It wasn’t long before he was playing chess with a twenty-four-year-old black inmate named Proctor Nowell. And it wasn’t long before Proctor Nowell stepped between another black con and Bill Bradfield in the role of protector. Nowell later said that Bill Bradfield had promised that when they got out of jail he’d buy an apartment house in Philly and let Nowell manage it.
After a month in jail, Bill Bradfield was successful in getting a release from prison on bail pending his appeal. Jack Holtz figured that a month had been plenty of time for a man as garrulous as Bill Bradfield. Lou DeSantis called Franklin Center, the state police station closest to the prison, and discovered that Bill Bradfield had been friends with two black inmates, one of whom was Nowell.
During the months that the grand jury was hearing portions of their case, Jack Holtz and Lou DeSantis paid a visit to Nowell at the prison.
Nowell was an alcoholic who’d been convicted of robbery and had a history of petty crimes.
Jack Holtz learned that Nowell had kids, and he played on that angle, describing Karen and Michael Reinert to the convict. It was a short interview in which Nowell admitted that Bill Bradfield had told him “things,” but said he didn’t want to talk about it.
The cops said to call them if he changed his mind, and that was that. Jack Holtz wasn’t holding out too much hope, but within two days he got the call.
It was Nowell who, like Raymond Martray, said, “I know stuff, but it scares me.” He didn’t want to talk to them in prison.
Jack Holtz went to the district attorney’s office in Delaware County to see his old friend from Orphans Court, John Reilly, and had Nowell placed on a court list. The convict was brought in with prisoners who’d be attending hearings.
They met in a private room in the court house, and Proctor Nowell told them of conversations with Bill Bradfield. Jack Holtz called Rick Guida and they arranged yet another session with Nowell who remained constant throughout their questioning.
Proctor Nowell also needed a friend. He was committed to the alcohol rehabilitation program as an alternative to jail, and agreed to appear before the grand jury.
With Nowell as the last link in their circumstantial chain, they decided it was time to arrest Bill Bradfield, this time for three counts of murder. The arrest plan was only a little less complicated than the Falklands invasion, and about as necessary.
The date was April 6th, the time was 5:00 A.M. Bill Bradfield, according to their intelligence reports, was living with Rachel in a guesthouse on his mothers property. Reports from neighbors said that he had a large attack dog, and from Chris Pappas they learned that he had other hunting weapons in the farmhouse.
The arrest team was composed of Jack Holtz, Lou DeSantis, another trooper, and a woman trooper to make the call just as before. Prosecutor Rick Guida went along, and by 5:00 A.M. he’d already smoked half a pack of cigarettes, but after all, it was his first arrest.
Before daybreak they started watching the house with a nightscope they’d borrowed for the occasion. It outweighed two bowling balls and through the thing they could see nothing but green haze.
Jack Holtz and the woman trooper went to a neighbor and awakened the household. Not wanting to alarm the folks in rural Chester County unduly, they said they were working a burglary investigation and needed to use the phone.
But the neighbor said, “You shouldn’t waste your time with burglars. We have murderers around here.”
And while the woman trooper called, the neighbor proceeded to tell them all about this fellow Bill Bradfield. He said they should throw him in jail instead of some burglar.
Rachel answered the phone and said that Bill Bradfield was in Birdsboro and wouldn’t be back until the next day. She seemed used to female callers.
So the whole shooting match was off to a house in Birdsboro where they’d already heard he was spending time with a friend and was selling diet products.
The police code was “We’ve located the package,” presumably because they feared the master criminal was tuned in to the police frequency Actually, Bill Bradfield would probably have approved of this caper.
It was still dark when they arrived. Their quarry was a notoriously bad driver and they spotted a VW Beetle parked half on the sidewalk. It was a quiet neighborhood. They said their code words and synchronized their watches and got all dressed up in their flak vests and jacked rounds into their shotguns.
The chief of police of this little place moseyed by in his car, and wondered what in hell was going on. The only thing they didn’t have were helicopters and a chaplain.
When they knocked at the door and scared the living crap out of the resident, he admitted that he was forming a company to sell diet products with his pal Bill who was in bed sleeping. They pushed by him and crept into the back of the house with enough firepower to knock down the Luftwaffe.
The first thing Jack Holtz saw in the darkness when his pupils dilated was a set of flashing teeth. Canine teeth. Large.
He yelled, “If it moves, shoot it!”
And Bill Bradfield, who was awake in bed, thought they were talking about him. He went as rigid as Lenins mummy. He wasn’t even breathing as the cops crept toward the flashing teeth. He didn’t twitch when Jack Holtz yelled, “Show me your hands!”
Somebody turned on the lights. The “attack” dog was an English setter named Traveler who needed attention and cuddling almost as much as the guy in bed. Traveler was so happy he leaped up on Jack Holtz and started licking his face. Bill Bradfield almost turned blue before someone told him it was okay to inhale.
Jack Holtz got a great deal of joy out of reading the arrest warrant to Bill Bradfield. He read it with verve. He wanted to read it twice. He was crazy about the part where it said conspiracy to commit murder with person or persons unknown.
He finished it when Bill Bradfield was standing and dressed. Big Bill gave his famous stare to Rick Guida who’d been told by an FBI agent that the Bradfield stare had once made him fall back two steps.
The stare practically demolished Guida. He was literally floored. He sat down on the floor and played with Traveler.
When Jack Holtz got Bill Bradfield back to the lockup in Harrisburg and took off the handcuffs, his prisoner, who’d been as silent as fungus, decided to make life hard for him. Bill Bradfield just dropped down on the floor and lay there on his back.
Jack Holtz said, “If you’re gonna act like a baby, I’ll treat you like one.”
But no baby ever got this treatment. Holtz reached down and grabbed two handfuls of Bill Bradfields whiskers and curled him straight up until they were nose to nose.
Bill Bradfield gave Jack Holtz the stare, but Jack Holtz stared back and said, “That bullshit only works on intelligent people.”
Tack Holtz had called Betty VanNort earlier to tell her they were going to arrest William Bradfield for murder, and he went to her house at 7:30 A.M. after they had him in custody.
Betty VanNort said that she’d been awake half the night praying for them. They had a cup of tea together.
Bill Bradfield was sent to the state correctional institution at Camp Hill. He was placed in “Mohawk,” the administrative custody section for new fish who haven’t been placed in the general population yet, or who need special protection. Prisoners in Mohawk are in individual cells and shout messages down the corridor to each other.
According to the information relayed to Jack Holtz, Bill Bradfield was trying to sleep when a black convict yelled, “Braaaaadfield, you killed my schoolteacher. Braaaaadfield, you killed those little babies.”
Courtroom number four in the Dauphin County Courthouse was far too small to accommodate the spectators and reporters.
Judge Isaac S. Garb was highly respected in Harrisburg, known for keeping a trial moving and for being fair to both sides. He was a very diminutive man and once when Rick Guida said, “Your honor, I need a few minutes. I have just one short witness,” the judge replied, “Mister Guida, there aren’t any short witnesses in this case. There are brief witnesses.”