Fishtown: A Jack Regan/Izzy Ichowitz Novel

by Neal Goldstein

  “Here’s the keys. If you need me to walk you through the property I’d be happy to show you around.”

  “No that won’t be necessary. And remember, we need to keep this on the down low. We’re counting on your discretion.”

  Nooris watched as Kastanski drove away. He was counting on the real estate agent’s keeping the entire transaction to himself so that he wouldn’t have to share the cash with whoever owned the property.

  After Kastanski left Rabinowitz asked, “Has Shona gotten back to you about Flynn?”

  “Not yet. Be patient she’ll come around.”

  “So you’re not concerned she’ll try to run away?”

  Nooris smiled, “Where would she go? She has no family, no friends. I’ve known her since she was a child. She’ll come around.You’ll see.”

  Court reconvened at 10 AM and Jack recalled Martison’s nurse to the stand.

  “Ms. Anderson, were you in the courtroom when Dr. Martison testified about the steps he had taken to confirm that the babies he delivered were not alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was his testimony accurate?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I guess it was incomplete.”

  “Can you tell the jury what the doctor left out?”

  She turned to the jury, “He didn’t mention what he did after he used the stethoscope to check if the babies were breathing, and felt for a pulse.”

  “What did he do?”

  “It looked to me like he broke the babies’ necks.”

  “Objection.”

  “Mr. Coratelli, state the basis of your objection.”

  “Judge you previously ruled that this witness’ lack of qualifications precluded her from providing her opinion of the medical procedures she observed.”

  “Judge, the witness is not giving her opinion. She’s testifying about her observations.”

  “Your Honor, what this witness believes she observed goes to the essence of her lack of training.”

  “Sustained. I agree with the defense’s argument with regard to this witness’ lack of qualifications. The witness’ response is stricken from the record. The members of the jury are directed to disregard her testimony.”

  “No further questions.”

  “Does the Commonwealth have any further rebuttal witnesses?”

  “No Your Honor.”

  “Very well are the parties prepared to present closing arguments?”

  Both counsel nodded.

  “Let the record show counsel are prepared to close. Court is recessed for the day, closing arguments will be presented in the morning.”

  As they collected their documents Vito turned to Regan and said, “Smooth move; you got that last nasty bit in before the judge shut you down.”

  Regan looked back with a wry smile.

  Chapter 29

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” O’Malley said when Jack Regan walked through the door of the Grape Tavern. “Ya look like ya just went three rounds with Mike Tyson. Did ya have a tough day at the office?”

  “You might say that,” Regan replied.

  “Well, take a load off and I’ll draw ya a pint. By the way, if it’s Katey you’ve come ta see she took the day off ta see her doctor and such.”

  “Yes I know. I stopped by to see you. Kate told me you’ve been acting like something was bothering you, and you refuse to tell her what it is. She’s concerned. Are you all right?”

  He shook his head and replied, “Acting like something’s botherin me she says. Havin her around me changing everything around here and all…”

  “Mike what’s wrong?” Regan asked interrupting the older man’s rant.

  O’Malley lowered his voice and said, “I’ll tell ya, but ya have to keep it between the two of us.”

  He nodded.

  “I had a visitor a week or so back.”

  “Did someone threaten you?”

  “Nah, nuthin like that. It was Michael Flynn,” O’Malley could tell from Jack’s reaction that this was not welcomed news. “Now, don’t get your knickers all twisted up in your intestines. He didn’t come here ta interfere with Katey and Liam and you. He came back ta make sure that Nooris and that wanker that he runs with do no harm ta you and yours.”

  “Did he tell you anything about what he intends to do?”

  “Not really, he did ask me if I knew how he could get in touch with yer old girlfriend Courtney Wells.”

  “What would Courtney have to do with this?”

  “Dunno, except I seem to recall she was keepin company with that Nooris fella.”

  “Do you know how to get in touch with Flynn?”

  “He said I could leave a message with Duffy.”

  Regan sat at the bar lost in thought, “I’ve got a bad feeling this isn’t going to end well.”

  When he got home there was a message for him to call his boss.

  “I heard you’re going to make closing arguments in Martison tomorrow.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “To be perfectly honest, I haven’t got a clue. I’m just glad this fucking trial is almost in the books.”

  “Mark Young wants to make the closing argument. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “If he’s up to it, I think he should have the opportunity. Besides, this was supposed to be his trial and you know I never wanted to be in the spotlight.”

  “Alright, make sure he doesn’t step on his dick when he closes the case.”

  “OK, by the way how did the argument in the Heilman case go?”

  She laughed, “The governor who hates my guts shook my hand and told me he’ll save a seat for me when Heilman’s executed.”

  “So I assume it went well?”

  “I almost felt sorry for the kid who argued for the appellant. He must have drawn the short straw. The justices where jumping all over themselves to make it clear how tough they were on law and order.

  I hear your pal Ichowitz is still having second thoughts. You can tell him the governor is not going to grant clemency. If I read the court right, they’re going to issue a ruling pretty soon.”

  “Izzy thinks the jury relied on his testimony that Heilman put the bodies in the church cellar. Now we know they were buried somewhere else. Well you know…”

  “I hear you. But from what I heard from the court, there’s got to be a hell of a lot more before they’ll open the record. I’ll let Mark know he’s on for tomorrow.”

  He poured himself a generous shot of Jameson and put on an old CD of Archie Shepp and Dollar Brand that had been recorded in 1978. The plaintive sounds of Shepp’s tenor sax riffs and the intricate piano accompaniment by Abdullah Ibrahim aka Dollar Brand with his unique phrasing never failed to settle him in moments of stress. Michael Flynn’s return was a complication he had not anticipated. He had promised O’Malley he wouldn’t share this information with anyone, even Kate. He reflected on the wisdom of keeping it confidential and was feeling guilty about not sharing it with his wife. And why did Flynn want to find Courtney Wells?

  He heard a car pull up to the curb in front of the house and watched as Kate hugged his sister Annabelle when she got out of the car. The school bus arrived letting Liam off just as Annie pulled away. Liam waved to his friends as he walked towards his mother.

  “So what did the doctor say?”

  “He told me it would be OK if I left right away.”

  “Good. So when can you leave for Dublin?”

  “Tomorrow night at 10 PM.”

  Ichowitz was confident the DNA test results would confirm that the remains of the third skeleton at the construction site was Kathleen Blutarski. That left one unknown woman buried at the site at around the same time perio
d as the Blutarski girl, more than twenty years before Jinjing Lee and Bayani Sukarto were buried there. The only common thread between these two events was the Kastanski family. The Kastanskis owned and controlled both properties at which the bodies had been buried. According to Dave McElroy, Paul Kastanski Junior was currently residing in an assisted living facility in Chestnut Hill. His wife had passed away twenty years ago. He was 95 years old. Paul’s younger brother John was 93 and lived upstate. Peter, John’s twin had run away and was presumed deceased, and his wife Helene was in a nursing home in Northeast Philadelphia. And finally there was Jerry. God only knows what role he really played in all of this.

  McElvoy had checked out Paul’s three children, all of them had left the city years ago and had virtually no connection to the Fishtown properties. The only Kastanski of that generation who remained on the scene was Jerry, Helene and Peter’s son. Ichowitz believed it was time to question the four surviving members of the family who remained in the area to try to solve the mystery of the unidentified bodies, and how the two women Heilman had been convicted of murdering had come to be buried at the Delaware Avenue construction site.

  “So which one of the Kastanskis do you think will give us what we need to put these cases to bed?” McElvoy asked as he handed Ichowitz the summary of his interviews of the out-of -towners.

  Ichowitz took a deep breath, “If I were a betting man, I’d put my money on Jerry. But I think we should wait until we get confirmation on the Blutarski girl before we approach him.

  Meanwhile, let’s go back and thank Sister Marta for her help. Maybe she can give us another lead.”

  Chapter 30

  The closing arguments in the Martison trial were presented without controversy. Mark Young, with his leg in a cast stood at the lectern and made a dramatic and forceful closing for the Commonwealth. He addressed head-on all the defects of the prosecution’s case. He acknowledged the judge’s rulings and reminded the jurors of their responsibility to render a fair verdict that reflected the facts that proved beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant had committed the crimes of which he was charged.

  Vito Coratelli was uncharacteristically low key throughout his closing argument. He stood virtually motionless at the podium for forty minutes without a single note or document to rely upon. Only his eyes moved as he focused on each member of the jury one at a time talking to them as if they were old friends. He held them spellbound as he reviewed the evidence subtly emphasizing the strengths of the witnesses for the defense and comparing their testimony with that proffered by the prosecution’s witnesses. At times he lowered his voice to a whisper and the jurors leaned forward in their seats so as not to miss a single word.

  The judge’s charge to the jury followed his previous rulings. He commended the jurors for their diligence in what had been a challenging ordeal. As the jurors made their way into the anteroom in which they would deliberate the case, Regan felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  “What do you think?” Mark asked him as the last of the jurors left the courtroom.

  Regan shrugged his shoulders, “Who knows?”

  He looked over at Coratelli and smiled, “Vito the whisper,” he shook his head, “It was… inspirational.”

  Coratelli smiled, “It’s one of my signature moves. You should try it some time.”

  Regan laughed. “Mark asked me what I thought. How about you?”

  “I gave up trying to guess what juries will do before both of you were born. Mark, I’m glad to see you’re back on your feet. Big trials are a great way to get back in the game. You made a wonderful closing argument. Let’s go to McGillin’s; I’ll buy you guys a drink.”

  They sat in a booth near the back of the bar, the adrenalin rush of the trial had not yet given way to the buzz of the booze. Mark Young was especially pensive.

  “What’s bothering you?” Coratelli asked.

  “Did you know that I grew up a few blocks from Martison’s clinic? When I was a kid, he was some kind of a hero in the hood. My mother told me that back in the day the ‘Doctor’ saved a lot of girls in the neighborhood from what might otherwise have been difficult lives or even worse. Martison could have moved away from West Philly, but he stayed. He even came to Shoemaker Junior High and spoke at my class and encouraged all of us to stay in school and make our community proud. He set up a scholarship for anyone who went on to college.

  By the time I graduated High School I realized that everyone in the neighborhood knew what Martison was doing at the clinic. But he was still considered a good guy,” Young shrugged. “I even got one of his scholarships. I made it, in part based on the example he set, and now I’m prosecuting him for the very acts our community valued.”

  Coratelli shook his head, “Kid take some advice from an old man. You’re overthinking it. Let it go. You were just doing your job.”

  “But don’t you believe your client was trying to serve his community?”

  Coratelli took the olive out of his martini and pointed it at the younger man. “I have no idea what he believed he was doing.”

  “If you feel that way, why did you take the case?”

  Coratelli put the olive in his mouth and chewed on it, “The easy answer is I made a quarter of a million dollar fee. But it’s not just about the fee. I’m an advocate. I live to try cases. The bigger the challenge the greater the rush.”

  Young turned from Coratelli to Regan. “Do you feel the same?”

  “I’m not quite as cynical, but yes. I enjoy the battle. You and I don’t get to cash a big check like Vito, but the rush of winning a trial, especially against a worthy opponent,” he raised his pint glass in Coratelli’s direction, “It’s better than money.”

  “Sister Marta thanks for seeing us,” Dave McElroy said when they were ushered into the Rectory. “My associate Mr. Ichowitz and I wanted to thank you for your help.”

  “So it was Kathleen Blutarski?”

  “We’re waiting for the DNA confirmation, but yes we believe that to be the case,” Ichowitz replied. The old nun bowed her head in silent prayer. Ichowitz waited until she raised her head and asked, “Can you tell us why you were so sure that it was Kathleen’s body?”

  She fingered her rosary beads before responding deciding if Ichowitz and McElroy were worthy recipients of the information she was about to impart. “Kathleen was not the first young woman from the parish to find herself in this dilemma. If she would only have come to me for help she and her child would still be alive today.”

  “How would you have helped her?”

  “I could have sent her to the Sisters of Sorrow in Pottstown. A number of our girls stayed with the Sisters. We have a benefactor who has provided generous contributions to the Sisters for their assistance for many years.”

  “Can you tell us who that is?” Ichowitz asked.

  “Oh no. I couldn’t do that. He insists on anonymity.”

  Ichowitz paused briefly making eye contact with McElroy and continued asking, “Do you have any idea to whom Kathleen turned to terminate her pregnancy?”

  She shook her head.

  “Sister were there other girls from the parish who might also have chosen to terminate their pregnancies instead of asking for your help?”

  Ichowitz could see the tears welling up in the old nun’s eyes. “Sister Marta, we believe that whoever was responsible for what happened to Kathleen Blutarski is also involved in the deaths of some of the other young women that were buried in the Kastanski properties. We also suspect that the perpetrator of these crimes was someone who lived in the neighborhood and had help in disposing their bodies. You’ve been at St. Laurentius for almost 50 years. Surely you must have heard something about this, something that may help us solve this case.”

  Sister Marta gave the detectives the names of seven other young women from the parish she suspected of having resorted to abortion
during her tenure prior to the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision in Roe v Wade. Dave McElroy would have his squad check their status. If any of the women were unaccounted for perhaps it could lead to the identification of the remaining body in the slaughterhouse yard and the two Jane Does that had been buried in the basement of the church.

  “Whadaya think about this anonymous benefactor to the Sisters of Sorrow Izz?”

  “Remember who lives in Pottstown?”

  McElroy nodded, “the surviving Kastanski twin.”

  “So who do you like for the local abortionist?”

  “Ya know seems to me everywhere this case turns we keep running into a Kastanski. I’m just sayin.”

  “I hear you. Quite a family. Once we get the DNA results back, let’s you and me take a shot at them.”

  Martha Brown handed out the slips of paper to the other jurors. “We’ll take a preliminary vote and see where we stand.”

  She had appointed herself the foreperson, and no one bothered to challenge her. She was a small plain looking woman. Throughout the three weeks of the trial none of the other members of the jury could recall ever seeing her smile. She avoided all of her colleagues’ attempts to engage her in small talk, and shared nothing of her personal life.

  She collected the slips and unfolded them one at a time. “Six guilty; six not guilty.”

  She looked around the room in disgust. “Are there actually six of you who believe that godless bastard is not guilty?”

  Her mean eyes moved to each member of the jury, one at a time. Some of the jurors looked down when she fixed them with her withering gaze.

  “All right, let’s try it again,” she said as she handed out the slips of paper for another vote.

  “Excuse me, but aren’t we supposed to discuss the evidence before we vote again?”

  She focused her attention on the juror who sat near the end of the conference table to her left.