Murder and Mayhem in Manayunk Page 9

  THIRTEEN

  “Courtney, it’s Jack. We need to talk. Please give me a call.” This was the fourth message Regan had left on Courtney Wells’ voice mail since she had bailed on his family before he had completed the Broad Street Run that morning. He didn’t want to lead her on. They had been friends for practically their entire lives. He did not want to hurt her.

  He picked up the phone at the first ring, “Courtney, I’m glad you called,” he said.

  “Jack, it’s Susan Romansky, sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Susan, I’m sorry, I just left a message …not important. Is there a problem?” Regan was unaccustomed to receiving calls from his boss on a Sunday evening.

  “Not for you. It seems that our friend Vito Coratelli Jr. has already worn out his welcome with the U.S. Attorney. Coratelli was under the impression that he was receiving full immunity in return for his testimony against you and your father. Turns out he didn’t read the fine print on the deal. The U.S. Attorney was only offering him transactional immunity, and it wouldn’t keep Coratelli out of prison on a number of pending cases, including a RICO indictment,” she said.

  “Isn’t that a shame,” Regan responded sarcastically.

  “True. Now the poor thing wants to make a deal with us.”

  “Susan, he’s got nothing to deal. His allegations against me are crap. I’d bet everything I own that there is absolutely nothing to his accusation against my father,” Regan replied.

  “Jack, I’m sure you’re right. But now Coratelli has something new to offer, something that may have some legs.”

  “Susan, the guy’s so full of shit. I don’t know what he could have on anybody that would hold up in the light of day.”

  “He says he has recordings of conversations with His Honor Bruce Peter Gallo, Mayor of this fair city and Supreme Court Chief Justice Robert Fogerty and another individual you know, Ari Nooris.”

  “Why would any of them have conversations with Coratelli?” Regan asked.

  “Good question. Seems Vito and his father owned a small parcel on the block where the new Family Court House is being built. Apparently more than money changed hands,” Romansky replied.

  “Really? But even if he has the recordings and there’s something there, how would any of that be admissible?”

  “He was wearing a wire for the feds. It was part of a far-ranging omnibus investigation involving both federal and state crimes. If we want to press the state charges we can offer Coratelli a better deal, full immunity. Be in my office first thing tomorrow morning. I’m putting a team together to see where this goes. I figured you would want to be in on it. We’ll be meeting in the war room at 8:30.”

  Regan immediately contacted Ichowitz to inform him of the latest development.

  “So your boss thinks Coratelli has the goods this time?”

  “Seems so,” Regan replied.

  “I don’t know, Coratelli’s such a slime ball,” Ichowitz said. “Speaking of slime balls, I guess this means we should hold off questioning His Honor the Mayor until the DA decides what she’s going to do about the Coratelli stuff.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So while you and your boss are making the big time call, I’ll take another shot at the remaining cars we got on the Pickle Works parking lot video. Who knows, we may find the smoking gun,” Ichowitz said.

  The next morning they assembled in the large conference room on the second floor of the District Attorney’s office. Regan and three other assistant District Attorneys, four paralegals and Charles Ferguson, the DA’s Chief Investigator and his two top assistants. While they were waiting for the boss, Ferguson said, “This Coratelli guy’s a real shyster. I just started investigating an insurance fraud case he was involved in. Coratelli was representing a woman in a medical malpractice claim, and a claim against her disability insurance carrier. Get this, his complaint alleged his client’s condition, ‘fatal flatulence’ was a result of a botched stomach staple procedure.”

  “What’s ‘fatal flatulence?’” Regan asked.

  “It seems the poor woman has uncontrollable flatulence that is so foul that she cannot work or be in confined places with other people.”

  “You got to be kidding?”

  “Nah the complaint he filed asked the court to have gas masks available for the jury if the matter goes to trial,” Ferguson laughed.

  “I smell a settlement,” Regan commented.

  “Yeah, it will probably stink!” They all laughed.

  Romansky entered the room and filled everyone in on Coratelli’s recent recant of his allegations against Regan and Police Commissioner Regan.

  “Boss, we all knew that the allegations against Jack were a load of crap, so what makes you think his latest proffer is worth considering?” Ferguson asked.

  “Charlie, unlike Jack and the Commissioner, the new line-up of miscreants and the money that changed hands in this court house deal, I don’t know but whole thing just smells bad,” she replied.

  The entire room exploded in laughter.

  “I say something funny?”

  Ferguson filled her in on the case of the fatally flatulent plaintiff.

  “Look, I know Coratelli’s a sleaze ball. But the way I see it, we have nothing to lose by having a serious sit down with him and his counsel. Jack you and Charlie set up a meeting for tomorrow.” She then ran down the assignments for the rest of the team.

  When the meeting broke, Regan asked for a one on one with the DA.

  “Susan, there’s something I think you should know about Nooris. The thing is, I’m not certain I’m supposed to even know about it, let alone talk about it.”

  Regan told the DA about the Homeland Security surveillance of Nooris’ condo, and of their suspicions that the former Mossad agent had gone rogue.

  “Jack, it was probably a good call not to disclose that to the team. Let’s keep that off the record for now. As far as you know it’s not connected to the court house mess. Do you really think Nooris is a terrorist?”

  “Susan, I don’t know. The Homeland Security Director, Conway, is a real jerk. He sees conspiracies everywhere. Izzy believes the FBI agent, Ossberg, is a straight shooter. I’m not so sure about him either, but I don’t want to do anything that damages Izzy’s relationship with Ossberg. We’ll just have to see how that plays out.”

  Ichowitz replayed the video of the Pickle Works parking garage in the slowest speed possible to see if he could get a handle on the two vehicles they had not been able to trace. The quality of the super slow motion video lacked the definition he needed to get a clear view of either vehicle. Ichowitz decided to run the video backwards at high speed. On this view he saw a reflection of the license plate of one of the cars off another vehicle. He froze the frame and made out “AVI.” It was a vanity plate. At first he thought it was the younger Nooris brother’s car. A check with PENDOT had no such license plate. He was informed that Pennsylvania did not give out license plates with less than four characters.

  Ichowitz tried several searches with alternative fourth letters and numbers. None of them yielded a match. This could mean that there were no Pennsylvania license plates beginning with AVI, or it could mean that the infinite number of fourth numbers or letters, or possibly more characters made further searches on this theory unworkable.

  He went back to the video and searched for another clue. After staring at the frame for what seemed like an eternity, and when he was just about to throw in the towel, it hit him. He was reading the reflection of the plate! The license sequence was reversed. The plate began either IVA blank, or blank IVA. He ran a search with license plates beginning or ending with those three characters. Within minutes he got a positive response.

  “Jack, I ran some searches on one of the vehicles we could not come up with.”

  “And did you get anything?” Regan asked.

  “Uh-huh, and you’re not going to like it.”

  “Izz, are you gonna tell me, or do I have to come over to the Distri
ct and see for myself?”

  “Jack, it’s a vanity plate, “DIVA-2. Sound familiar?”

  “Yeah Courtney Wells.”

  She saw Regan’s car in the driveway next to his house and parked her convertible behind it. Courtney Wells thought a face to face meeting would be a better way to respond to Regan’s calls. Perhaps she had overreacted to his rejection of her offer to spend a more leisurely interlude than waiting for Jack to finish the Broad Street Run. After all he had committed to participate in the event and had secured a number of pledges. Jack, the boyscout he was, had always been an enigma to her. She understood his devotion to his deceased wife. Courtney had a grudging admiration for Susan’s accomplishments and truly regretted her passing.

  Jack and Courtney, the golden couple in their high school years, were just too young to survive the complications of a serious relationship. Both of them needed to live and experience other people before either of them could settle into a marriage. She had no regrets over their separate lives during the intervening years. Nor did she have any second thoughts about their marriages.

  Jack’s marriage had ended tragically. Her marriage, more a corporate merger than a real marriage, had never been a love match. It was a business relationship, one that she was fully prepared to honor. Greg Montgomery, the scion of a Main Line family that traced its heritage to the Mayflower, unfortunately could not keep his desires under control. The divorce settlement assured Courtney a comfortable lifestyle befitting her pampered upbringing. Now, Courtney wanted more than comfort. She wanted Regan - she wanted a second chance.

  As she approached the front door she could hear music from inside the house, an old recording of “Maria” from the Broadway musical West Side Story, featuring the trumpet player Maynard Ferguson. She remembered how much Jack loved the way Ferguson hit the impossibly high notes, and the cascading sounds of the other trumpets that accompanied his solo in the Stan Kenton arrangement. Jack had told her Ferguson was only sixteen years old when the recording was made. He had introduced her to jazz when they were teenagers. Just listening to the music made her feel young again.

  She knocked on the door and heard the footsteps approach and smiled in anticipation of seeing Jack and reminiscing about the music of their youth. She tried to maintain her smile when Kate O’Malley opened the door.

  “Hello Ms. Wells,” O’Malley said.

  Courtney stared at the woman and replied, “Kate O’Malley, right?”

  “Yes. Please come in.”

  “Is Jack in?”

  “He’s out with my son Liam. Liam asked Jack if he would be his partner in some event his soccer team is in, I think it’s duck bowlin, or somethin like that. They should be back any time now. Why don’t you come in? I was just about to have a cup of tea.”

  “Really, I couldn’t stay. I was just passing by and saw Jack’s car. He had left me some messages,” Courtney was still flustered.

  “Come, have a cup of tea,” Kate said as she turned and walked to the kitchen leaving Courtney at the doorway. Courtney followed closing the door behind her.

  As she approached the open kitchen she watched as O’Malley stirred whatever she was cooking in the large cast iron skillet on the stove. It smelled incredible. A Stan Getz and Chet Baker recording of “But Not For Me” was playing, another one of Jack’s favorites.

  The kettle began to whistle and O’Malley poured the steaming water through a filter and into the tea pot. She moved around the kitchen with the practiced air of the accomplished chef that Courtney knew her to be.

  “Ms Wells, how do ya take your tea?” she asked.

  “I’m not much of a tea drinker. What would you recommend?”

  “Why not try it with a little cream? I think you’ll like it.”

  Courtney nodded and watched as Kate poured the dark, still-steaming tea into mugs and topped both off with cream. She placed a cinnamon stick in each mug and handed one to her.

  They sat across from each other at the kitchen bar. The aroma from the cup was almost overwhelming. She took a sip and O’Malley smiled at her reaction.

  “Jack told me that the two of you were high school sweethearts, back in the day.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. He told me you were best friends and then drifted apart.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Is that a picture of his wife?” she asked pointing to the photo on the fireplace mantel.”

  “Yes.”

  “She was a beautiful young woman.”

  “Yes she was.”

  “Ya know, Jack told me all about you, but he’s not mentioned very much about his wife,” she said.

  “Well, perhaps it still hurts him to talk about her. Maybe he’s still in love with her,” Courtney replied.

  “I’m sure you’re right. I think he’ll always love her.”

  Courtney took another sip of tea to cover the awkwardness of the silence. “Ms O’Malley.”

  “Please call me Kate.”

  “Kate, I didn’t know that you and Jack are in a relationship.”

  “Oh no, Jack and I don’t have a relationship we’re just friends, and …”

  Liam burst through the door carrying a trophy and shouted, “Mum, look we won the match!”

  Katey smiled at her son, thrilled to see him so excited and happy. “Say hello to Ms. Wells.”

  “Lo.”

  Regan walked in and Courtney said, “Hello Jack. I was just passing by and saw your car. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Courtney, I’m glad you did. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “Ms. Wells, why don’t you stay for supper? I’ve made more than enough veal stew. It’s almost ready,” Kate O’Malley interjected.

  “No thank you Kate. I really can’t stay; maybe some other time. Thank you for the tea, it was delicious,” she said as she got up to leave.

  Regan followed her out to her car.

  “Court, I wanted to tell you…”

  She cut him off and said, “Jack, it’s alright. You don’t owe me any explanation. I understand she’s a beautiful young woman.”

  “Court, Kate and I are just friends. I wanted to let you know that I’m not ready to start dating. I mean I haven’t seen anyone since Susan died. I just didn’t want you to misunderstand. I mean, I’m very fond of you.”

  “Jack, please,” she said as she stopped at the door to her car. She turned and said, “Jack, are you sure about this woman? I mean, is it about her, or is it about her and her son?”

  “What are you saying?” he asked.

  “Jack, I know you. Maybe I know you better than you know yourself. You always wanted to have a child with Susan. Now, with this woman you can have the family thing. Maybe you should honestly evaluate what’s going on before you get in too deep.”

  As she drove away Jack remembered he had completely forgotten to ask Courtney why she had been at the Pickle Works last Friday.

  FOURTEEN

  “Mr. Coratelli, my name is Charles Ferguson, I’m the District Attorney’s chief investigator. I believe you know Assistant District Attorney Regan.”

  Regan nodded at Coratelli, and waited as Ferguson explained the ground rules. They had decided that Ferguson would conduct the interview and maintain a formal atmosphere throughout the process. “I understand that you have requested this meeting to explore the possibility of obtaining immunity in exchange for your testimony and cooperation with our investigation of official corruption in connection with the Family Division Court House project in Philadelphia,” Ferguson continued. “We’re here today to consider whether your offer is worthy of such an arrangement.”

  Regan watched Coratelli’s panicked reaction to Ferguson’s opening. Coratelli’s face was flushed and perspiration beaded up across his forehead. He shifted his bloodshot eyes from Regan to Ferguson and back again, as if looking for a way to escape. He scratched his left arm below his elbow, betraying one of the telltale si
gns of withdrawal.

  “Jack, can you help me out here? You know, for old time’s sake.”

  “Sorry Vito, this isn’t my call. Detective Ferguson will decide whether to recommend if your evidence is worthy of immunity. I’m just here to witness the process. If you don’t want to continue the interview we can cancel.”

  “No, no. It’s good. I’ve got information the DA will want to move on,” as he replied he constantly shifted his eyes between Regan and Ferguson.

  “Alright then Mr. Coratelli, the interview will be on the record,” Ferguson said and pushed the button starting the video camera that was directly behind him and Regan. After noting the date and preliminary information, Ferguson asked, “Mr. Coratelli, you requested this meeting to discuss the possibility of immunity in exchange for your testimony and cooperation in the Commonwealth’s investigation of possible official corruption, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “No one from this office has made any promises of immunity, or has induced you to request this meeting, is that also correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have waived your right to have counsel present at this interview, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you wish to reconsider your waiver of counsel, at this time?”

  “No, I’m still a member of the bar and fully understand my rights.”

  “Are you currently under the influence of any drugs or controlled substances of any kind that may adversely affect your ability to participate in this interview?”

  “No. I’m clean.”

  Ferguson advised Coratelli of his Miranda rights and turned to Regan who nodded.

  “Mr. Coratelli, what information do you wish to share with our office?” Ferguson asked.

  Coratelli took a long drink from the bottle of water Regan had placed in front of him and stared directly at the video camera and said, “About eighteen months ago, Mickey Saunders, an attorney who used to be partners with Chief Justice Robert Fogerty approached me and told me Fogerty was taking over the Family Court House project. He told me they had targeted the site at 15th and Race. He knew that my father and I owned the three story office building on the northeast corner of the block. He said that I could make a killing on this deal if I played my cards right.”