It is perhaps noteworthy that neither Bill Bradfield’s ex-wife Muriel nor Sue Myers, nor Shelly nor Rachel, had married in all the years since they’d known him. Things like romantic fantastic irrelevant letters resembling games of Scrabble might have had something to do with it. After you’ve been part of his madcap adventures it might be hard to settle down to domestic routine. Besides, it was probably great to have a mission in life.
If Bill Costopoulos didn’t succeed with intimidation, he did succeed in his foremost aim. He’d demonstrated to the jury that Rachel, unlike Vince Valaitis, could be considered as a crime partner of William Bradfield. In fact, her performance was assessed during the jury deliberation. It was learned that one juror asked if they had the power to convict her of anything.
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.