During the Jay Smith trial, one of his lawyers was defending another murder case. A defendant was on trial for killing his mother in her bed. Like Jay Smith, this defendant had a sardonic sense of humor. He called it “mattress-cide.”
And in the same spirit of punsmanship he’d torched her saying it was an act of “our-son.”
The lawyer was working on this one almost as hard as Bill Costopoulos. During the presentation of his case, the punster happened to ask the Costopoulos law clerk to get him a copy of a martial arts book. He said it might come in handy in prison to learn a few self-defense tricks.
The law clerk obliged, and after the punster was convicted of matricide he demonstrated what he’d learned.
Right there in the courtroom he hauled off and threw a kung-fu special from the direction of Pittsburgh and almost coldcocked his ardent young lawyer.
Shortly after that, the members of the press asked the lawyer if he was now selling tickets at scalpers’ prices to the execution.
* * *
Reporters need controversy. Most felt that Jay Smith would be acquitted. None believed the comb clue. They thought it had been planted by either Bill Bradfield or a disciple.
The mere fact the body had been driven to Harrisburg where Jay Smith was scheduled to be sentenced was evidence to many that he hadn’t done the driving.
There were also discussions about the movie Witness which had taken place there in central Pennsylvania. In the Bill Bradfield trial, Rick Guida had found it patently absurd that Bill Bradfield would feel that there was no one in the police station to whom he could tell the alleged plot by Jay Smith to kill Susan Reinert.
Yet the entire movie Witness was built upon just such a decision. The protagonist thought there was a corrupt superior officer in the Philadelphia police, so he lit out for Amish country with his witnesses. He never called the FBI. He never called the state police. He just handled it himself. Just like Bill Bradfield. And he was a cop. All the critics in America, both fat and skinny, loved the picture and saw nothing absurd about the premise. It was a good thing for Rick Guida, everyone said, that Witness had not been released prior to the Bill Bradfield trial.
The most damaging physical evidence wasn’t the comb, whether it had been lost by Jay Smith or planted by Bill Bradfield or a Bradfield disciple, or even, as some thought, planted by Jay Smith just for the perverse thrill of it.
It wasn’t even the pin identical to Karen Reinerts that had been found in that car, nor the letters from Jay Smith to Bill Bradfield.
It was probably the letter within a letter wherein Jay Smith asked his dying wife to clean the Capri thoroughly, writing, “I can’t stress the importance of this: clean out and then clean up.”
And that the downstairs rug in a house they’d already sold must go, as he explained: “Every time I walk on that rug something new pops out.”
Jay Smith, already imprisoned, was not worrying about a couple of marijuana seeds in his former house.
It was an even more damaging letter after Martray and Montione described his obsession with forensics.
The mother and father of Edward Hunsberger, now missing for eight years, attended the Jay Smith trial whenever they could. In the William Bradfield trial they’d driven two hours to and from Harrisburg every day because they couldn’t afford a hotel room.
During this Jay Smith trial Dorothy Hunsberger testified that back on June 25, 1979, when Jay Smith showed up for sentencing on the theft case, he’d arrived very late and that his hair was mussed. She said that he’d felt in his pockets and then smoothed his hair down with his hands.
Well, maybe. And maybe Mrs. Hunsberger saw and remembered what she now wanted to remember, this tragic woman, nearly seventy, haunting courtrooms for any clue to the fate of her only child.
Bill Costopoulos didn’t cross-examine her. The jury knew nothing of Edward Hunsberger and Jay Smith’s missing daughter.
Without a doubt, the most memorable witness in the Jay Smith murder trial was Rachel, the ice maiden. The entire corps of reporters as well as both counsel tables were waiting for the person they had called “the mystery woman” in the William Bradfield trial. Cynics said that the greatest mystery about her was how she could still be a loyal Bradfield woman, but she was.
The reporters were not disappointed when she took the long walk to the witness box. Now in her mid-thirties, she was Charlotte Brontë. Rachel was as tiny as Susan Reinert. Her hair was very dark and straight, parted in the middle and combed severely down behind her ears. She wore a long black skirt suit and a pale, high-throated blouse with a tiny black necktie. And flat shoes, of course. She wore no makeup and no jewelry. Color her black, white and gray.
The precision with which she spoke was startling, so much so that she made each lawyer work at phrasing the questions carefully.
After Guida got past the preliminaries, he said to his witness, “At the time you formed a romantic interest with Mister Bradfield, did you know that he was living with a woman by the name of Sue Myers?”
“Yes, I did,” she answered.
“And what did Mister Bradfield tell you about his relationship with Sue Myers?”
“They shared living quarters, but there was not a romantic relationship between them at the time.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“Yes, it is.”
“In the summer of 1979, did you know that Mister Bradfield had been married?”
“No, I don’t believe so.”
“In terms of the fall of 1978 and spring of 1979, did he ever mention a woman by the name of Susan Reinert?”
“Yes, I do remember the name.”
“What did he tell you about Susan Reinert with regard to any romantic interest?”
“I understood that she was interested in dating him, but that he wasn’t interested.”
“Did you ever meet Susan Reinert?”
“No, I did not.”
“Did you ever meet Sue Myers?”
“Yes, I believe I met her once.”
“During the school year of 1978 to 1979, were you studying at that time?”
“Yes, I was a graduate student at Harvard University.”
“Now, on the Thanksgiving weekend of 1978, did you receive a visit from Mister Bradfield while living in Cambridge?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to refer you to the spring of 1979: did you visit the city of Philadelphia?”
“I was down twice.”
“Did you see Mister Bradfield on that first occasion?”
“Yes.”
“When was the second visit?”
“I came down after the end of the school term that semester. Sometime at the end of May.”
“How did you register at the hotel on that occasion?”
“Mister and Mrs. Bradfield.”
“And who made the reservation for that particular room?”
“Mister Bradfield did.”
“Could you tell the jury why you used the name Mister and Mrs. Bradfield, as opposed to your own name?”
“Well, it was a center city hotel that was somewhat seedy but inexpensive, and I felt slightly more comfortable staying at a place identified as a couple. Instead of a single woman staying alone.”
“How long did you stay at the hotel?”
“Something like three weeks, but I might be slightly off on that.”
“When did you leave the hotel?”
“It was on a Tuesday morning. I’m sure you could fill me in on the date.”
“Was this when you drove to New Mexico with Mister Bradfields car to meet him there in Santa Fe?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Did he mention to you a man by the name of Jay C. Smith?”
“Yes, I knew the name.”
“Did he ever mention any threats that Mister Smith may have made against Susan Reinert?”