Fishtown: A Jack Regan/Izzy Ichowitz Novel

by Neal Goldstein

  “You’re Steinberg right?”

  He nodded.

  “Steinberg, do you want to be the foreman? I’ll be happy to just sit back like the rest and you can take over. That way I can criticize what you do.”

  He said nothing.

  “Well do you?”

  Again no response.

  She gave him a dismissive glance, “Anyone else?”

  “Let’s try it again.”

  She collected the slips and on this tally there were 10 votes for conviction.

  She smirked. “So who other than Steinberg voted to acquit the baby killer?”

  “You’re not supposed to do that.”

  She looked down the table to the young woman who spoke up. She smiled at her and replied, “So you and Steinberg. A Jew and a tart.”

  “The judge’s clerk called, the jury’s reached a verdict,” Mark Young was leaning on his crutches at the door to Regan’s office.

  Jack looked up. “Can’t be, it’s been less than 6 hours. There’s no way the jurors could have considered all the evidence in such a short time.”

  Young nodded. “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know, but I got a bad feeling about this.”

  Vans from all of the local television stations were parked on the sidewalk in front of City Hall by the time Regan and Young made their way across Penn Square to the southwest entrance.

  “Did you expect such a quick verdict?” one of the members of the media shouted out as the two attorneys tried their best to ignore them. When they entered the courtroom Vito Coratelli and the defendant were already sitting at counsel table. Jack nodded at Coratelli who responded with a raised eyebrow.

  In Jack’s experience quick verdicts like this meant something had gone awry in the deliberations. He hoped that wasn’t the case.

  “All rise,” the court officer said as the judge stepped into the courtroom.

  “Be seated,” Judge Matthews said as he sat down. The courtroom was packed. In addition to the media, there were supporters of women’s rights and right to life groups, and a large contingent from both the DA’s office and the criminal defense bar. “Ladies and gentlemen before I ask the bailiff to bring in the jury I want everyone present to remember that this is a court of law. I will not tolerate any demonstrations or outbursts when the jury announces their verdict.”

  The judge signaled the court officer to bring in the jury.

  Jack watched as the jurors entered the courtroom. None of them made eye contact with anyone seated at either the defense or Commonwealth counsel tables. He could detect tension and anger from the facial expressions and body language of some of the jurors as they took their seats.

  “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

  Juror number 4, Martha Brown, stood and responded, “Yes Judge.” She handed the court officer the folded verdict sheet.

  The tension in the silent courtroom was palpable and all eyes followed the court officer as he handed the verdict sheet to the judge. Matthews put on his cheaters, quickly read the sheet and handed it back to the court officer to return to the forewoman. His face gave nothing away.

  “Will the defendant rise?”

  Martison and Coratelli both stood and faced the jury.

  “What say you?” Matthews asked.

  “We the jury find the defendant Herbert Martison guilty of the murder…”

  An uproar erupted in the courtroom drowning out the remainder of the forewoman’s remarks. It took the judge and court officers twenty minutes to fully restore order and clear the courtroom of unruly spectators.

  After the verdict was announced in its entirety, Coratelli asked the judge to poll the jurors individually. When Judge Matthews reached juror number 7, Jacqueline Smith, a young woman in her early twenties with high hair and a nose ring, and asked her how she voted, she looked down at her hands as tears began to run down her face, smearing her mascara.

  Martha Brown gave her a murderous look.

  “Miss Smith, are you alright?” the judge asked.

  The young woman shook her head.

  “Can you tell us what’s wrong?”

  “Your Honor, she made me change my vote,” she said and pointed at the forewoman.

  Jurors 10 and 12 nodded.

  “I don’t understand. How did she make you change your vote?” the judge asked.

  “She told me if I voted for acquittal I would burn in hell for eternity. She said I was Satan’s daughter… a whore. It went on for hours. It was unbearable.”

  “Miss Brown is this true?” the judge asked.

  “Yes Your Honor.”

  “But didn’t you understand my instructions to the jury that each member of the jury was required to render an independent judgment based on the facts and the law?”

  “Yes I heard your instructions.”

  “Am I to understand that you decided to ignore my charge to the jury?”

  Brown nodded.

  “Can you tell me why you did that?”

  “Because he killed those babies,” she said pointing at the defendant.

  The judge stared at the woman in disbelief of what she had said.

  “Your Honor, I move that you vacate the jury’s verdict and declare a mistrial,” Vito Coratelli’s motion was almost a whisper.

  “Defense motion is granted.”

  This elicited another outburst by some of the remaining spectators.

  Over the catcalls the judge said, “With the exception of Miss Brown the jurors are discharged. Will the Sheriff’s Deputies please take Ms. Brown into custody; I’ll see counsel in my chambers. Court is adjourned.”

  Chapter 31

  “Who’s up next on 1210 AM the ‘Big Talker’?”

  “It’s Jerry from Fishtown. Remember me?”

  The host looked over at his producer, rolled his eyes and replied, “Sure Jerry. Howzit goin in Fishtown? What’s on your mind?”

  “Do you believe what that judge did, letting off that baby killer! I mean the jury found him guilty, for God’s sake. Don’t we live in a democracy? How is what happened there justice? And that guy’s lawyer.”

  “Are you referring to Vito Coratelli?” the host interjected, placed his microphone on mute and said to his producer, “Can you believe this jerk off?”

  “Is that the short dago with the bad toupee?”

  “Jerry, there’s no need to use pejoratives like that,” the host intervened with his most reasonable sounding tone of voice, as he pumped his fist up and down in a masturbating gesture to the delight of his producer.

  “Sorry about that. I mean somebody’s got to teach them a lesson.”

  “What kind of a lesson are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m sayin?”

  “Jerry, I’m not clairvoyant, what are you suggesting?” the host replied once again employing his calm pedantic demeanor.

  “A Smith and Wesson lesson!” the caller shouted.

  “You’re not suggesting taking matters in your own hands are you?” the host continued in measured tones in stark contrast to the escalating agitation of the caller.

  “We can’t leave it to the fucking…” the host hit the seven-second delay button cutting the caller off.

  “It seems that Jerry from Fishtown is upset with the manner in which the judicial process is dealing with the Martison case. How do you feel about the Martison trial? We’ll take your calls after this word from our sponsors.”

  After the producer cued the commercial, the host said, “Do you believe that tool?”

  The producer gave him a snarky smile, “The board is lighting up like a Christmas tree. You should get down on your knees and thank that crazy bastard for gunning up the rest of the yahoos.”

  Kastanski realized that he should not have used the F bomb on the r
adio. But someone had to do something about the baby killer and whoever helped him. Instead they put the forewoman of the jury in jail! He pounded his fist on the dashboard of his car in frustration. Kastanski was parked across the street from his mother’s nursing home. He was afraid to tell her the outcome of the Martison trial. She had dominated every aspect of his life since he was a child.

  Even though they didn’t live under the same roof, she continued to control him, calling several times a day and complaining about every aspect of her life. She ended every call blaming him for her current situation.

  For as long as he could remember, his mother had been fixated on abortions. She would rail for hours on end at the evil that had embraced our country, our civilization by those who sought and aided the practice. “Don’t you understand this is a mortal sin? How can you side with the wicked people who perform these ungodly acts?”

  When he was a child, Jerry had no idea what she was talking about. He assured her he would never be involved with anyone who would do such a thing. Despite his assurance, she beat him for having evil thoughts. She said she saw him masturbating in his room and she had to punish him for his sin.

  He knew that what had happened in the trial would set her off.

  “Boychik I heard what happened in the Martison trial. Do you have anything to worry about?”

  “No Judge Matthews believes the jury forewoman was hell bent on convicting Martison, and nothing that happened during the trial had any effect on her obsession. I guess the case will be retried pretty soon. At least I won’t have to be involved. What’s going on with your investigation?”

  “That’s what I called to tell you about.”

  Ichowitz told Regan about the developments in the cold case investigation of the two remains found at the Fishtown construction site.

  “So you think one of the bodies was the Blutarski girl?”

  “We’re expecting the DNA results anytime now.”

  “So how did she end up in the ditch with the two hookers from the Heilman case?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think the Kastanskis are involved in it.”

  “In both cases?”

  “The only common element is the connection to properties the Kastanski family owns.”

  “OK, but is that enough? Couldn’t it be just a coincidence?”

  “That’s what Dave McElroy said,” Ichowitz replied. “But I think there must be a connection between the family and these women. Something I haven’t been able to figure out yet.”

  “Give it some time. I’m sure you’ll find the connection. Izz, have you thought about interviewing Heilman?”

  “I asked Vito if he had any contact with him after the trial. He told me he represented him in the initial appeal. He told me Heilman wasn’t holding up well, and that was a long time ago. I can only imagine how decades of solitary confinement have affected him.”

  “Still, he may know something.” Regan paused and said, “Susan told me she thinks the court is going to issue their opinion in his appeal very soon. She said it’s doubtful they’ll stop his execution.”

  “But the bodies weren’t buried in the church. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  “Apparently not enough for a new trial.”

  “There must be something,” Ichowitz responded.

  “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about. Mike O’Malley told me Michael Flynn is back. He told me Flynn’s worried that Nooris may try to hurt Liam to get back at him for getting him arrested.”

  “Oy-vey. Have you told Kate and your father?”

  “No. O’Malley swore me to secrecy.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “I think you should tell them. In the meantime, I’ll stop by the Grape and pay our friend O’Malley a visit. Maybe I can get a line on what Michael Flynn’s really up to.”

  “Izz, Kate and Liam are leaving for Dublin tomorrow tonight. With Flynn being back and Nooris and his gang on the loose… I should have taken them someplace safe weeks ago.”

  Ichowitz sat at his desk and thought over his conversation with Jack. He was relieved to learn that Kate and Liam were going to a safe haven. He thought over Jack’s revelation that Michael Flynn had returned. Despite his criminal history, Ichowitz believed Flynn had come back to protect his son as he claimed. He owed Flynn for saving his and Vito’s lives, so he was more than willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Nevertheless, his return was a complicating factor. And where on earth were Shona Cohen and Nooris and Rabinowitz?

  Chapter 32

  “Carrie that young man is back again. I think he’s got a crush on you,” Bill Myers said and nodded in the direction of the handsome young man who was sitting by the window staring at his computer monitor. He had come to the coffee shop every day that week, staying for extended periods pretending to work. He had tried several times to engage Shona in conversation despite her apparent disinterest. “Why don’t you give him a break and go over and talk to him?”

  “Bill I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now.”

  He gave her a look; she rolled her eyes and walked over to her admirer’s table.

  “My boss told me he thinks you have a crush on me,” she said.

  He looked up and smiled, “And here I thought I was being so cool. I’m Marty Falone,” he said and extended his hand.

  “Carrie Sloane,” she replied and shook the proffered hand.

  “Do you think your boss would mind if you and I talked for a few moments?” he asked and nodded at Myers.

  “I guess he wouldn’t,” she sat across from him.

  “Before this goes too far I want you to know, I’m really not interested in getting involved with anyone, right now.” She saw his reaction and continued, “Please, don’t take it personally. It’s got nothing to do with you. It’s just, not a good time for me.”

  “I don’t want you to think I’m pushy. It’s probably that I’ve overdosed on too much caffeine, and I do get it. But, will you meet me for a drink tonight. I don’t think I can drink anymore coffee, at least not for a few days. If you’ll meet me, I promise if it’s really not the right time, or if you decide I’m just not your type or something, I’ll leave you alone, and I’ll never bother you again.”

  There was something about the way he looked at her that made her pause. She smiled at the realization that no one had ever actually asked her out on a date before. She had been with men, but not like this. She knew she didn’t have time for this, but she thought the least she could do is let him down easy. They agreed to meet at the corner bar at 7 PM.

  “How’d it go?” Myers asked when she returned to the counter.

  “I think I’m going on a date.”

  “That’s great.”

  “I guess.”

  She had agreed to meet Ari when her shift ended. She found herself smack in the middle of Nooris’ and Flynn’s competing plans to eliminate one another. If Flynn prevailed she might have a shot at a new life. If Nooris killed Flynn she would never break away. Maybe she should just kill them both and be done with it.

  Rabinowitz opened the door and gave her what was almost a smile.

  She touched the scar on his cheek as she walked past him to the spiral staircase.

  “Punctual as always,” he said as she took the seat in front of his work table.

  “Thank you for introducing me to that odious real estate man,” he said sarcastically. “He found us the perfect location. Have you been in touch with Flynn?”

  She shook her head, “Why don’t you just take the Braque and let it go?”

  “You of all people know I cannot do that.”

  “But why kidnap the boy? I can bring Flynn directly to you.”

  “Shona do you really care about the child?”

  “It’s not that. It’
s just seems so unnecessary.”

  “You never questioned my judgment before, why now?”

  She gave him a knowing look, “As I recall, your last plan didn’t seem to work out so well.”

  His smile held no warmth, “Ah so the student has become the teacher.” He paused, his eyes narrowed as he evaluated her proposal. “Alright, we’ll do it your way. We’ll forget about the boy. I’ll tell you when to bring Flynn to the trap, OK?”

  Rabinowitz had been listening to their conversation. After Shona left he asked, “So we’re not going to kidnap Flynn’s son?”

  Nooris smirked, “Of course we are.”

  Chapter 33

  She walked into Johnny Brenda’s and scanned the packed bar looking for Marty Falone. He wasn’t there. So much for her first date she thought. When she turned to leave she was surprised to see him standing at the door watching her. She hadn’t heard him come in, and he didn’t come over to her, he just stood there watching.

  She walked over and said, “I thought you stood me up.”

  He smiled, “I would never do that,” he looked around, “It’s crowded here, let’s go someplace a little less intense.”

  They went to the Mug Shot Diner on Norris Street and took a booth in the back. After they ordered she said, “So you were going to convince me why this is a good time for me to become involved with you.”

  He blushed and averted his eyes from hers. After a few moments he replied, “You don’t remember me do you?”

  She studied his face, “No, should I?”

  He shrugged, “Not really.”

  Her look became guarded, “Who are you?”

  He hesitated as he considered how to respond. “I’ll tell you everything if you promise to hear me out.”

  She nodded.

  “My name is Moshe Levy. I’m with the Mossad.”

  Shona started to get out of the booth.

  He placed his hand on hers, “Please let me explain.”

  There was something in his manner, the sound of his voice, the gentleness of his touch that stopped her.