Echoes in the Darkness

27

If the letter within a letter was the most legally damaging piece of physical evidence in the Jay Smith trial, the tiny green pin from the Philadelphia Museum of Art carried the emotional load.

The trial had been going on for three weeks and both sides had just about shot their bolts. Bill Costopoulos had been working eighteen hours a day and looked haggard. Rick Guida was so overloaded with nicotine he could have jump-started a DC-10.

The prosecutor said that he had no idea what to expect when he subpoenaed former classmates of Karen Reinert from Chestnutwold Elementary School who’d made that museum field trip in the sixth grade. He was hoping they wouldn’t have green hair with pins through their noses.

The first of them wore a blue blazer and a necktie and testified that back in the sixth grade they’d gone to the museum, all right. He remembered the colonial furniture. He planned to enter Temple University in the fell.

The second, similarly dressed, was a senior at Haverford High School and would be attending the Virginia Military Institute. He testified to getting the green pin with the white P.

The third was also a student at Haverford who would be transferring to William and Mary, and he remembered the pin and the trip.

The next was going to the University of Cincinnati, and yes, he remembered the pin and the trip.

Another had kept his pin and turned it over to the police for comparison.

Each young witness was handsome and wholesome and well dressed and polite. Finally, one was called who wasn’t wearing a coat and tie. He was wearing jeans, but he was the jock of the crowd, another good-looking kid with college plans. He’d played in Michaels last cub scout game.

Guida asked him about the field trip and he testified that Karen Reinert had definitely been on the field trip at the museum that day in 1979.

When the prosecutor asked him how he could be sure, the young man said, “She was very cute. Lots of people at school had a crush on her. I was one of them.”

The jurors smiled. The courtroom got very quiet. A couple of people took out handkerchiefs.

Costopoulos couldn’t cross-examine. He had to wait until Jack Holtz again testified, in order to imply that all of the Bradfield people had been on the loose at that time and someone could have planted that pin in Jay Smiths car when it was parked at his brothers house in Delaware.

The defense knew what was coming next. The queue of bright wholesome kids had kept the courtroom utterly silent.

The look on the face of the defense lawyer said, Why can’t this one look like Saturday night at Studio 54?

She looked like a Mormon missionary. The young woman entered timidly and after the judge reassured her with a kindly smile, she sat down and put her hands in her lap and waited.

“State your name for the record,” Guida said.

“Elizabeth Ann Brook.”

“And where do you work?”

“I work at the Chubb insurance company.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“What is your grandmother’s name?”

“Mary Gove.”

“And where did your grandmother live in 1979?”

“She lived on Woodcrest Drive.”

“And who was her next-door neighbor?”

“Susan Reinert.”

“Who did Susan Reinert live there with?”

“Her two children, Karen and Michael.”

“Now, Beth Ann, during 1978 and 1979, did you stay at your grandmother’s house at all?”

“Yes, I did. Quite frequently.”

“Just tell us how frequently.”

“Sometimes once a week. Sometimes once every two weeks. My grandfather had just passed away and we were trying to keep someone with her as much as possible.”

“Did you know Karen and Michael Reinert?”

“Yes, I did. Very well.”

“Did you do anything for them while you were staying with your grandmother?”

“Yes, I was their baby-sitter.”

“Now, I’m going to take you back to Friday night, June twenty-second, 1979. Were you at your grandmothers house?”

“Yes, I was.”

“And do you recall a hailstorm that evening?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what happened after the hailstorm was over? What did you do?”

“My grandmother and I went out to the porch. Karen and Michael and Susan were coming out of their house. Michael went down and he was picking up the hailstones. And he brought them to us and he said, ‘Oh, gosh! Look how big they are!’ ”

“Did Karen have a pin that she wore?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of pin did she wear?”

“Well, it was a clip-on pin with the back bent over and clipped on to whatever you were wearing.”

“What color was the pin?”

“Green.”

“What did the pin have on it?”

“It had a white P on it.”

“How often would you say she wore that pin?”

“Practically every time I saw her she had it on.”

“Now, Beth Ann, how was Karen Reinert dressed that night while you were out collecting hailstones?”

“She had on a white shirt with a scoop neck, a pair of shorts and sneakers.”

“Did she have anything on that shirt that you remember?”

“She had on the pin.”

“The green pin with the white P?”

“The green pin with the white P.”

Guida got up from the counsel table and approached the witness. He took a packet from the evidence box and said, “I’m going to show you what has been marked as commonwealths exhibit number one hundred ten. Does that look familiar to you?”

“Yes, it does.”

“And what is it similar to?”

“That’s the pin Karen had on.”

“Beth Ann, did you ever see Karen or Michael Reinert again after that night at nine o’clock?”

“No, sir.”

“Cross-examine.”

It was a subdued Bill Costopoulos at that point. A grueling trial was winding down to those bright and handsome reminders of Karen and Michael Reinert. He slouched in his chair. He didn’t get up to approach the witness.

“Beth Ann,” he began, “do you recall being interviewed by two federal agents in August of 1979?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you had an opportunity to look over their report before you testified today?”

“No, sir.”

Costopoulos was taking his last shot. He withdrew the FBI report from the file and approached the young woman, pointing to a paragraph in the report.

“Let me show you your report at that time to refresh your memory as to what you recalled Karen having on.”

She read the report, nodded and said, “The peasant shirt would have been the scoop neck.”

“I can’t hear you,” said Judge Lipsitt.

The witness said, “The peasant shirt in the description I gave that year. I said that she had on a yellow peasant top.”

“A yellow peasant top?” said the judge.

“A yellow peasant top is what I described. The scoop neck would be made out of cotton almost like T-shirts are made of. A peasant’s shirt is made out of a gauze. But it does have a scooped neck.”

Costopoulos said, “Well, you admit there’s no mention in here about any pin?”

“No, sir.”

“When was the first time you were asked to recall if you saw a pin?”

“About four weeks ago.”

“About four weeks ago?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who asked you?”

“Mister Holtz.”

“Did he show you the pin?”

“No, sir. As a matter of fact, when he called he didn’t say anything about the pin, He just asked me to think about what she had on again.”

“Okay,” Bill Costopoulos said. “I have no further questions.”

It was only getting worse for Costopoulos. He could’ve pointed out that she couldn’t know if it was that particular pin, but he wisely let her go.

A couple of jurors were dabbing at tears, and a couple of others were staring at Jay Smith. He was as impassive as if he were attending a meeting of the Parent-Teachers Association.

Essentially, the commonwealth’s case was over, and Guida had demonstrated that he too had a sense of theater. The jurors kept glancing at the spectators, toward the classmates of Karen Reinert. The jurors kept looking for should-have-beens. Looking for ghosts.

On the 29th of April, William Costopoulos made his closing argument to the jury.

He said, “May it please the court, Mister Guida, Mister Smith. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, very soon you will retire to deliberate the fate of Jay Smith, and in your hands lies the power of rendering the only appropriate verdict in this case based on the evidence. Which is not guilty. In your hands lies the power of life and death. It is the gravest responsibility our country imposes on its citizenry.

“During the course of the trial, you’ve been patient, and you’ve seen a lot of interaction between the attorneys, and often intentionally or unintentionally we interject our egos into these proceedings. No matter what your verdict is our egos will heal, but your verdict is forever.

“Judge Lipsitt will explain to you that a reasonable doubt means the kind of doubt that you would only entertain in acting in a matter of importance to yourself. Beyond a reasonable doubt means that we don’t convict in this country on suspicion, on conjecture, on theory. We don’t convict in this country on probabilities.

“Even if you would decide that Jay Smith was probably responsible in some way, or directly, the law says not guilty. Because in this country we would rather acquit nine guilty persons than convict one innocent man for something he didn’t do. Let alone ask that he be put to death.”

Bill Costopoulos described to the jury how the pieces of the prosecution’s puzzle didn’t fit, and how they’d tried to force them to make them fit.

He began at the beginning when a prosecution witness had testified that Susan Reinert had granules of sand between her toes, and that Susan Reinert had written “Cape May” on a note in her car.

He proceeded to Mary Gove, the next-door neighbor of Susan Reinert, who had belatedly testified that she saw Susan Reinert wearing blue slacks the night she disappeared, to account for the two blue fibers stuck to her body.

As to her granddaughter belatedly testifying to the pin, he said that it must run in the family. He implied that the prosecution was “responsible” for that belated testimony.

He claimed that the defense hair and fiber experts had demolished the entire hair and fiber evidence of the prosecution, reiterating that his witness said the brown hair could belong to any brunette in the world, and the red fibers could have come from any red rug.

He dealt as quickly as possible with Jay Smith’s letter to his dying wife about getting rid of the downstairs carpet, saying that Jay Smith had been trying to fulfill an obligation to his realtor.

He turned his attention to William Bradfield and pointed out that he was a hundred different kinds of liar, and had seven hundred and thirty thousand good reasons to kill Susan Reinert.

As to his client, he said, “Motive? What motive did Jay Smith have to kill the woman and hurt her children? According to the commonwealth’s theory, Bradfield committed perjury for him. Well, that’s Bradfield’s problem, not Jay Smiths. Jay Smith didn’t even testify at the St. Davids trial. Motive. What motive? Are the two links going to hold together that Bradfield did in fact commit perjury, and in payment Jay Smith savagely and brutally assassinates a woman and two children on the weekend he’s suppose to report for sentencing?

“Use your common sense. Why in Gods name would Jay Smith want the body to be left outside the Host Inn? In the very city within a mile or so of where he was to appear for sentencing? If there was any reason, you come up with it, I can’t.

“And that woman wasn’t just murdered for the purpose of collecting insurance proceeds. She was disgraced. She was left nude in the fetal position in the back of her car, and the hatchback was left up, three rows from the front door. Who, psychologically, had this character of disgracing and demeaning women? William Sidney Bradfield.

“And where was Rachel for thirty days prior to the murder? And Chris Pappas, ladies and gentlemen. I don’t know where that guys coming from. They practiced shooting silencers. They practiced tying each other up. Make no mistake about it, ladies and gentlemen, he knows more. Rachel knows more. Sue Myers knows more, and if the prosecution would quit defending them they might find out what happened on that weekend because they know more.

“Does Smith have an airtight alibi for that weekend? Not even close. But neither do I. And neither do you. And I can guarantee you that each and every one of you has a brown hair in your house on the floor that matches Susan Reinert’s. And the chances are good that every one of you has red fibers in your house.

“But you see, ladies and gentlemen, Jay Smith didn’t know he was going to need an alibi, and when he first gave his recollection of that weekend to a federal agent he wasn’t real clear where he’d been three months earlier. Make no mistake about it, Grace Gilmore was there that weekend, Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

“ ‘I went to see my wife every day that weekend,’ he told them. But they said no, he was too busy murdering Susan Reinert and chopping up her kids and throwing them in the ocean or burying them in the woods or throwing them in graves. That’s hogwash!

“The alibi of William Sidney Bradfield going down to the shore with Chris Pappas, Sue Myers and Vince Valaitis is only a good one if you believe them all. But if you don’t believe one of them, the alibi is done.

“And Sue Myers at one point in time turned over every scrap of paper to them, and by God, they came up with a receipt from the A and P in Phoenixville dated Saturday, June twenty-third, at six-eighteen P.M. And instead of grabbing all those people and starting all over, they lost the receipt.

“Then there’s the letter to his brother. You’ve got to remember this guy’s been in jail at that time for sixteen months. He’s a self-proclaimed jailhouse lawyer. So he wrote his brother and told him to invoke the Fifth Amendment. He said to say as little as possible. And in his letter of October thirtieth he tells him that on Sunday, June twenty-fourth, 1979, ‘You came sometime in the late morning and left in the early afternoon. I believe you had your granddaughter with you.’ His brother said, ‘Well, that’s not true. I wasn’t there. And I’m not testifying.’

“And if you want to believe that was Jay’s recollection in 1980, fine. I’d like to believe that. I don’t. It appears as though Jay was trying to tell his brother to say something for him about that Sunday morning. That’s what they came up with, ladies and gentlemen, out of fifty-three files they took from that man when they arrested him on June twenty-fifth, 1985.

“Fifty-three files. They invaded his most sacred communications. They took his letters to his brother. They took his letters to his lawyer which is the most sacred privileged communication we sanction in this country, and they read them to you.

“Raymond Martray showed up in 1981 and said every time Smith had conversations pertaining to the murder, they were in the grandstands of the prison. The first time Smith told Martray, ‘I took care of her.’ The second and third times Martray was told, ‘I killed the fucking bitch.’

“They had problems with Raymond. Big problems. They turned him over to the FBI. Constant attempts were made to pin down Martray concerning specific statements made to him by Smith concerning the Reinert killing, and Martray became more and more general rather than specific in his answers.

“You heard those tapes yourselves. Jay Smith talked to you, ladies and gentlemen, and you learned what he knew and didn’t know about the death of Susan Reinert.

“I was worried about the fact that the crime was a savage one. Everybody gets angry, and it was an ugly crime, but my concern was never over the evidence against Jay Smith because there isn’t any. Once you get rid of Martray that leaves them back where they were in 1980. With this new comb. What’s that prove? Nothing.

“There wasn’t a trace linking her body to anyone. It was professionally done. We’ve got the pin and the car of Jay, wiped clean. We’ve got everything that Bradfield said before and after. But use your common sense. William Sidney Bradfield is the biggest liar that ever walked the face of this earth. The comb was clean. The pin was clean. The fibers and hair mean nothing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you have the power to render the only appropriate verdict in this case based on the evidence we’ve all heard. And this is that Jay Smith is not guilty. It’s in your hands. Thank you.”

When Costopoulos got back to the defense table, he whispered to Jay Smith, “How’d I do, teach?”

Jay Smith said, “The semesters not over yet.”

In the afternoon session it was the turn of the prosecutor. Guida rose and said, “Thank you, Your Honor. Ladies and gentlemen, seven years ago, on a very cold summer morning, Trooper John Holtz left his bed and went to the Host Inn parking lot. Since that time, the most massive police effort in the history of Pennsylvania has been continuing to try to solve the Reinert murder case.

“Four and a half years ago I joined the office of the attorney general. My first assignment was this matter. Today it’s over. Today, all of the effort expended by the prosecutor, by the defense, by the FBI, all comes down to you.

“In this case, the law is not complex. Mister Costopoulos said in his opening argument, and I agree with him, that this is a case of murder in the first degree, or it is nothing. The commonwealth is alleging that this defendant cold-bloodedly and brutally killed a woman and her two small children. Why? We’ll talk about motive in a while.

“In this case the commonwealth has presented two types of evidence: direct and circumstantial. Direct evidence is someone coming into the courtroom and saying the defendant confessed to him. In this case we have a man by the name of Raymond Martray who says that.

“The rest of the commonwealths case is what is called circumstantial evidence, a group of facts, none of which in and of themselves is sufficient to prove the defendant guilty.

“Lets wrap up the defense case. During the first day of the case a retired trooper took the stand. He’s worked for the defendants private investigator. On cross-examination he suddenly talks about her feet, about some grains of sand. Mister Costopoulos said it was like pulling teeth getting him to say it. It was more like pulling out dentures. A big smile came over his face. He said that gritty particles could have been sand.

“You found out that early in the investigation when the state police were exploring the possibility that Mrs. Reinert might have been to the shore, they called him to a meeting to determine that, and what did he say? Nothing. It’s a sad commentary on what was a decent career with the state police. What value did his testimony have for the defense? Zero. Nothing. As a matter of fact, it might tell you something else.

“We came to hair and fibers. They brought their experts in, men who were paid to attend this hearing. It was said that the hair found on the floor of Jay Smith’s basement was four and a half inches long and Susan Reinert’s hair was seven inches long. It probably was Jay Smith’s hair, he said.

“On cross-examination, what did I say? How long are the samples? He didn’t want to answer that question. He wanted to say that her hairbrush had seven-inch hairs in it. I said, how long were the samples? He said four and a half inches long.

“The defense switched tacks and we went to a receipt from the grocery store turned over by Sue Myers with many other things. This receipt happened to be stamped June twenty-third, 1979. Well, we can’t explain it to you. Is it possible that Bradfield would have given access to his apartment to the person that he was using to murder Susan Reinert?

“If Sue Myers had murdered Susan Reinert with William Bradfield, and had an alibi at the shore, would she be so stupid as to hand that receipt to the state police? Back to common sense.

“There’s Vincent Valaitis. Never given immunity. Vince was there with these people all weekend. I think he was, as he appeared here to you, somewhat insecure. He needed a friend. Bradfield provided it and used him.

“There were more than three victims. There’s Sue Myers. Sixteen years with the same man she loved. He’s with Reinert, with Rachel, with Shelly. She didn’t want to believe that she’d invested sixteen years of her life. She was obedient. She was weak. If anything, you can say to these people that they certainly look foolish. But I’m asking you, did Vincent Valaitis and Sue Myers appear to be the kind of persons who would murder a child?

“Christopher Pappas was cut from the same cloth as Vincent Valaitis. He needed a friend. Shelly was nineteen years old. She made a commitment that will haunt her for the rest of her life. But was she a murderess? Could she have cut up two children?

“Well, let’s talk about Rachel. She’s the only person that is unaccounted for on that weekend. The commonwealth isn’t saying that Rachel isn’t involved. We never said there were only two. What we said to you is that we could only prove two.

“The evidence against Rachel is that her whereabouts are unknown for that weekend, and that’s it. With that kind of evidence, there can’t be another chair at this table. We have to work on the evidence that we have. It’s very possible that somebody followed the defendant to Harrisburg and helped him get back home. And it’s possible that William Bradfield would want this person there because there was a lot of money at stake. That’s possible.

“In some degree, the commonwealths strength is in its subtlety. Do you think that Sue Myers, Vince Valaitis and Chris Pappas would plant a pin under Jay Smiths car seat and then anticipate that Beth Ann Brook would remember that Karen had it on that night? It’s something that an adult throws away. Why didn’t they just take Karen’s finger after she was dead and roll it on there? What we have here isn’t a normal murder case.

“We didn’t introduce William Bradfields statement to his friends to show the truth of the matters. This case involves a conspiracy within a conspiracy, a conspiracy with two separate motives. Bradfield knows he’s going to be a suspect so before she’s murdered he starts covering himself. He starts saying that Jay C. Smith might do it.

“Those friends are going to come, he believes, and support him by saying Bill was worried. Bill wanted to help her. Bill was a great guy. He didn’t want the insurance.

“Well, he wanted the money. And he didn’t want to give any of it to the defendant. He wanted to keep it himself. Keep in mind that the circumstance of how that body was found show that the co-conspirator knew the money was coming, and did it so Bradfield could get the money. And what can you infer from that? He was going to get something.

“But Bradfield doesn’t want to give it to him. Bradfield knows he’s a suspect, so Bradfield covers himself, but interestingly, very interestingly. In the Susan Reinert vehicle amongst McDonald’s happy meal boxes, children’s raincoats, umbrellas. In a messy car, very child oriented, what do we find? A dildo. And what does Bradfield say. Suddenly in New Mexico he said that Smith didn’t do it. A kinky guy named Alex killed her.

“Why would Bradfield suddenly change his story? He didn’t continue to say Smith did it. He was scared because those two kids were dead and he realized the newspapers wouldn’t let him go, and now he had to back off. So suddenly Smith didn’t do it.

“Raymond Martray told you that the defendant said ‘I killed the bitch’ on two occasions. That in and of itself is sufficient to convict the defendant if you believe it. The defense suggested that because Martray saw this was a big case he was going to come into this courtroom and perjure himself. What did Martray get? Nothing. Martray served his time. He got out on schedule. What did the commonwealth do?

“Charles Montione. April, 1983, Bradfields arrested. Smith says, ‘We’re going to escape.’ Does an innocent man who’s being investigated by the police want to kill police officers who are looking into the facts? Are those the actions of an innocent man?

“Then we move to Mister Smith’s alibi. Mister Costopoulos said that if any of you were asked to recall where you were on a certain day you’d have difficulty. But keep in mind that Susan Reinert worked for the defendant. She was found in Harrisburg on the same day that he’s to be sentenced, and he’s late for sentencing. Now, wouldn’t you think that a person in that situation would think that somebody might conclude that he was involved? And look back and say, “Well, I was with so and so?’

“What did Grace Gilmore tell you about the Saturday? ‘I went to the shore with my sister. I was there all day Friday. I was there all day Saturday. I came back late Sunday afternoon. I heard a noise downstairs and then I heard his car drive away.’ Are we going to believe Grace Gilmore who never was in the lower level of Smith’s house? Or are you going to believe what he wrote down? Does an innocent man fake his alibi?

“We know where this man was on August twenty-seventh, 1977, but what does Bill Bradfield do? He takes the witness stand and says, ‘Nope, he was with me at the shore. Jay Smith couldn’t have done that Sears theft.’ Why? I summit to you the why is the quid pro quo, the first quid pro quo for this murder.

“We were interested in the note that the defense has described as a nice note to his wife when she was sick. We were interested in this note for two reasons. One, ‘Clean up the Capri. Thoroughly.’ Two, ‘Get rid of the rug.’ He says, ‘When you get better, get up off your deathbed and throw away that rug.’

“So we asked the defendant to provide us with a handwriting exemplar. This innocuous note means nothing. He sees it. What does he do? You have the exemplar that Jay Smith gave to us for comparison. Do you need to be a handwriting expert to tell that he faked it? It doesn’t look anything like his writing. Are these the actions of an innocent man? If they are not, another pebble on the pile. On the other side of that scale only the presumption of innocence.

“On the tape of September eighth from Smith to Martray, he stated: ‘Now where are the two kids’ bodies? See, he’s gotta show all that stuff and he can’t. The only way they can get me is if he gets on the stand and says Smith did it. Do you see the advantage in not telling your partner where you put the bodies?’

“The only person in the world who can speak with confidence and know for sure that William Bradfield couldn’t walk in here and tell us where the bodies are, the only person that knows, is his partner. That’s more like a rock than a pebble.

“Now we come to Jay Smith’s car. Our last pebble. In this innocuous letter where Jay Smith had to fake a handwriting exemplar, it says, ‘Clean out the Capri. Thoroughly.’ Underlined twice. Well, we learned that on June twenty-second, 1979, Karen Reinert and her brother Michael were collecting hailstones. Karen was dressed in a scoop-neck blouse and a pair of shorts. She wore a green pin. Nothing special to an adult.

“Karen was an eleven-year-old girl. It was more like an emerald to her. It wasn’t something insignificant. It was something she prized. And on that night Karen Reinert got into the car of her mother and drove away. Into oblivion.

“There’s an old children’s story about children walking through the woods. They leave things behind on the ground so they can find their way back home. Karen Reinert on the night of June twenty-second, 1979, knew she wasn’t coming back. Either that or the force that looks after little children left something for us. Not so Karen could find her way back home, but to tell us where she went and who sent her there. The last pebble is in.

“When I stop talking, the criminal investigation into the murders of Susan Reinert and her two children will have ended. I’m asking you now to do the right thing and I think you know what that is. Thank you.”

That afternoon the judge charged the jury as to the law and their duties. As to the jury not having heard the defendant speak, he said, “Now I want to say a word about the failure to testify because that very often is on the minds of a juror. This is what the law states and I emphasize it to you. It is entirely up to a defendant in every criminal trial whether or not to testify. He has an absolute right founded on the Constitution to remain silent. You must not draw any inference of guilt from the fact that the defendant did not testify, and so I leave that with you.”

At 6 P.M. when the jury was being fed dinner, Rick Guida and the prosecution team were at Catalano’s bar. Rick Guida, after a few drinks, was telling everyone that they’d done their best but he had very very bad feelings about this juror, or that one, or another one.

Jack Holtz said, “I’m not putting myself through this craziness,” and went home to his son.