It was a stunning moment in the trial. When Bill Costopoulos said the word “frightening” his voice cracked and broke. He was frightened. The tears started to roll down his cheeks and he continued his final argument while swallowing them back.
He said, “The Supreme Court of Pennsylvania has found capital punishment to be legal. Thus, in your deliberation on the question of punishment, you are to presume, if you sentence Jay Smith to death, that he will be executed.
“You are to presume, if you sentence Jay Smith to life imprisonment, that he will spend the rest of his life in prison. You will make no other presumptions.
“The life he will lead in prison is no life at all. For all practical purposes, he began his life term on June twenty-fifth, 1979. Since his arrest for murder in 1985, the man has lived in a hole. He lives by himself. He’s got minimal contact. They transport him in handcuffs and shackles.
“He has elected between the two options of death and that kind of life, to die in our prison system. I’m asking you to let him do that. Thank you.”
It was an effective plea by a passionate lawyer. There were even a couple of reporters brushing at their eyes.
The prosecutor, as always, talked longer than the defense lawyer. He began by saying, “When we picked this jury a month ago, I told you that this day might come, and it’s here.
“When I sat at lunch I think I probably felt exactly the way you’re feeling right now. I’m not standing here to tell you I like the death penalty, or that I want people to die. I don’t think that any one of you feel that way either. The question is not how we feel, but what the law requires. If we liked the death penalty, if we felt that we really wanted people to die, we wouldn’t be at these chairs, we’d be at Mister Smith’s.”
After a long argument in which he described the aggravating circumstance in this terrible murder, he said, “You’ve made a determination. You’ve made a commitment to obey the law. It is now your obligation to do what the general assembly says is proper and what the community says is proper. Sympathy, bias, prejudice should not be part of your decision. For the children, I thank you.”
In actual deliberation time, the jury used only five hours for the guilt verdict, but needed six for the penalty verdict. It was probably a tribute to Bill Costopoulos in his plea for Jay Smith’s life.
After seeing Jay Smith in action, no one could doubt his lawyers decision not to let him testify. Even if there hadn’t been the convictions in the Sears thefts which he would surely deny as he’d denied everything in his life except parking tickets, the man could not have taken the stand.
While his lawyer was being smothered by fear and dread of his awful responsibility, Jay Smith had just shrugged. That’s the way it goes.
No matter how you’d try to package Jay Smith, no matter how placid and scholarly he tried to be, he still danced to his own tune. He’d do his own lonely jig, barely noticing the twelve people who were considering a sentence of death.
At least he’d revealed the music to which he danced on those lonely crags with his little goat feet: “Kookie, Kookie, Lend Me Your Comb.”
Rick Guida had celebrated his thirty-ninth birthday in the last days of the trial. Jack Holtz’s thirty-ninth was coming up in May. These two bachelors were now facing their potential mid-life crises without the work that had consumed them.
Jack Holtz hoped he could return to Troop H and resume investigations. He wondered how he’d be received after so long away.
Rick Guida said he might quit the law and go to Denver and be a bartender.
Lou DeSantis was going home to Philadelphia and just get back to living in a house instead of a hotel.
When the talk inevitably turned to the long deliberation, Jack Holtz said, “I don’t particularly need the death verdict. If he gets it, I’ll give up a day at the Penn State football game to witness the execution, but I don’t need it. I like the idea of him living every day with the knowledge that Martray dimed him.”
Rick Guida said, “I don’t want Jay Smith. God wants him.”
God had a long wait. The jury didn’t return to the courtroom until 8:15 P.M. that night. The judge greeted the jurors after all were assembled and the clerk stepped forward. The jurors were not looking at Jay C. Smith.
“Have you reached a verdict of life or death?” he asked.
The woman in charge said, “We have reached a verdict of death.”
The verdict was recorded at 8:18 P.M. and the clerk said, “Ladies and gentlemen, will you stand, please. Hearken to your verdict, as the court has it recorded. You say that Jay C. Smith should receive death. So say you all.”
The standing jurors said, “We do.”
While the defendant stood, as remote and impassive as ever, Costopoulos said, “The defense requests a poll of the jury, Your Honor.”
Each juror was required to utter the verdict in the murders of Susan Reinert and Karen Reinert and Michael Reinert.
The first said, “Death” three times.
The next said “Death” three times.
It was eerie hearing it uttered thirty-six times that night.
“Death.”
“Death.”
“Death.”
Jack Holtz never took his eyes off Jay Smith. He saw the defendants chin tremble just once.
Jack Holtz later said, “I loved it. I wanted to hear it thirty-six more times.”
“Death.”
“Death.”
“Death.”
29
For her years with William Bradfield, Sue Myers had his thousands of books, most unopened, and that was all she had. By 1986 she at least was enjoying the company of a gentleman friend, and was still teaching at Upper Merion Senior High School.
Christopher Pappas was working at a construction job in 1986 and might never pursue the profession to which he’d been led by his former mentor. He said he feared he might forever be thought of as a fool.
Vincent Valaitis who also still taught at Upper Merion said that before Bill Bradfield he never thought of missing mass on Sunday, but from his experience he learned that the world is a far more evil place than he’d ever dreamed. That knowledge weakened his faith. He told of a moment in recent years when he’d been reading a book and a memento fell out. It was a card from Michael Reinert thanking him for buying him a cub scout uniform. He wept.
Ken Reinert and Susan’s brother, Pat Gallagher, still had not settled with the insurance company by 1986. It appeared that they would eventually get money, but only a fraction of her policies. Ken Reinert still was not able to talk about his ex-wife or their children.
All of the former friends of William Bradfield felt deep humiliation, but none admitted conscious guilt. Indeed, there were a great many people besides Sue Myers, Chris Pappas, Vince Valaitis and Shelly, who had heard awful tales of Jay Smith and his plot to murder Susan Reinert. None of those persons has been known to express guilt for not calling the police or notifying Susan Reinert of possible danger.
All of these people are put in a difficult position when a question is asked: “What would you have done if, according to Bill Bradfield, Jay Smith had been making those same terrible threats against Susan Reinert and the children?”
To say they would then have acted would of course be an admission that the life of Susan Reinert had been assigned a paltry value, by virtue of Bill Bradfields assessment of her. No one could answer the question.
All of them-William Bradfields friends and colleagues, his former students, his lovers, the families of his confidants, or their lawyers-all of them who had been told that there was a man named Jay Smith planning to murder Susan Reinert-all of them can ask themselves one question: “Did I believe Bill Bradfield that she was in danger?”