion, leave the area all together.
They both scribbled changes in the script, which continued with lines that Chris was supposed to say when asked for opinions:
Bill seemed pissed off at Mrs. Reinert and concerned about the weekend and vacation.
After that, Bill Bradfield composed a list of likely questions, and answers to same.
Question: Would you say that Mr. Bradfield suspected that Mrs. Reinert would be killed?
Answer: No. He was worried about her, concerned for her. He told me he wished she’d go abroad or something. I think he said he wrote a recommendation for her for a job.
Question: Did Mr. Bradfield say Smith told him of killing her?
Answer: No. Robbing? No. Drugs? No. Kinky sex? No. Illegal firearms? No.
Question: Did Mr. Bradfield ever show you firearms which he said were Smith’s?
Answer: No.
Question: Did you and Mr. Bradfield ever plan to kill Smith?
Answer: Kill him? No, of course not.
The second page of the script listed many more questions and the answers were supposed to be obvious to a man of Chris’s accomplishments.
Did Mr. Bradfield ever spend the night at Mrs. Reinert’s?
Did Mrs. Reinert visit Mr. Bradfield at Annapolis in 1978?
Did Mr. Bradfield ever tell you about Dr. Smith?
Did Mr. Bradfield ever mention Dr. Smith in connection with any murder or robbery?
Were you involved in the making of a silencer?
Did you ever take out a storage bin?
Did you ever take out a safety deposit box?
Did Mr. Bradfield ever show you a large sum of cash money?
Where have you obtained the money you recently spent on lawyers, bail, etc.?
Did you think Mrs. Reinert was going to be killed on the weekend of June 22nd?
Did Mr. Bradfield seem to think so?
Did you know of Mr. Bradfield and Shelly sharing motel rooms?
Did you know of any romantic involvement between Mr. Bradfield and Shelly?
What is the relationship between Mr. Bradfield and Rachel?
Did Mr. Bradfield order you to go to the shore that weekend?
Did you speak to Mr. Valaitis in reference to Dr. Smith?
Did Mr. Bradfield instruct or influence you?
The last question was almost too much, even for a disciple as dedicated and earnest as Chris Pappas.
And then Chris wrote some of his answers on the margin of the scenario. His dialogue wasn’t so hot either, but he mollified his pal.
I’ll fight that in court. She’s nuts. Delete “pissed off at.”
Bill Bradfield warned Chris that the FBI might try to make something of his past relationship with Tom, the homosexual lodger, but Chris thought they should be worrying about things other than homosexual innuendo.
Bill Bradfield said to Chris Pappas, “Sometimes I think I’ve been pathological about women. Sometimes I think I’ve used them, and that I didn’t try very hard for a lasting relationship.”
Chris Pappas immediately thought of a book by the daughter of Ezra Pound who wrote of her fathers philandering.
As though he was reading Chris’s mind, Bill Bradfield said, “You know, if I went to jail, abandoned and scorned by all those I’ve loved, I’d use the time for study. Maybe I’d even come to enjoy the solitude.”
Chris Pappas thought of Ezra Pound himself, confined first in jail then in an asylum: disgraced, vilified, abandoned by his friends.
He didn’t want to think that this was what it was all about! He didn’t want to go to state prison because William Bradfield wanted to be Ezra Pound!
Chris Pappas’s chest felt like a round cage with a pigeon fluttering inside. Now the bird was pecking at his guts. He was welcoming home the long-gone childhood ulcer.
Chris wanted to talk to somebody. At that moment he knew that he’d eventually be calling the FBI.
When Sue Myers locked out Bill Bradfield, she wouldn’t give him anything but his clothes. She even kept the five thousand books. Among the other things she held on to were documents that he thought were safe from her prying eyes.
One warm autumn day Sue Myers invited Chris to come and “look over some things.”
Maybe she sensed that Chris was already talking to the FBI or getting ready to do it. She gave him some papers and asked him to take them home to determine if they were “important.”
Bill Bradfield had always underestimated Sue Myers. She didn’t miss a whole lot. She knew what she was giving Chris was meaningful and she probably knew what he’d do with it.
When Chris decided to call the task force it was ten times better than when Vince Valaitis had done it. Chris Pappas knew so much more. Chris had been involved in all the activity that was in itself illegal, all the business with weapons and money.
When Chris talked, he implicated Shelly in criminal activity, since she’d kept the mone
y hidden and had disposed of a gun with a silencer. Best of all, Chris and Shelly had both heard a whole lot of talk about Jay Smith, and some of it could be corroborated by physical evidence. Chris Pappas started cleaning out his chamber of horrors and his file boxes.
As the relationship between Christopher Pappas and the authorities blossomed, Chris gave them documents he’d received from both Sue Myers and Bill Bradfield.
One of the documents was a note in Bill Bradfields own hand wherein he made his list of things that had to be addressed in the event of a grand jury probe.
That list included potential witnesses and friends of Susan Reinert, and things to worry about:
Letters stolen. Mail fraud. Fingerprints on money. I was there during insurance man’s call. Visits to New York. Calls to New York and from. Visits to Annapolis. Calls to and from Annapolis. Overnight depositions. Sharon Lee. Pat Schnure. Girls. Pamela, Susan, Rachel, Shelly, Cathy. Unorthodox life. Cuba-killing. Bank deposit slips. Names. Handwriting. No partial fingerprints on car. Shelly and motel. Rachel and room. Calls from Annapolis and to Annapolis. Sailing course. In Reinerts room constantly. Reinerts books in my bookcase. Car missing. Depositions. Smith. FBI. Reinerts people. Vince. Gun. St. Davids. Lured and killed kids and taped her.
Latent fingerprints are a lot trickier than most people realize. They’re rarely indentifiable if a surface is not hard and clean, and are seldom left at all unless there’s an abundance of body secretions, such as sweat and oil, on the fingers. Actually, the task force was never able to get a single indentifiable lift of Bill Bradfields fingerprints from Susan Reinerts house.
So it was awfully decent of him to let them know that he’d been in there “constantly,” the feds remarked.
Joe VanNort’s grin got as lopsided as a Cuban election and he said, “Bradfields even got a big mouth on paper!”
But if the note was another little link in the circumstantial chain, the next document provided them with a foot of case-hardened steel complete with lock and keys.
It was typed yellow lined paper and bore no handwriting at all. It was inside an envelope with the typed address of William Bradfield at Upper Merion Senior High School.
It had been written to Bill Bradfield two years earlier at about the time that he had had the dream that he’d met Jay Smith at the shore while going to Fred Wattenmaker’s house.
Echoes in the Darkness Page 27
