Sue Myers said she was just pleased as punch to hear that he’d “sold” her typewriter to the ice maiden. She wanted to have the lovebirds thrown in jail for theft, but Joe VanNort had to tell her what he’d soon be telling the FBI: “We ain’t after typewriter thieves. We’re after murderers.”
The FBI investigates few criminal violations and does most of its work with the blessing of U.S. attorneys and magistrates. Police investigate a wide variety of criminal activities, involving huge numbers of lawbreakers. They usually don’t have the time and opportunity to obtain warrants, and often have to improvise and move along to the next case. The differences in style between the FBI and the state cops was never more evident than when the discussions began as to how they should proceed in the arrest of William Bradfield.
Joe VanNort announced that he was going to arrest Shelly along with Bill Bradfield and charge them both with theft by deception.
“You can’t arrest that young girl,” Special Agent Matt Mullin said.
“Watch me,” he was told.
Joe VanNort’s blue-gray eyes were getting squinty at that point and not from his cigarette smoke. There was a confrontation that evening in Belmont Barracks. The old cop and the young agent were getting testy.
“You don’t have enough to charge her with,” the agent said.
“The hell I don’t. She stashed away money for him. She either wiped fingerprints off the money or watched him do it. She lied to us and she lied to the grand jury. She’s a conspirator in my book.”
“I’d like to talk to her one more time before you arrest her,” Matt Mullin said.
“You can talk to her after I put her in jail,” Joe VanNort said. “That’s it. Period.”
But Matt Mullin figured, that’s it, semicolon. He said wryly, “Rachel has Sue Myers’s typewriter. Why isn’t she part of the conspiracy?”
Then Joe VanNort erupted: “Goddamnit, boy, I ain’t after no typewriter thief and I ain’t after no perjurers! I ain’t gonna arrest Rachel or Pappas or Valaitis or Myers because I’m gonna need them all one a these days to testify for me when I get Bradfields ass for murder!”
“It’s a malicious arrest,” Matt Mullin said. “You’re arresting Shelly because she won’t cooperate. The U.S. attorney would tell you it’s violating her civil rights and violating a federal law.”
“I don’t need no U. S. attorney to tell me when to take a crap or when to book a suspect,” Joe VanNort said.
“Let’s agree to talk about it tomorrow,” Matt Mullin suggested, and his always flushed face looked like somebody had double-dipped him in Day-Glo.
The next day, Matt Mullin came to the police barracks with a U.S. attorney who also tried to persuade Joe VanNort not to arrest Shelly.
When the U.S. attorney was all finished, Joe VanNort sucked a fresh cigarette down to a nub and said, “We ain’t botherin’ you with this. It’s a state law, not a federal law. I’m goin’ to the district attorney and I’m gonna file charges. Period. And when we make the arrest, the FBI don’t have to be there if it bothers ’em.”
Since the conspiracy to commit theft by deception involved three counties they had to have a lot of meetings with different district attorneys, and finally Deputy D.A. Ed Weitz from Delaware County got the job of prosecuting the case.
The arrest of William Bradfield took place in May, 1981, almost two years after the murder of Susan Reinert, and the FBI did not take part.
The cops preferred to arrest Bill Bradfield when he was out jogging. He was said to be doing three miles at that time, trying to control his weight and soaring blood pressure.
Joe VanNort, Jack Holtz and Lou DeSantis had a woman trooper call his mother’s home to see if he was at home. The trooper was told he was asleep, and the message was relayed to the waiting cops who drove up the lane to the ancient stone farmhouse where the Bradfields lived. They were met at the door by an old woman: frail, respectable, upper middle class, frightened.
The cops stated their business and Mrs. Bradfield asked them to wait a moment. She returned to the door looking even more frightened and asked to see their identification again. After that, she disappeared and when she returned she let them inside.
Jack Holtz sneered, which is no mean trick with a gumload of snuff, and whispered, “Hiding behind his mother’s apron strings, as usual.”
Bill Bradfield got dressed quickly and greeted them in the living room with one question: “Are you arresting me for murder?”
“Naw,” Joe VanNort said, showing his lopsided grin. “Just for theft by deception and theft by fraudulent conversion.”
They could literally see the color return to his face. He was relieved.
They drove to the district magistrates office and he was garrulous. As usual he talked about everything but what they wanted to discuss. He told them how his father used to take him hunting around Chester County and that it was lovely and peaceful living out in the country.
And by the way, he said, he’d like to give them some “concrete evidence” about Susan Reinerts murder, but he couldn’t do it because of his lawyer.
The only unpleasant moment came at the magistrates office when he refused to sign a form stating that the cops had advised him of his constitutional rights. Then he said that he wanted a cash bail-out on the spot.
Jack Holtz glared and said, “Screw him. Let’s take him to jail.”
But Joe VanNort was in a jovial mood. They called John Curran’s office and a lawyer said he’d come, and Bill Bradfields mother said she’d arrange for the bail money. Joe VanNort was enjoying himself.
In fact, he took Bill Bradfield to a deli while they were waiting for the $25,000 bail to be posted, and bought his prisoner a sandwich.
When they’d finished eating and returned to the magistrate’s office, Bill Bradfield said to the lawyer, “I want it on the record that these police officers are gentlemen, and have treated me so kindly.”
Jack Holtz later said it was all he could do to keep from grabbing Bill Bradfield by the throat.
Bill Bradfield asked Joe VanNort, “Are you arresting any of my friends?”
“Yeah, Bill,” the old cop said, with a Marlboro between his teeth. “Afraid we gotta bust poor little Shelly.”
Bill Bradfields brooding blue eyes turned exceptionally misty, and he said, “I wish you’d let me call her, first. She’s such a fragile child.”
“I don’t see nothin’ wrong with that, Bill,” Joe VanNort said. “I always kinda liked kids myself.”
* * *
There were a couple of hearings prior to the August trial, hearings in which John Curran challenged the various warrants and the introduction of certain evidence. The testimony in support of the warrants was given mostly by Sergeant Joe VanNort and it was striking to hear.
Joe VanNort was more rambling and disjointed than Ronald Reagan without a script. Joe VanNort had been a cop for nearly thirty-one years and he’d given a whole lot of testimony, and though he wasn’t an articulate man he knew how to testify. But in those hearings he sounded like an untrained civilian.
In fact, on the morning they went to the courthouse in Media, Pennsylvania, for the trial of Bill Bradfield, Jack Holtz was driving and Joe was sitting next to him and being very quiet.
When they drove into the lot, Joe looked at Jack Holtz and his blue-gray eyes were as cloudy as the Poconos in autumn. He asked, “Where are we?”
Jack Holtz thought he must’ve dozed off, but Joe was wide awake.
“What’re we doin’ here?” Joe VanNort asked.
Jack Holtz laughed and said, “This is the Bill Bradfield trial. You better wake up.”
When they got out of the car and walked inside, Jack kept glancing over at Joe. He didn’t look well.