Echoes in the Darkness

by Joseph Wambaugh

  Satanism or devil worship is as old as Christianity itself. Its members traditionally dress in dark hooded robes and gather at a narrow altar to witness Satan, usually a cult ringleader in Satan garb, perform a sexual sacrifice on an unclothed maiden, Literature about the cult attests that in modern times the ceremony has included the use of sexual stimulation devices. Satan performs sado-masochistic acts on his victim who is tied up and heavily drugged while other cult members hold lighted candles and chant ancient prayers of Satanic worship.

  Some of Smiths papers, letters, and diaries that were made public last week in a copyrighted story in a Montgomery County newspaper, indicated that Smith engaged in sexual activities while wearing such costumes as military fatigues and a Satan outfit.

  With school soon to resume, Upper Merion Township was taking a lot of shots.

  A front-page headline read: THE ABC’S OF A SCHOOL GONE BAD.

  At least four teachers are currently under investigation for criminal offenses according to a police source. And as many as a dozen more are suspected of involvement with, or knowledge of, a love cult.

  There were pictures on the front page of the harried school-board president and the school superintendent facing an irate mob of parents who wanted William Bradfield and his intimates fired.

  A Philadelphia paper ran a picture of a furious mother brandishing a microphone at a school-board meeting. The headline said: SEX, DRUGS, TROUBLE, UPPER MERION HIGH.

  Angry parents were asking politicians to probe the entire school district, according to an article with a headline that said, LIFE IN THE SUBURBS IS SUDDENLY SCANDALOUS.

  And while tabloids were calling Upper Merion THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL, the new administration was trying to assure everyone that a breakdown in discipline under Dr. Jay C. Smith was being greatly exaggerated.

  “It’s a real bitch!” one administrator was quoted as saying. “They don’t teach you how to handle these things in graduate school.”

  The yearbook of Upper Merion Senior High School had been dedicated to the new principal and was printed just before the term ended. The dedication said:

  In becoming principal, you took on a school that was certainly in need of direction. You turned it around and sent it on the right course.

  The billboard at the city limit said: UPPER MERION TOWNSHIP IS A GOOD PLACE TO LIVE, WORK AND WORSHIP.

  But one night a vandal painted a huge scarlet notice on the side of the school.

  It said: THE DEVIL’S WORKSHOP.

  “All because a one little rubber dick!” Joe VanNort griped.

  He figured that the dildo found in the car, and Stephanie’s diary detailing Jay Smith’s exotic sex practices, were having a squirrel cage effect on his task force. The FBI agents were diving into the Satanism gossip on the theory that the children were being held by a devil cult. Joe VanNort figured they weren’t going to stop till they found Rosemary’s baby.

  And every time he turned around there was an indication that one of his own men was blabbing to a certain woman reporter. He was being diverted from the Reinert case by one of his guys with a big mouth and an erection. He despised all reporters and they felt the same about him.

  Joe VanNort said, “I don’t give a shit if Jay Smith wore the skin of a bare-ass oh-rang-itang, we ain’t chasin’ no devils except that bearded son of a bitch with my birthday.”

  To his great chagrin, Joe VanNort had discovered that he and Bill Bradfield were born on the same month and day. He was hoping to send Bill Bradfield a card next year, care of state prison.

  Despite what he said, Joe VanNort got dragged into one cult raid out in the country. Acting on a tip that Satanists were holding two young kids in a vacant house, the cops broke in, but there were no demons. There was a semidevilish pentagram painted on the floor.

  Stephanie Smith finally succumbed to her cancer and was buried on August 12th at the Immaculate Heart of Mary Cemetery in Linwood. Jay Smith was permitted to attend the funeral while escorted by a state prison guard.

  Though William Bradfield was mentioned more frequently, Jay Smith was more intriguing to the journalists. There were many feature articles.

  AN EDUCATOR NAMED JAY C. SMITH WAS A MYSTERY TO HIS WIFE TOO.

  JAY C. SMITH, EDUCATOR AND MAN OF SECRETS.

  EVEN WIFE COULD NOT BE SURE.

  The FBI was fascinated by the sexual flavor of the case. They used the Stephanie Smith diary like a Michelin guidebook to perdition. Special agents were all over the sex shops in Times Square following tips that Susan Reinert had been murdered by a snuff-film killer.

  They went after a lead that Jay Smith had killed a pair of Dobermans that were found months earlier with their sex organs mutilated. They checked out the story that a black hooker found dead in Valley Forge was a Jay Smith victim. They persued a story that Jay Smith wanted to open his own massage parlor, and at least that one was true.

  The FBI followed up rumors that he frequented Plato’s Retreat in New York. They worked on a letter Stephanie had filched, a letter from a man who had sent Dr. Jay a nude pinup of himself. They even looked into the alleged Jay Smith mail order scheme for penis enlargers.

  Then the FBI got a call from a federal inmate in Kentucky who said that when he was in prison in Trenton, New Jersey, William Bradfield had come to him looking for a hit man. The FBI pursued the lead extensively all across the country until they found the reported hit man. It came to nothing more than the butchered dogs, the snuff films, the dead hooker and all the rest.

  Joe VanNort just showed the frustrated agents his lopsided grin and said, “Welcome to homicide, boys!”

  The FBI also worked hard on the car of Susan Reinert. Debris jammed under the bumper was analyzed and found to be slag. They explored the possibility that the Reinert children had been taken to a place where the car was backed into a slag heap. But the car still contained half a tank of gas, and since Susan Reinert had filled it Friday afternoon, it wasn’t likely that it had gone anywhere but straight to Harrisburg. Unless the killer was willing to stop at a filling station with one body or three in the luggage compartment.

  It was a time-consuming exercise. There’s a lot of slag in Pennsylvania and the FBI saw more that year than U.S. Steel.

  The fourth estate was losing confidence. A news headline said: A PERFECT CRIME? TRAIL RUNNING COLD IN REINERT MURDER CASE.

  A U.S. attorney for Pennsylvania’s eastern district was quoted as saying, “There’s a rule of thumb among homicide detectives that if no significant clues to the murder are uncovered within the first forty-eight hours of the slaying, the investigation proceeds proportionately downhill.”

  When he could no longer avoid them, Joe VanNort told reporters that he’d worked homicides that were solved in three days and others that took eighteen months.

  When he was asked by a reporter about the fate of the Reinert children he characteristically got his syntax tangled and said, “My guess is as good as yours.”

  That brought the seers into the news. One described a seance where she’d “seen” the shallow grave of the children.

  Ken Reinert saved all the stories.

  “I cried a lot during those times,” Ken Reinert later said, “but the only time I cried from happiness was when the FBI entered the case. It was the first time I felt involved and not powerless. I’d done as much as I could through my congressman and the U.S. attorney to make it happen.”

  He tried to talk to Joe VanNort on the Monday that the FBI arrived. Ken Reinert wanted to tell the old cop that he’d helped bring in the feds, thinking VanNort would be glad. But he couldn’t say what he wanted to say because he began weeping.

  Ken Reinert believed that Joe VanNort was hardened to murder. He eventually directed all inquiries to Special Agent Matt Mullin who was working his first murder case and seemed to care about what Ken Reinert was feeling.

  “For the first time I understand what the families of MIA’s experience,” Ken Reinert told him. “Not knowing is the most terrib
le thing you can imagine.”

  Lawmen were disturbing the peace of the residents of Woodcrest Avenue in Ardmore. The neighborhood went gray with guys in cheap suits.

  “It’s like an invasion,” one complained. “They use up all the parking on the street and they swoop in at all hours.”

  The task force found a statement of Susan Reinerts savings from Continental Bank that showed deposits of $30,000 in December, 1978. Some of her later withdrawals and notations caught their interest:

  2/15/79

  1500 B cash

  2/20/79

  1500 B cash

  2/21/79

  10,000 T. check Am

  3/2/79

  5000 B cash

  There were several cash withdrawals, adding up to $25,500.

  A bank statement from American Bank showed total deposits of $15,000 in late February and early March, followed by checks for cash in amounts of $10,000 and $5,000.

  There seemed to be money shuffled from one bank to another and a lot of cash transactions that would need to be explained, particularly after another financial document was found.

  It was a typed form entitled “credit memo.” It was dated February 24, 1979, and reflected that Susan Jane Gallagher Reinert owned 25 percent of a $100,000 certificate that drew 12 percent interest plus or minus, and would pay in six months.

  The salesman of the certificate was E. S. Perritt, Jr., and the person who had approved the transaction was M. E. McEvey. The entire transaction had been handled by Bache and Company.

  The cops weren’t terribly shocked to discover from a phone call that Bache and Company had no employees named Perritt or McEvey, and had never heard of Susan Reinert.

  On her calendar diary were the following entries:

  22 Feb

  $3500, money-ring to courier

  1 May

  Sailing test

  20 May

  Bradfield in Harrisburg, Smith trial

  31 May

  Smith trial over-guilty

  4 June

  B left angry

  13 June

  Sick, depressed, lawyer cancelled

  14 June

  Last day of school. Maybe last day to see Sue Myers. Freeze. Wonder what’s going on.

  18 June

  Call

  23 June

  P.W.P. moderator’s workshop. Reservations G. W. Motor Lodge

  One of the most puzzling notations was the “ring to courier.” After the telephone records of everyone connected with the Reinert case were subpoenaed, it was discovered that on February 22nd a telephone call had been made to St. John’s College in Santa Fe from Susan Reinert’s phone. They learned it had been made in the morning, when Susan Reinert was at her doctors office for a breast examination.

  She didn’t make the call, so whoever did might have had something to do with the $3,500 and a “ring to courier.”

  The cops found a teaching application addressed to the Department of Health, Education and Welfare, Washington, D.C.

  In the “personality” box was the following:

  Mrs. Reinert is a strong minded individual who maintains a becoming professional posture even in the most trying circumstances (confrontations, discipline, etc.).

  I lived abroad myself as a civilian and as an Army colonel. I have known Mrs. Reinert for eight years. I have no reservations in recommending her to you. I can state securely that she will be a plus factor to your program. She is a person you can depend on to fulfill her commitments and who will be a teacher that exemplifies the best aspects of American Education.

  Jay C. Smith

  (Principal of Upper Merion Senior High School 1966 to 1978. Promoted to district director, special services.)

  There was another reference to HEW along with Jay Smiths:

  Mrs. Reinert is an extremely able and sensitive person who holds very high standards of integrity for herself. She would, it seems to me, be an ideal representative of this country. I recommend her to you without reservation.

  William S. Bradfield, Jr.

  (Teacher of advanced placement

  English, Latin and Greek.)

  There was a sad letter written by Susan Reinert to Bertha Perez of the USAA insurance company:

  For clarification, please tell me what is covered under accidental death. For example, if I fall off the back of a sailboat, or if I am shot, are those considered accidents? (Not that I’m planning on either of those situations!!)

  Two months later, an insurance agent wrote:

  The applicant wanted it known that the reason she applied for insurance was to protect her children. She is going to England, taking her two children with her on a teacher exchange program. She will spend one year in England starting in July or August. Eventually, Mr. B. will visit her and they will be married in England.

  Susan Reinert was not granted the fellowship for which she was recommended by Jay Smith and William Bradfield. A brief letter arrived in April saying that the number of qualified candidates greatly exceeded the number of positions available.

  She didn’t have even that little triumph.

  Some of the FBI agents who waded through every scrap of paper in the Reinert house reported being charmed by the photos of the children, especially Karen’s.

  “That kid was a photographers dream,” one special agent said. “She was meant to be a great-looking woman.”

  And they noticed that they’d all begun talking about the children in the past tense.

  It is unknown if any of the agents read an astonishing document written by Michael Reinert a month before his tenth birthday and subsequent disappearance. It was a story for his fifth-grade English class:

  One day I took a trip on a rocket into space. I was headed for the moon. But instead, because I was hit with a falling star I came to be on a weird planet.

  I couldn’t see a soul in sight. All of a sudden, I saw ten people that looked alike. One of them went behind me. One of them went to one side. One went to the other side. One went to the front. Then they put me into a cage. They threw me into a ditch with a bunch of worms. Then came Mr. Hyde (Dr. Jeckyl) to kill me. Then I just remembered that I had a duplication gun. So I shot myself with it and they didn’t know which one was the real me. That is how I got away. I was glad when I repaired my rocket ship so that I could leave the weird planet. The press wanted me to tell them about my trip. I said, “No way!” Nobody knew why I wouldn’t tell them, but I’ll tell you. I never wanted to remember it again.

  Any cop or FBI agent would have found it chilling. Michael Reinert had perhaps written a prophetic story. Michael had perhaps identified his abductor.

  The children were being sighted all over the eastern half of the country from communes to gypsy camps. Then the old rumor surfaced that Eddie and Stephanie Hunsberger were somehow involved in Jay Smiths life of crime.

  There was a newspaper headline in September that posed a question: ARE REINERT CHILDREN WITH SMITH’S DAUGHTER?

  One of the cops had a very cynical and grim answer to that one.

  He said, “You bet they are.”

  By then, most of them believed that the children were in a ditch. With a bunch of worms.

  18

  Buses and Bombs

  The Reinert task force installed their own phones and had their own stenographers at the state police barracks. Each day the teams of agents and state cops were assigned leads to pursue. Agent Don Redden had to report to the special agent in charge of the Philadelphia office at least every other day.

  The FBI referred to the massive joint investigation as SUMUR, for Susan Murder. The code name allowed for quicker communication and better information storage. It was rare that an FBI criminal case was important enough to get a code name.

  Don Redden pointed out to the state cops that the designation SUMUR gave their investigation the status of a major government case.

  Joe VanNort said it sounded like typical FBI bullshit, but it was hokey enough that Bill Bradfield might like it. />
  It took three months for the cause of death to be finally established. The toxicology examination of Susan Reinerts blood and tissue samples revealed about 1.1 micrograms morphine per milliliter of blood-about ten times the normal medical dose and enough to kill even a junkie pretty fast. The concentration was so high she’d just stopped breathing, hence, asphyxiation. She’d also been given a mild barbiturate sedative, probably to quiet her.

  The Carlisle motel matchbook found in Susan Reinerts car didn’t help. She’d stayed at that motel with another woman teacher some months before her death. But the task force learned that on that occasion she’d driven into Harrisburg to meet Bill Bradfield at Harry’s, a popular watering hole in a seedy neighborhood. Bill Bradfield liked seedy neighborhoods.

  A friend and associate from Parents Without Partners told the state police that Susan Reinert and Bill Bradfield had planned to go to her mothers former home in Ridgway, Pennsylvania, to “attend to some legal matter,” and that they were taking the children. The cops wondered if the reference to “lawyer” in the June diary entry may have referred to this.

  One week before her death, Susan called that friend and told the woman that she was never going to marry Bill Bradfield because he kept canceling appointments with attorneys about “certain legal questions.”

  But then she called back five days before her death and said that everything had been “smoothed out.”

  Then Susan Reinert said something puzzling. She said that she and her friend could have no more contact. The reason given was that it was “getting too close to the time that Sue Myers might do something.”

  Susan would not explain further. She was very secretive toward the end.