Deceased/Not Found NJ - Rosemary Calandriello, 17, Atlantic Highlands, 25 Aug 1969 *R. Zarinsky guilty*

Discussion in '1960's Missing' started by Richard, Sep 22, 2007.

  1. Richard

    Richard Well-Known Member

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    Rosemary Calandriello
    Missing since August 25, 1969 from Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey
    Classification: Endangered Missing

    Vital Statistics

    Age at Time of Disappearance: 17 years old
    Height and Weight at Time of Disappearance: 5'7"; 120 lbs.
    Distinguishing Characteristics: White female. Dark hair; dark eyes. Pageboy haircut, bushy, black eyebrows, and thick eyeglasses.
    Clothing: Wearing yellow shorts and sleeveless shirt. Barefoot.

    Circumstances of Disappearance

    Rosemary Calandriello was last seen on August 25, 1969, around 6 p.m, as she left her family's Center Avenue residence to go to the store, located only two blocks away.


    Describerd as a bookish girl, very shy, Rosemary had just turned 17 and only recently had gone on her first date. She was the youngest of four children, the only one still living at home, and her life pretty much revolved around school, Scouts and her family. Her parents were strict and Rosemary wasn't allowed out at night unless she was chauffeured by her parents. When she hadn't returned later that night, her mother went to the police.

    Four high school boys, neighbors and classmates of Rosemary, claimed they had seen her riding through town with a stranger the night of her disappearance. They had spotted Rosemary riding in a beat-up white Ford Galaxy convertible. They didn't recognize the older guy at the wheel. Based on their recollections, a composite sketch of the man and a description of the car, was released to the newspapers.

    Two days before Rosemary's disappearance, and at about the same time of day, two young girls had been walking along Center Avenue in Leonardo when a stranger in a white Ford with a black ragtop pulled up alongside them. The driver tried three times to pick the girls up, before they ran home and told one of their mothers about the incident.

    The mother then called the police and reported it. The daughter had memorized the car's license plate and had written it down. When investigators ran the plate number they found the car belonged to Robert Zarinsky.

    Robert Zarinsky, a former Linden grocer, was eventually convicted in Rosemary's death. For years after his conviction, Zarinsky insisted he'd never even met the teenager. He eventually admitted killing her "accidentally" by backing over her in his car. But he never told anyone what he did with her body.

    Investigators
    If you have any information concerning this case, please contact:

    Atlantic Highlands Police Department
    732-291-1212

    Source Information:
    NJ.com
    The Doe Network: Case File 2422DFNJ

    LINK:

    http://www.doenetwork.org/cases/2422dfnj.html
     
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  3. meggilyweggily

    meggilyweggily Member

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  4. Teresa Larson

    Teresa Larson New Member

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    Has anybody ever considered writing to Robert Zarinsky and asking him to please let somebody know where Rosemary's body is at? Maybe he'd have a change of heart and tell someone. He already admitted to killing her so he might as well let authorities know where he put her body.
     
  5. Richard

    Richard Well-Known Member

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    SBI Number: 0000713894
    Sentenced as: Zarinsky, Robert
    Race: White
    Ethnicity: N/A
    Sex: Male
    Hair Color: Brown
    Eye Color: Blue
    Height: 5'8"
    Weight: 225 lbs.
    Birth Date: September 2, 1940
    Admission Date: April 23, 1975
    Current Facility: NJSP
    Projected Max Release Date: N/A
    Projected Parole Eligibility Date: N/A

    1 count/merged count of :
    2C:11-3 Murder
    Offense date: April 23, 1975
    Sentence date: April 23, 1975
    County of Committment: Monmouth
    Commitment order I 586-74
    Manditory Minimum term: None
    Maximum term: LIFE
    In custody date:
    April 23, 1975
    Currently In Custody
    No aliases available

    LINK:

    https://www6.state.nj.us/DOC_Inmate/details?x=1020208&n=0
     
  6. meggilyweggily

    meggilyweggily Member

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    Robert Zarinsky told John Douglas he'd dumped Rosemary's body in the ocean. I've also heard a theory -- very plausible I think -- that he won't tell because there's more bodies besides Rosemary's at the burial site. The man is very probably a serial killer.
     
  7. Teresa Larson

    Teresa Larson New Member

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    With him being so close to the ocean it's very possible he did dump her body in the ocean. I wonder how many other bodies have been dumped in there over the years. :(
     
  8. meggilyweggily

    meggilyweggily Member

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    Hundreds. Probably thousands.
     
  9. Teresa Larson

    Teresa Larson New Member

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    Bumping for Rosemary :woohoo:
     
  10. reb

    reb New Member

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    <Hundreds. Probably thousands.>

    SO true!!

    Now how would Zarinsky dump her body in the ocean without a boat? Or did he have a boat? or borrow one? or would it be more likely that he dumped her off a bridge?

    You know.. since there are people specifically trained to search waterways (the ocean, lakes, canals, rivers) for bodies... I would think it would be a hobby.. even an obsession, of certain people. Can you imagine what you would find.. and the mysteries you would solve? I wonder if there are people who do this,, just on their own? I mean specifically.. to search areas where bodies/vehicles/evidence may have been dumped.. ESPECIALLY along bridges!!!!!!!!!! The most likely place that people have been dumped,, since you have need a boat. Don't you all think?? And, don't you think there's a lot of unexplored underwater territory out there?
     
  11. Teresa Larson

    Teresa Larson New Member

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    The Coast Guard are the ones that search the water ways for dead bodies etc. I knew a lady this did that in and around New York She said it was a horrible job especially finding the bodies of dead children. She helped search for all of the dead bodies from flight 103. She suffers from PTSD now.Yes you would have to have a boat to dump the body and you'd have to get out into the ocean far enough so the tide wouldn't bring it back in to shore. Also there wouldn't be anything left of them after awhile I would think the fish would eat them. If Zarinsky lived around that area he knew how to get rid of dead bodies in the ocean. I am sure the Mob knows too LOL
     
  12. Richard

    Richard Well-Known Member

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    Bumping case up... Remembering Rosmary, who was a Girl Scout.
     
  13. Teresa Larson

    Teresa Larson New Member

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    Bumping this up for Rosemary
     
  14. forthelost

    forthelost I hear the angels call my name and I am Winterborn

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  15. monkalup

    monkalup Former member

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    http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/serial_...y/14.htmlRobert ZarinskyPrint Email Digg del.icio.us
    Smaller | LargerBy Joseph Gallo
    This Is the End
    Javerbaum never expected Elizabeth Bernoskie to receive the full $9.5 million, but six months after the case had ended, Zarinsky still had not made even an initial payment.

    "Zarinsky was devastated," said Javerbaum. "He still harbored illusions of a life outside prison. That's why he made such a big deal about his money being stolen (from his trust). That was the money he was going to use to start his new life."

    So it was back again before Superior Court Judge Thomas Lyons.

    "He (Zarinsky) refused to turn over the details of his assists," said Javerbaum. "But using the help of investigators we found $154,000 in a T. Rowe Price fund in Baltimore, Md. He didn't have any friends or family left who could secret away an account for him."

    Judge Lyons demanded that Zarinsky turn the money over to Elizabeth Bernoskie, plus reveal any inside information remaining on the rest of his accounts.

    "I was then able to prosecute him to the maximum extent I could," said Javerbaum. "I even levied the money he had in his account in jail - $70."

    The Bernoskie's would receive approximately $300,000.

    Zarinsky's appeal in the civil case is still pending.

    "Then that will be the end of it...," said Javerbaum.

    Guzzi is not one to agree.

    "Don't forget Zarinsky's still the first person to be convicted of murder without a body," said Guzzi. "As long as her (Rosemary Calandriello's) body is out there, the Zarinsky tale has not ended."

    Guzzi paid a final jailhouse visit to Zarinsky in 1987.

    "It was my last day on the force and I wanted to find out where Rosemary was before I retired," said Guzzi. "But Zarinsky refused to see me."

    A few years later, Guzzi received a letter from Zarinsky, who wished Guzzi well and hoped that he was in good health.

    Guzzi shared the letter with Court TV's Crime Library.

    "It's been 25 years since 1969," Zarinsky wrote. "And I was hoping that the old adversarial roles we had a quarter of a century ago might now be discarded and replaced by mutual friendship in the future." He went on to speak of poor health, regretting his crimes, and wanting to die at home rather than in prison. He wrote that he wanted to now work on the side of the law and asked Guzzi to help him get a supervised release from prison.

    He also asked for Guzzi's home phone number and permission to call him collect.

    "I replied, 'No, thank you,'" said Guzzi. "He never said one thing about Rosemary. Or whether he was going to bring me to Rosemary. Not one thing. The only thing he was worried about was getting his arse out of jail."

    To this day, Guzzi still hopes to "find out where Rosemary is buried."

    Jakubiec sympathizes with Guzzi, whom he credits for keeping interest in Zarinsky alive after his initial acquittal in the early 70s.

    "I really thought we were going to recover her body during the Bernoskie investigation," said Jakubiec. "I could not understand why he wouldn't give us Rosemary. My whole selling point to him was..., 'Look, you're convicted so you can't be re-tried,' but the bottom line with Zarinsky, and this is my opinion, Zarinsky thinks with her body he still has a good chance of getting out of jail tomorrow."

    Pfeiffer offers a different theory.

    "Do you know why Zarinsky never gave up her body?" said Pfeiffer. "And I can't prove this, but I think the reason why is you'd find other bodies there. Why else would he keep this secret for so long?"

    Zarinsky has been eligible for parole two times - in 1988 and 1991 - but was spurned by the New Jersey State Parole Board on each occasion.

    "The parole board wanted him to admit his role in the Calandriello killing and to show some remorse," said Benedict, referring to the latter hearing. "That's when he changed his story and said that he had accidentally run Rosemary over."

    Jakubiec heard the story as well, directly from Zarinsky: "He said he took her to a lover's lane someplace in the Highlands. He bought her some kind of brandy. She got really drunk and got out of the car to go to the bathroom and he backed up over her. That's his story. Then he sticks her in the trunk and he doesn't know what to do with her. He starts driving around."

    The parole board ordered Zarinsky to begin psychiatric care, but he declined.

    No further hearings have been scheduled.

    Most people involved with the case believe that Zarinsky will "never see the light of day," but Pfeiffer, for one, is not quite so sure.

    "He got a 98 year sentence, but you don't serve the full 98 years," said Pfeiffer. "He's a model prisoner from what I hear. So there's always the possibility that he could be paroled. It all boils down to the question of where Rosemary Calandriello's body is..."

    Benedict counters with a story about "the tape," which he told to Court TV: "His wife stayed with him for years. She ultimately decided to move on and asked him for a divorce. She taped the conversation with him. The parole board has a copy. It starts with him talking about how great she's been, how she's the one steady thing in his life, and that he loves her, and that he doesn't want her to leave him. But she's very firm. When he finally realizes that the sweet talk isn't working it's like he becomes a different person. He makes threats on that tape...like when he gets out he'll crush her head like a grape...some comment about knowing people in the facility who would cap her in a garage somewhere for a carton of cigarettes. But his voice...it's...it's...chilling...it's beyond chilling. When I heard it I said, 'This is scary stuff...' Can you imagine a parole board letting this guy out? When you listen to that tape you realize he's two different people."



    Robert Zarinsky, Prison ID
    Zarinsky still has 68 years left on his sentence.

    "I'd like to think he's never getting out, but...you know how things are today. You never know," said Guzzi. "Let's hope he dies there."
     
  16. monkalup

    monkalup Former member

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  17. monkalup

    monkalup Former member

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    By Joseph Gallo
    Trapped
    Flashback - 1969

    A harrowing final image.

    Calandriello being driven out of town in a beat-up, black and white Ford Galaxy convertible. She holds her glasses in her hands and leans away from the driver, against the passenger side door.



    Ford Galaxy convertible, similar to Zarinsky's car

    Zarinsky is behind the wheel.

    Sam Guzzi, retired police chief of Atlantic Highlands, and the lead detective who investigated Calandriello's disappearance, recounted the case in a lengthy interview with Court TV's Crime Library.

    Said Guzzi..., "I'll take this one to my grave."

    The details:

    Calandriello goes to the store around 6:15 p.m. to buy ice cream pops and milk.

    She never returns.

    Two hours later her mother reports her missing.

    The next morning, Guzzi, assigned to the case, interviews four boys. They lived on the same block as Calandriello, had seen her the night before.

    It was end of day. They had been cruising Center Avenue and had stopped in the parking lot of the local bowling alley. They saw Calandriello in the rag top seated beside "a husky guy with a goatee and pork chop sideburns." He was in his late 20's.

    "They couldn't understand why she was in this car," said Guzzi. "They knew her. They knew she didn't have any boyfriends. They knew she was a homebody."

    They tailed them for three blocks; then got bored and turned around.

    The story ran in the local papers.

    A woman came forward and said that someone had recently tried to pick-up her daughter and her friends - all between the ages of 11 and 13. He had come back on three separate occasions, had offered the girls wine. One of the girls took a stick and wrote the car's license plate number in the sand: CGI-109.

    Investigators ran the plates, traced the vehicle to Linden. It was registered under Julius Zarinsky - Robert's father.

    The car matched the description.

    "We made out a warrant for contributing to the delinquency of a minor," Guzzi said. "That's all we could do. Rosemary was still considered a missing person."

    Linden police observed Zarinsky washing out the trunk of his car with a sponge and pail. "The car was a junkyard dog," Guzzi said. "When we asked him why he was cleaning it

    he said, 'Oh, I had some stuff in there...'"

    Veronica Zarinsky was angry that police would even think her son would be involved with missing girls.

    "She was different...," Guzzi said. "I'll tell you that much. And the father was like a vegetable. The mother totally dominated that family."

    Detectives checked the car and found no window or door handles on the passenger side. Guzzi theorized, "He opened the car door from the inside, then hid the handles under the seat so that his victims were trapped in the car."

    One of Rosemary's hair clips was found on the floor of the car. In the backseat was a pair of panties that Rosemary's mother thought belonged to her daughter; although Zarinsky's wife would later testify that the panties were hers, and that she was with her husband on the night of Calandriello's disappearance.

    Guzzi claimed Zarinsky's wife was scared to death of him.

    Investigators also found a bloodstained hair on the end of a ball-peen hammer.

    Zarinsky was arrested and his car impounded.

    http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/serial_...zarinsky/4.html
     
  18. monkalup

    monkalup Former member

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    Chapter Four: Enter the Detective
    Posted by Robin Gaby Fisher and Judith Lucas August 26, 2007 12:02AM
    Categories: Featured Story

    Rosemary CalandrielloThe church bells were ringing. People in the Bayshore town of Atlantic Highlands set their clocks by the bells of St. Agnes Church, and for the Calandriello family of Center Avenue, the tolling of 6 o'clock meant dinnertime.

    The jug of milk in the refrigerator was almost empty. It was a summer Monday evening, Aug. 25, 1969.

    "Momma, I'm going to get the milk now," Rosemary Calandriello said, taking two of the dozen one-dollar bills her mother had left out for the insurance man.

    "Milk, and ice pops. Momma, please?"

    "Yes, yes," Agnes Calandriello said, shooing her only daughter toward the front door. "Hurry now, Rosemary. If you don't get back soon you'll be sorry. Your daddy doesn't feel good, and I don't want him worrying about you."

    Rosemary was a bookish girl with a pageboy haircut, bushy, black eyebrows, and thick eyeglasses. Excruciatingly shy, she had just turned 17 and only recently had gone on her first date. She was the youngest of four children, the only one still living at home, and her life pretty much revolved around school, Scouts and her family.

    Her parents were strict and, some thought, smothering. They were keenly aware of what Rosemary did and where she was at all times, but they had little to worry about. She was still more like a child than a teen -- she was still afraid of the dark.

    Rosemary headed out the door in her bare feet. The store was only two blocks away. "Don't worry, Momma," she called over her shoulder. "The ice pops will melt. I'll be right back."


    Tucking the money into the back pocket of her corn-colored shorts, Rosemary walked through the front gate and turned right on Center Avenue, toward the grocery store and the ice cream shop. Her mother turned back to a simmering pot on the stove.

    Five minutes passed. Then 10. The trip to town shouldn't have taken any longer than that. Agnes Calandriello walked out to the sidewalk and looked down Center Avenue. No Rosemary.

    After 20 minutes, her husband woke from his nap. Dinner was drying out. "Where's Rosemary?" he asked.

    "Rosemary should have been home by now," she said.

    'IF ONLY . . .'

    Sgt. Sam Guzzi had just begun his shift when Rosemary's mother walked into police headquarters.

    Darkness was falling, but the late-summer air was scorching and Guzzi noticed the woman's dark hair was damp and stuck to the back of her neck.

    "My daughter is missing," she said.

    The late 1960s were a time of relaxed attitudes, when teens were demanding and getting more freedom. Not Rosemary, Agnes Calandriello explained, one word running into the next. Rosemary never challenged the rules. She never even questioned them. She wasn't allowed out at night unless she was chauffeured by her parents. Indeed, she wasn't allowed out during the day unless there was a good reason.

    There was no chance Rosemary had met up with friends and lost track of time, her mother insisted. No chance she would go somewhere without asking her parents' permission.

    Agnes Calandriello was a nervous woman by nature, and a homebody. Her husband was sickly and had taken leave from his job at the post office. They rarely left the house, not even to run errands downtown. After their sons left home, it had become their daughter's responsibility to do the grocery shopping and pay the household bills. She was happy to oblige.

    Just that morning, Rosemary had walked to town to pay the water bill. She had brought home the receipt and $10 in change to her mother.

    "If only I would have known we were out of milk then," Agnes Calandriello told Guzzi. "If I had known then, she wouldn't have gone out the second time.

    "But we didn't know we were out of milk."

    Guzzi had an easygoing way about him, but when it came to his work, he was known to be relentless and thorough. He had grown up in Atlantic Highlands and put in 15 years on the police force. He knew a little about everyone, including the Calandriellos. Agnes Calandriello's characterization of her daughter rang true.

    He wanted to reassure her, wanted to comfort her, but how? Guzzi sent her home to wait with her husband by the phone. Maybe Rosemary would call, he said. If she did, she would want her mother to be there.

    But in his gut, Guzzi knew Rosemary wouldn't call.

    Picking up the telephone, Guzzi dialed the county dispatcher. A teenager was missing, he explained. Send an all-points bulletin to police departments around the state. Pronto.

    Minutes later, the teletype machine began to clatter. Guzzi watched, riveted to each letter: "Missing Girl . . . Last seen Center Ave. in Atlantic Highlands around 6 p.m. . . . 17 years old. 5-feet-7. 120 pounds. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Glasses. Wearing yellow shorts and sleeveless shirt. Barefoot."

    Guzzi reached for the bulletin as it scrolled out of the machine. The first thing people noticed about him were his hands. They were the size of dinner plates. He ripped the paper from the machine and read the message again, this time focusing on one thing: A girl planning to run away would not leave home without her shoes.

    THE LEAD

    Atlantic Highlands was like every small town when it came to gossip. By morning, people all over the borough knew a girl was missing, and everyone was speculating about her disappearance. Was she a runaway? Had something terrible happened?

    Guzzi, a fitful sleeper even on peaceful nights, had hardly dozed off and was back at headquarters before sunrise. As the only officer assigned to the case, he had his work cut out for him.

    The Atlantic Highlands police department in 1969 consisted of a single room in an old grocery store with a teletype, a typewriter and a rotary telephone. One end of the building was partitioned off and used as a municipal court. A holding cell was located at the other end.

    Everyone on the 14-man force, from the chief to the patrolmen, shared a single, gray metal desk, each officer contributing his own coffee stains and ink smudges to the scratched surface. Most of the open cases were petty crimes -- bicycle thefts and bad checks -- and most were assigned to Guzzi, the primary detective.

    Sitting down at the desk, Guzzi pushed the other files aside and opened the one marked "Rosemary Calandriello."

    Before he could grab his second cup of coffee, he had a lead. Four high school boys, neighbors and classmates of Rosemary, claimed they had seen her riding through town with a stranger the night before.

    Michael Hazeltine lived next door to the Calandriellos. He was driving down Center Avenue with three of his buddies, he said, when he spotted Rosemary riding in a beat-up white Ford Galaxy convertible. He didn't recognize the older guy at the wheel.

    Hazeltine and the other boys talked about how strange it was to see timid little Rosemary with the stranger. In the nine years Hazeltine had known her, he had never even heard of Rosemary having a boyfriend. And she wouldn't get in his car unless she was with his sister.

    When the convertible turned in front of him, Hazeltine followed. It was late summer, and he and his friends were just out for a drive. They had nothing better to do.

    It looked to Hazeltine like the man behind the wheel was talking to Rosemary. He kept turning toward her. She was seated with her back against the passenger door. She held her eyeglasses in her left hand, which was resting on the back of the front seat. Hazeltine couldn't tell if Rosemary was talking back.

    Hazeltine kept pace for three blocks. Then the convertible turned left. Hazeltine turned right, toward a friend's house.

    Guzzi took written statements from the boys. Based on their recollections, he released a composite sketch of the man and a description of the car to the newspapers.

    MATCHING DESCRIPTION

    Barbara Hardie of Leonardo picked up her copy of the Red Bank Daily Register. She got a sick feeling as she read the item about the missing girl:

    "Police today were still looking for Rosemary Calandriello, 17, of 93 Center Ave., Atlantic Highlands, missing since Monday night when she was last seen in a white convertible driven by the man at right."

    Two days before Rosemary's disappearance, and at about the same time of day, Hardie's 12-year-old daughter, Lydia, and a friend, Robin Spangenberg, had been walking along Center Avenue in Leonardo -- the same Center Avenue that continued through neighboring Atlantic Highlands -- when a stranger in a white Ford with a black ragtop pulled up alongside them. The driver just smiled, then drove on.

    When he returned moments later, he stuck his head out the window and asked, "Would you like a ride or would you rather walk?"

    "We'll walk, mister," Robin Spangenberg said, and the man drove off again.

    The third time he pulled up, he was more persistent. "Are you sure you don't want a ride?"

    "We're positive," Lydia Hardie said, and the girls started running toward home.

    "What bad little girls you are for not accepting my ride," the man said, and laughed.

    When Lydia got home and told her mother about the man, Barbara Hardie called the local police to report the incident.

    Her daughter's description of the driver matched the composite she was looking at now in the Daily Register. Bulky build. Chubby face. The style of sideburns people called mutton chops. The description of the car matched, too.

    Hardie picked up the phone and dialed the number for the Atlantic Highlands Police Department. Guzzi took the call.

    "Is there anything more you can tell me?" he asked when she finished her story.

    Her daughter had memorized the car's license plate, Hardie said. She had written it down.

    Guzzi ran the plate: CTI-109. The car was registered to a Julius Zarinsky of 402 Bower Street in Linden. Guzzi called the Linden Police Department.

    "Do you know the car?" he asked Lt. Joseph Intili.

    "Oh, yes," Intili replied. "We know the car."

    "The car belongs to the son, Robert," Intili said.

    "Robert Zarinsky."

    SOURCE NOTES

    All scenes described in this series are based on official documents, contemporary published accounts and interviews. Direct quotations are taken from court records, police reports or from interviews with the people who spoke the words.

    Given the passage of time, extra efforts were made to confirm quotations with the people to whom they are attributed. Where possible, quotations were cross-checked with others who may have heard them. Where the source or recollection of a quotation was imprecise, the words were paraphrased or omitted.

    Details of Rosemary Calandriello's disappearance and the police investigation that followed are taken from interviews with Sam Guzzi, the primary detective for the Atlantic Highlands Police Department, between August 2006 and August 2007; transcripts and notes of statements to Guzzi by Agnes Calandriello in August 1969; witness statements taken in August 1969 and included in police reports; transcripts of Agnes Calandriello's testimony in the 1975 trial of Robert Zarinsky for her daughter's murder; transcripts from the 1975 murder trial of testimony from the boys who were the last people to see Rosemary Calandriello on the day she disappeared -- Michael Hazeltine, Thomas Gowers, Darren Low and David Low; statements to police by Lydia Hardie and Robin Spangenberg in August 1969; investigative notes from Guzzi's files; and a story from the Daily Register of Red Bank dated Aug. 28, 1969.
    http://blog.nj.com/deadlysecrets/2007/08/c...he_detecti.html
     
  19. monkalup

    monkalup Former member

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    About The Blog


    ----- October 2007 August 2007 Chapter Ten: Murder Trial
    Posted by Robin Gaby Fisher and Judith Lucas August 26, 2007 12:02AM
    Categories: Featured Story

    1975 Asbury Park Press Photo
    Thirty-four-year-old Robert Zarinsky walks in handcuffs at the Freehold courthouse, where a jury heard the prosecution's circumstantial evidence and then the testimony of Zarinsky's family, who swore he was home in Linden the day Rosemary Calandriello disappeared six years earlier.Rosemary Calandriello's mother shook as she took her seat on the witness stand.

    Her daughter's disappearance had taken an obvious toll on Agnes Calandriello. She was frail, having lost almost half her body weight in the six years Rosemary had been gone. Her face was creased with worry lines, and her eyes had a lifeless glaze.

    Seated at the defense table no more than 10 feet away, Robert Zarinsky, the man accused of murdering the teenager from Atlantic Highlands, stared at Calandriello with a look of indifference. His mother, Veronica, sat behind him, her hair sprayed into a perfect bouffant.

    The State of New Jersey vs. Robert Zarinsky began April 7, 1975, six weeks after the grand jury handed up a murder indictment.

    Agnes Calandriello spent half the morning talking about her daughter. She said Rosemary had been sheltered, probably too much so -- "because she was my only daughter and I guess I kept her too much to myself."

    She was a good girl, Calandriello said. She never gave her parents any trouble. She didn't smoke or drink and had just begun dating a young man, her first boyfriend.

    Monmouth County Assistant Prosecutor Jack Mullaney was known for his energetic presence in the courtroom. He usually spoke loudly and walked at such a frenetic pace that his tie flew over his shoulder.

    But with his first witness, he took things slow.

    Mullaney reached into a box on the floor and pulled out an envelope.

    "Mrs. Calandriello," he said, emptying the contents of the envelope into his hand and holding it out to the mother, "can you identify those two hair clips?"

    "Yes, sir," she said. "Rosemary had quite a few of them. . . . She used them to make little side curls."

    The two hair clips had been found in Zarinsky's Ford Galaxy convertible.

    "Do you know if she had these type of clips in her hair when she left home?"

    "Well, Mr. Mullaney," said Rosemary's mother, trying to keep her composure, "she says at 6 o'clock, 'I'll go upstairs and comb my hair.' Now I really, really believe that she had her hair pushed back with the two clips, but I'm not one hundred percent sure."

    Mullaney presented the only other piece of physical evidence that could link Zarinsky to Rosemary: a pair of blue bikini underpants found on the floor of the back seat of Zarinsky's car.

    "Could they have belonged to Rosemary?" Mullaney asked.

    Calandriello said she could not be certain.

    Rosemary owned different kinds of underwear, she explained. "She chose her own clothes to wear that day."

    DAMNING STORIES

    First Assistant Prosecutor Malcolm Carton, who had secured the indictment against Zarinsky, chose to watch the trial from the front row of Judge M. Raymond McGowan's courtroom in Freehold.

    Carton's boss, Monmouth County Prosecutor James Coleman, monitored the proceedings from his office. The indictment had not changed his mind about the case, which he believed was hopelessly weak. But he quietly admired the zeal of his young prosecutors.

    Over the next few days, Mullaney called witnesses who traced Rosemary's last steps.

    Sam Guzzi of the Atlantic Highlands Police Department, who built the case against Zarinsky, painstakingly described the statements he had gathered from local residents who had seen Rosemary the day she disappeared. The strongest testimony came from four boys who said she had been sitting in a beat-up white convertible shortly after she left home.

    "Do you see the person in this courtroom who drove that car?" Mullaney asked Tom Gowers, who lived across the street from the Calandriellos.

    "Yes, I do," Gowers said.

    "Can you point him out, please?"

    "He's right there," Gowers said, pointing at Zarinsky. "He's wearing a yellow shirt and, well, he's sitting right next to the defense attorney."

    The 34-year-old defendant never flinched. Not even later, when two former prison cellmates took the stand with damning stories to tell.

    In November of 1969, Zarinsky had been indicted on charges of attempting to kidnap two 12-year-old girls from Leonardo, and again on charges of trying to entice a pair of teenagers from Atlantic Highlands into his car.

    He would escape conviction in both cases, but in the meantime, he briefly shared a cell block at the Monmouth County jail with John Gosch Jr.

    Guzzi had secretly arranged for Zarinsky to be placed near Gosch, who had agreed to spy on him in return for possible leniency on a bad-check charge.

    "Don't question him," Guzzi instructed Gosch. "But if he says anything, let us know."

    According to Gosch, Zarinsky had plenty to say.

    One day, Gosch testified, Zarinsky went to court to try to have his bail reduced. He was counting on going home, but the judge denied the request.

    "When he came back from court he was mad," Gosch testified. "He made the statement, 'They'll never find that stinkin' broad.'"

    Another cellmate, Herbert Williams, testified he had witnessed the same scene.

    "Did he do anything when he came back to the tier?" Mullaney asked.

    "He said they wouldn't find the girl's body," Williams said. "He said he threw it from a bridge with weights on, bricks on, or something. .¤.¤. He threw it in a river."

    THE RELATIVES

    After eight days of testimony, the prosecution rested its case. Mullaney looked as if he hadn't slept. His eyes were heavy, and he slouched in his chair.

    Richard Plechner stood and gathered himself, ready to begin his defense. Zarinsky's attorney was as plodding as Mullaney was animated.

    All seven of his witnesses were Zarinsky's relatives -- and their testimony seemed rehearsed.

    At 6 p.m. on Aug. 25, 1969, when Rosemary Calandriello disappeared from Atlantic Highlands, Robert was 30 miles away at home with his family in Linden, they said.

    Veronica Zarinsky had been home all day with Robert's wife, Lynn, she said. Robert and her husband, Julius, had delivered produce for the family's wholesale business. They got home around 5 p.m. Veronica had dinner ready, as usual. She left for bingo at a local church at around 6:30.

    "And who was home when you left?" Plechner asked.

    "Well," said Veronica Zarinsky, "Lynn was home. She was in the kitchen, I think, reading or something. My husband was watching the news, 'Eyewitness News.'"

    "Where was your son, Robert?" asked Plechner.

    "He was in his room."

    "And did you see him?"

    "Yes, I did."

    Julius Zarinsky corroborated his wife's story -- as did an array of aunts and uncles who claimed they saw Robert at home that night.

    Lynn Zarinsky added an explanation for the incriminating blue bikini panties found in his car.

    "They are mine," the petite brunette said. "I left those in the car when I'd gone down to my sister's swimming. I would throw my clothes in the back of the car. I remember missing a pair of them, but, apparently, they fell on the floor or something because I know they're mine."

    The hair clips -- the ones Agnes Calandriello had said looked exactly like the ones her daughter wore -- were probably hers, too, Lynn Zarinsky said.

    CLOSING ARGUMENTS

    If convicted of murder, Robert Zarinsky would face a maximum sentence of life in prison. Still, he was confident he would drive back to Linden when the trial ended, a free man.

    On the day of closing arguments, two weeks after the trial began, he told his wife he was sure he would be home in time for supper.

    The courtroom was packed with spectators. Guzzi sat with Carton and with Rosemary's three brothers in the front row. The mother and brother of Linda Balabanow, a teenager from Union killed five months before Rosemary's disappearance, sat behind them. Like Guzzi, the Balabanows were convinced Zarinsky had killed Linda, but he had never been charged.

    Zarinsky's wife and parents gathered on the opposite side of the courtroom.

    Zarinsky stared straight ahead as his attorney recounted the testimony of the defense witnesses -- "incidentally, all either relatives or in-laws of the defendant," Plechner admitted.

    There was a good reason for that, Plechner explained: "This is a Monday night around suppertime, and on a Monday night around suppertime, who would be your alibi witnesses?"

    The witnesses all said Zarinsky was at home on the night Rosemary Calandriello disappeared. So how could he have killed her?

    "We don't know where Rosemary Calandriello is," Plechner said. "We wish we did. We wish we could bring her into court here to testify for us. We hope she is well. We hope she did like many, many girls have done in recent years, and that is, left home for reasons only known to her."

    Plechner's summation took most of the morning. Some of the jurors looked drowsy. The judge called for a five-minute recess.

    Then it was Mullaney's turn.

    The rookie assistant prosecutor focused on the thorny issue of Rosemary's body never being found.

    "Is Rosemary Calandriello dead?" he asked. "Rosemary left the house barefoot, with a pair of shorts on and a top, two dollars in her pocket. Rosemary is the girl who was never out of the house at night, never hung around bowling alleys or street corners, never got in strange cars."

    "The defendant lay in wait," Mullaney declared, "waiting for his prey."

    The tension in the courtroom built with Mullaney's every word. Mullaney turned toward the Zarinsky family. He could barely contain his disgust.

    "The defense in this case has brought in somebody to try to explain every single piece of incriminating evidence," he said, raising his voice.

    "Liars!" he shouted, pounding his fist on the table. "That's what they are. Liars!"

    Carton suppressed a satisfied smile. He had watched Mullaney practice the summation, and now, when it counted, he had executed it perfectly.

    Mullaney's words were echoing in the courtroom as the jury of six men and six women began deliberations. Six hours later, at 5:36 p.m., they sent word to Judge McGowan that they had reached a verdict.

    As the jurors filed into the courtroom. Zarinsky straddled his chair sideways and stared into their faces.

    "Ladies and gentlemen, have you agreed upon a verdict?" the court clerk asked when all of the jurors were seated.

    "We have," the jury foreman said.

    "What is your verdict?"

    "Guilty of murder in the first degree."

    Sam Guzzi heard the words and broke down in tears. For six years he had waited for this moment. He glanced over at Agnes Calandriello, seated nearby. She looked numb.

    Zarinsky turned to look at his mother, then shifted back in his chair and bowed his head slightly.

    "The statutory penalty is mandatory," Judge McGowan said. "There is no reason to delay sentencing. I think I will sentence the defendant right now."

    Plechner asked for more time -- sentencings rarely took place immediately following a verdict -- but the judge was adamant.

    Zarinsky stood, his muscled shoulders slumped forward.

    "Is there anything you wish to say to me before I pronounce sentence?" the judge asked.

    "All I can say, Your Honor, I'm an innocent man," Zarinsky said flatly. " I have been found guilty and I really am not guilty, believe me."

    Imposing a life sentence, Judge McGowan revoked bail. Seven armed guards surrounded Zarinsky, one snapping a pair of handcuffs over his wrists.

    Watching as Zarinsky was led out of the courtroom, Carton suppressed a smile. He had taken a huge risk bringing the Calandriello case to trial, and he felt vindicated by the jury's verdict.

    Still, his excitement was tempered by his knowledge of New Jersey's sentencing guidelines, which he understood better than most.

    Zarinsky was 34 years old. Under the law, he would be required to serve 14 years and 9 months before becoming eligible for parole.

    If everything went his way, he could be out at age 49.

    SOURCE NOTES

    All scenes described in this series are based on official documents, contemporary published accounts and interviews. Direct quotations are taken from court records, police reports or from interviews with the people who spoke the words.

    Given the passage of time, extra efforts were made to confirm quotations with the people to whom they are attributed. Where possible, quotations were cross-checked with others who may have heard them. Where the source or recollection of a quotation was imprecise, the words were paraphrased or omitted.

    Details of the murder trial and the scenes in the courtroom are taken from transcripts of the trial; a series of 10 interviews with Malcolm Carton between December 2006 and July 2007; interviews with James Coleman in February, June and July 2007; interviews with former Monmouth County assistant prosecutor Alton Kenney (who was working for Assistant Prosecutor Jack Mullaney at the time of the trial) in December 2006 and July 2007; interviews with Alan Balabanow in September and November of 2006 and July 2007; interviews with Lynn McDermott (formerly Lynn Zarinsky) in September 2006 and May, June and July 2007; an interview with Mullaney published in The Star-Ledger on Aug. 22, 1999; dozens of interviews with Sam Guzzi of the Atlantic Highlands Police Department between August 2006 and August 2007; and articles about the trial from The Star-Ledger in April 1975.
    http://blog.nj.com/deadlysecrets/2007/08/chapter_ten.html
     
  20. littlehorn

    littlehorn Inactive

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    Wonder if he was involved in the two girls murdered in Atlantic City on Memorial Day 1969...They were last seen in a convertible.
     
  21. JerzWhim

    JerzWhim New Member

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