by Allen Weiner
“I get it,” Sue said. “I grew up in a large family, so I cherish some alone time.”
As they continued to chat, the folks behind the counter at Last Drop cleaned the counter and started to rinse out the giant carafes that sat on a table alongside the far wall. Without realizing it, they had been sitting at the coffee shop for an hour. Since it was a few minutes before closing time, Sue and Max got the hint. They grabbed their coats and made their way up Broadway back toward the courthouse.
“I’m parked across from the courthouse,” Max said. “Where are you?”
“Right here,” she replied, pointing at a VW Rabbit desperately in need of a car wash. She took out her keys and opened the door with her back toward Max. Sue climbed into the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition. “Don’t Look Back” by Boston came blaring out of her car radio. Blaring could be an understatement; Max felt the entire car shake once the radio came on.
“I enjoyed this. To be continued.” Sue closed her door and pulled away, heading west toward Nesquehoning.
Max’s time with Sue went by quickly, leaving him with a warm feeling he was not accustomed to. With limited successful social experience overlaying years of self-doubt, understanding his emotions was not Max’s strong suit. Getting into his car, also in need of a good wash and wax, Max thought about Sue, the weekend ahead, the arson trial taking place the following week, and, most of all, the FM transmitter that sat idling over the weekend.
Not much happens newsworthy in Northeastern Pennsylvania on a Friday night in the fall. It was the end of high school football season, and one of the rookie reporter’s jobs was to take calls from stringers with football scores. Those scores were then compiled and passed on to the sports desk of the Chronicle in Allentown. The other job the newbies were asked to handle was obituaries. Funeral directors would call in with death notices of recently deceased. Max learned his first week on the death desk that obituaries, being a public record, had to be written in exact detail. With his turns taking obit calls, Max learned more about various religions and their funeral procedures than he ever did in his Comparative Religions of the World class in college.
With Max working high school football scores—a task which included answering calls inquiring who won the Marion Catholic-Coaldale High game—Sue was working obits. New to that task, Tex was more than willing to show her the ropes. Luckily, it was a slow night on the death desk with only one call from the Ovsak Funeral Home.
Max again passed on the opportunity to head to his parents’ house for the weekend. He wanted to take the next two days to learn as much as he could about household fires and arson. A thirty-seven-year-old Jim Thorpe man, Chris Albrecht, would face charges of second-degree arson for not only burning down his home but also the neighbors on either side. Albrecht had many run-ins with the law, including a few DUIs, assault and battery, and two domestic abuse charges. In short, Albrecht was last in line for Carbon County Man of the Year.
Arson can be challenging to prove. Experienced fire marshals and arson investigators have, at most, a 60 percent chance of proving the crime and an even more difficult time finding the perpetrator. Max wanted to follow the trial closely, so he knew it was time to get the lowdown from an experienced fire investigator.
Max’s sister Nancy had a high school friend, Gene Watson, a twice-decorated firefighter at Trevose Fire Company, Neshaminy Falls Station 84. Max knew Watson in passing, so he asked his sister for Gene’s number. The plan was to call Watson on Saturday afternoon, compile notes and then go into the office on Monday to read all the past clips related to Albrecht and the Jim Thorpe fire.
The day Max dreaded most, Sunday, would be for tidying up and trying to prepare something for dinner other than a Stouffer’s frozen lasagna. If things went well, Max might have leftovers for a few days, which would keep him away from greasy hamburgers and the canned chili served at most of the local diners. His lack of desire to cook had little to do with his ability to cook; as odd as it seemed, Max had a large collection of food magazines such as Gourmet and Bon Appetit. He had neither the time nor inclination to treat himself to a fancy salad or gourmet stew. At least for now, Max stuck to meals he could eat over the sink while listening to sports talk shows on the radio.
Max reached Gene Watson on the first try. Watson was an avid golfer and had just come in from a round at Middleton Country Club. The lieutenant from his fire station was a member of the country club and periodically invited Watson to reward his heroic efforts. Gene was in a good mood, shooting 74 for the day, besting his boss by three strokes, which earned him a free lunch at the country club’s famous buffet.
“My sister gave me your number,” Max said warmly. “I hope it’s okay that I called on a Saturday.”
“Sure, Nancy is great. I think my girlfriend at the time and Nancy were in the same art classes in high school,” Gene said, still in a good mood from his morning on the links.
“So I have this arson case I am covering here in Carbon County, and I would like to do a great job with it, so can you give me a few tips on arson? Like, how difficult is it to prove, and are there things I should look for from the investigator’s report to know whether he did a thorough job on the case?”
Gene paused for a second. He took a long sip from his victory beer and wondered how much he should tell this reporter—someone he never met and knew third hand. After what seemed like a long fifteen seconds, he responded.
“Well, here are a few things. Was it an easy cause to determine whether it was arson, or was it complex? What I mean is, was there more than one point of origin, and if so, were they close to one another? Was there anything suspicious, like was a window left open? An open window gives the fire more oxygen to spread. And was there property loss? I’m not sure if you can find out, or even if this comes up in a trial, but do they have a record as to whether the guy accused of arson recently took out an insurance policy worth more than the property?”
There was a delay as Max was busy scribbling down notes. “I do know this,” Max told one of Trevose’s Bravest. “The guy is a scumbag who is hated around town. I think he may be going through a divorce and was fired from his job.”
“Yeah, that’s all circumstantial,” Gene replied. “Facts matter here, so pay close attention. Hey, listen, the Penn State game is about to start, so let me know if you have any more questions once the trial starts. Okay?”
“Thanks so much. Nancy sends her regards. Enjoy the game.”
Max replayed the conversation in his head, trying to pick out the key things to look for and not prejudge the trial because the accused was an asshat.
Saturday bled into Sunday, and this weekend Max did everything he could to avoid falling into his usual case of the blues. The Eagles played the St. Louis Cardinals away, so Max tuned in to Charlie Swift’s play-by-play on WCAU and busied himself cleaning up the kitchen and bedroom and did something that passed for wiping down the bathroom. The game was a nail biter with the Birds prevailing 14–10, making the team 8–5 for the season, a far cry from those miserable seasons the team had when Max was in high school. The team began its slow turnaround in 1976 when they brought former UCLA head coach Dick Vermeil on board. After a 4–10 season in ’76 followed by a record of 5–9 in 1977, the Eagles were making their way up the NFC East’s rankings.
When Max decided to get into newspaper work, most who knew him assumed he would be a sports reporter. While in grad school, Max interned at Philadelphia’s leading sports-talk station, where he picked up his writing talent. He would write the scripts for the nightly sportscasts and realized the words came easy. Pete, the on-air talent, was impressed with Max’s work and encouraged him to do more writing and branch out to topics other than sports.
Monday was slow at the Carbon County bureau of the Chronicle, so Max focused on going through all the newspaper clips related to arson cases in the area. In 1974, a Tamaqua man was accused of arson when he neglected to update the wiring in his attic. A short in the wiring made a
spark that quickly ignited and set ablaze the family’s decades of photographs stored in the small room at the top of their home. Those color photographs emit a toxic particle, which not only is a health hazard but also can clog up a chimney, trapping smoke inside the building.
In that case, the homeowner was found guilty of criminal negligence as opposed to arson. Lewis Erbe, the perpetrator, was sentenced to seven years at the State Correctional Institution in Chester, Pennsylvania. Ironically, he was scheduled to be released in one month on good behavior after serving four years.
Max was well-prepped for the trial, fueled by equal measures of ambition and bad instant coffee when he arrived at the courthouse an hour before the trial was scheduled to start. Waiting outside the courtroom on the top floor of the building, Max nearly forgot that the elevator he used to reach the top floor was the one in which he and Barrett had planted an FM transmitter. He chuckled, wondering if someone driving by would accidentally tune their car radios to 93.4 FM and hear the chatter coming from inside the building.
Being well-versed in many of the upcoming trial particulars, Max was able to identify the key players: Mark Tobias, the county district attorney; Michael Wolf, the defense attorney for Chris Albrecht; and Albrecht himself. Tobias was a world-weary sixty-two-year-old legal fixture in the last months of his service to the county. Tobias, a three-term DA, lost to Mary Englehardt, a forty-five-year-old native of Jim Thorpe who went to Penn State for undergraduate school and earned a law degree at Pitt. It was a close election, and to be honest, Tobias was glad to be moving on to private practice.
Wolf was well known in Carbon County for being a master at getting DUIs overturned on small technicalities. In his early fifties, Wolf tipped the scales at 285 pounds, which is a lot for a man a shade under six feet tall. Nonetheless, he wore a beautifully tailored suit that underplayed his significant girth.
Chris Albrecht was unaccustomed to wearing a coat and tie. Constantly tugging at his collar, Albrecht had a smug look as all eyes silently gazed at him from across the narrow hallway outside the courtroom. Albrecht squirmed on the wooden bench while Wolf spoke sternly to his client. Max took out his notepad and scribbled a question—How could Albrecht afford a lawyer as costly as Wolf?
This being a jury trial, an exercise in justice in front of twelve of Albrecht’s peers, there was a day of voir dire, which is the process of selecting prospective jurors. From what Max gathered from speaking to various courthouse officials, things went smoothly, and the result was seven women and five men with two alternates.
Shortly after 10 a.m., the courtroom doors swung open and a small crowd entered. This hall of justice had handsomely paneled walls flanking two sets of twenty rows of gallery seating. The DA and defense teams were already at their respective seats at tables between the audience and the raised platform where the judge would preside. The defendant’s twelve peers were seated in the jury box, anxious for things to get rolling. As Judge Kasmir Schantz entered the room, the bailiff rose and all stood while the diminutive jurist took his seat and lowered the microphone in front of him.
Schantz was a controversial appointee to the court in Carbon County. With little experience as a prospector or trial lawyer, Schantz specialized in Allentown’s real estate law before taking a seat on the bench in Jim Thorpe. His predecessor, Glen Heffelfinger, died the year before from a sudden heart attack on the fifteenth tee at Olde Homestead Golf Course thirty miles south of Jim Thorpe, leaving a spot open on the district court. Pennsylvania governor Joe Wharton appointed Schantz to fill the remainder of Heffelfinger’s term. An election in 1979 would put Schantz’s seat up for grabs, so every trial under his jurisdiction would be closely watched and evaluated by the court of public opinion. With so much on the line, the Chronicle’s coverage would be carefully followed by curious voters throughout the county.
The three hours of the morning session of the trial were filled with procedural discussions, many of which were done with the DA and Wolf standing directly in front of Judge Schantz out of earshot. The seven women and five men doing their civic duty were losing patience and appeared ready for a break to eat lunch, smoke, or use the bathroom.
Tobias and Wolf walked back to their respective seats. Wolf whispered something to his client, and the DA looked at his watch and nodded to the judge. Schantz positioned his microphone, turned it on, and tapped it to ensure it was on.
“Let’s take a ninety-minute break for lunch and resume at 2 p.m.,” Schantz said in a voice barely audible to those in the courtroom.
Without missing a beat, Max jumped up from his seat in the last row and bolted toward the stairs, racing down to the first floor. He found the men’s room where he and Barrett plotted their eavesdropping plan, opened the door, and found an open stall. Max then opened his briefcase, took out his transistor radio, and spun the dial until he got to 93.4. Initially, there were ten seconds of static, which Max attributed to him being in an enclosed room with thick, cement walls. As the signal got stronger, Max recognized the voices of Wolf and his client, Chris Albrecht. It was obvious they were alone as Albrecht spoke:
“Now, you’re sure they won’t find out about that secret insurance policy, right?”
“I’m sure we covered your tracks, but I have to tell you that was a really stupid thing to do,” Wolf angrily responded.
“No way will I be found guilty,” Albrecht continued as the elevator reached the ground floor. “Not only will I have more than enough to pay you, but I will be on my way to Mexico by the end of the week.”
A cold shiver crashed across Max, less-than-elegantly seated on a toilet fully clothed. He had a suspicion that proved to be accurate. Given Albrecht’s reputation, it was a deliberate arson case, but Max never figured there was a big payday lying in wait. Max knew this could be the story that not only would put him back in the good graces of his editors but boost his reputation at the Chronicle as a star on the rise.
Nothing in this illegally obtained information was of any use without legitimate corroboration. Max knew he had his work cut out for him.
Chapter Six
Max knew nothing about insurance of any kind. He had car insurance, but his parents paid for it as part of their auto and umbrella policy. He was certain his parents had life insurance policies through their jobs, but he was unaware of the details. The Chronicle offered health insurance, but Max had an inherited fear of going to the doctor, so premium healthcare coverage was wasted on him. Not only did Max need to learn the basics about how insurance worked, but he also had to investigate what sorts of scams can be used to cash in on deliberately set fires.
The afternoon of the trial’s first day dragged on. The county brought the county fire chief, Bill Yaich, to take the stand. He outlined the facts reported on in the news and discussed over the back fences and taprooms of Carbon County. Max gave the county half a point for the testimony.
The day in court ended with testimony from Ray Schwab, a state arson investigator. Schwab was far too matter-of-fact in his assessment of the fire to project authority. He pointed to a large amount of property loss, noting the fact that several points of origin could indicate an amateur arsonist who went overboard in his attempt to cover up his crime. Schwab droned on for an hour before Michael Wolf gingerly rose from his chair and took to cross-examination.
“So, Mr. Schwab, you say there was a huge property loss,” Wolf said, standing unusually close to the state investigator. “Isn’t that common in many fires?”
“Well, yes, but I have a hunch. There was significant destruction that made it difficult for investigators to find the cause.”
“Is there ever so much damage that you cannot find the cause of a fire?”
Schwab paused, clearly caught off guard. “Well, it’s rare, but it happens.”
“When was the last time it happened to you, Mr. Schwab? Do you remember?”
“I’m not sure. I’d have to look through my records.”
Wolf turned and slowly walked back to his s
eat at the defendant’s table. He paused midway and looked over his shoulder. “That’s all I have for that witness.”
The defense attorney could not believe the county attorney did not ask the arson investigator whether Albrecht had a fire insurance policy. The trial was a long way from being over, and the jury appeared confused after Schwab’s testimony, so things were somewhat going in Albrecht’s favor.
Like a boxing match, Max was awarding points for each round, and he begrudgingly awarded that round to Wolf and Albrecht. Max, too, was bewildered that the topic of insurance was not raised. He remained hopeful that the details of Albrecht’s secret policy would come out in the trial.
Max returned to the office distracted from the first full day of Albrecht’s arson trial. Sue was seated at Max’s desk, writing in her notepad as Max walked by on his way to tell Ray about his day in court. Sue reached out and grabbed Max’s arm as he came by.
“I hope it’s okay that I am sitting here. Ray wasn’t sure you’d be coming back here after the trial.”
“It’s totally fine. Listen, I need to go to talk to Ray.”
Ray was on the phone when Max approached his desk. Clearly in the middle of a personal call—probably with his wife Maxine—Ray motioned for Max to take a seat. A minute later, Ray hung up the phone and took off his reading glasses.
“So, how was court?”
“It dragged on for a bit, but the county did a crappy job with the state arson investigator. The defense attorney—I think you’ve heard of Michael Wolf—picked apart Schwab’s testimony. That’s the state investigator, and if you ask me, he’s not long for his job if that creep Albrecht gets off.”
Ray nodded. “Listen, I don’t want you to spend all of your time on the trial. There are a couple of other stories I need you to work on. Tom and Ervin both have vacations scheduled next week, so we need to cover for them. Why don’t you go to court tomorrow for the morning and then come in, and we can talk about another assignment you can do at the same time? Before you go,” Ray added, “why don’t you put together a quick piece on the opening day of the trial. Just a description of the players and a recap of the fire. There are lots of clips from when it happened.”