Tragic (22 page)

“Fuck him,” Vitteli said. “He don’t have shit on us, as long as we stick together. I can trust you, right, Jackie?”

Corcione looked at Charlie Vitteli and saw the danger behind the suspicious look. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he said. “We’re all in this, sink or swim.”

“Yeah, that’s right, sink or swim.” Vitteli nodded and took another drag on his cigar. “You know I’m not real happy about testifying, not with Karp waiting to ask questions.”

“You know the deal, it’s no big deal,” Kowalski assured them. “You guys get on the stand, say you don’t recognize the defendants and that’s that. Clooney’s a high-priced shyster who wants to be a federal judge and it takes a lot of money to buy that seat on the bench. I’ve already had a chat with him on behalf of your new Russian partners and the union; of course, he’s going to treat
you with kid gloves. He knows enough to make it look good, but he’s just looking for a little airtime and to make a few speeches. If by some miracle he gets an acquittal, we’ll get these guys as soon as they’re back on the streets. As far as Karp goes, he’s limited on what he can do on cross-examination.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“It’ll be all right, Charlie,” Corcione chimed in. “Syd’s right. Karp can’t do much.” He looked at his watch. “Well, I’ve got to be going.”

“What’s the matter? All that tough talk got you all hot and bothered for your boyfriend?” Barros scoffed.

“You know what, Joey, my boyfriend could kick your ass,” Corcione said.

“Give the faggot my address, and we’ll see,” Barros countered.

“You’re a jerk,” Corcione said. “I’m out of here.”

After he was gone, Kowalski said, “I’ve got to go, too. You want to write me that check for my services?”

“Sure,” Vitteli said, opening the drawer of his desk and removing a checkbook. “Five thousand, right?”

“Correct. Hey, I didn’t know you were left-handed; so am I,” Kowalski said. “We southpaws got to stick together. Just make sure you tie up any loose ends, or your business partners may do it for you.”

When both men were gone, Barros turned to Vitteli. “He’s right about loose ends, and you know who I’m talking about.”

“You need to lay off Jackie,” Vitteli replied tersely. “He’s hanging in there; he’s in too deep to do anything else.”

“I can’t stand queers,” Barros said. “They’re weak. He’s the only one who could really fuck us.”

Vitteli thought about it and then shook his head. “Let’s see how things go with this trial and cleaning up the other issues, including Gnat Miller.” He was quiet for a moment and then cleared his throat as if he had something difficult to talk about. “Those three bitches were in the courtroom when I went in this afternoon,” he said.

“What three bitches?”

“The ones from the alley,” Vitteli said.

Barros rolled his eyes. “You’re starting to worry me, boss,” he said. “I haven’t seen those old hags since that night we saw them by the fire barrel. But you see them everywhere—back at the alley after Vince got shot, now in the courtroom. I think your mind’s just playing tricks on you. Relax.”

Vitteli slammed his fist down on his desk, partly rising from his seat as he glared at his henchman. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me to relax, Joey,” he said. “Those bitches are following me around, and I don’t like it.”

“Okay, okay, don’t get your blood pressure going,” Barros said. “I’ll keep my eye out for them tomorrow, and if they’re around, I’ll deal with ’em.”

Vitteli nodded and sat back in his chair. “Yeah, thanks,” he said. “I admit I sometimes wonder if maybe I’d imagined them. But they were sitting in the back of the courtroom today. The black one looked at me and whispered, ‘It’s time’ again, whatever the fuck that means.”

“Don’t worry, boss,” Barros assured him. “They can’t hurt us. Even if they were outside of Marlon’s, they’re just three weird old women nobody will listen to.”

“Yeah, you’re right, Joey,” Vitteli agreed, then shivered. “But Jesus H. Christ, they give me the creeps.”

K
ARP LOOKED UP AT THE
large black man on the witness stand as he handed him two envelopes. “Detective Fulton, I am handing you People’s Exhibits Eighteen and Nineteen marked for identification. First of all, can you identify them?”

Always thorough and smart on and off the stand, Clay Fulton made a show of examining the outside of each envelope. “Yes, they are envelopes in which I placed evidence gathered at two sites in New Rochelle: the first approximately one block north of the Carlotta residence in close proximity to the Hudson Day School; the second, approximately twenty feet from the front door of the residence at 141 Fieldstone Way.”

“Please tell us how you know these are the same envelopes?” Karp asked.

Fulton turned the envelopes around to show the jurors as he pointed to writing in the top left-hand corner of each. “I initialed and dated them,” he said.

“Are there other initials and a date besides yours on the envelope?”

“Yes, the initials J.S. and also the date.”

“Do you know the identity of the man with the initials J.S.?”

“His name is Jack Swanburg.”

“Please tell us who Dr. Swanburg is and how he came into possession of these envelopes.”

“Dr. Swanburg is a forensic pathologist, as well as an expert in a number of other forensic sciences. He runs a nonprofit agency that assists law enforcement with forensic expertise, including DNA testing. . . .”

Standing beside the jury box and directly in front of the witness stand while Fulton was testifying, Karp was studying the jurors’ reaction to the testimony and noticed how even the most laid-back snapped to attention at the mention of DNA. Like it or not, television crime shows had made prosecutors’ jobs that much more difficult by conditioning the public to believe that most murders were solved with DNA tests, when the truth was that most were solved the old-fashioned way, with a mix of nongenetic physical and circumstantial evidence. But if you had some DNA in the evidentiary arsenal, it helped satisfy jurors’ expectations and kept them alert.

“. . . sent the items to the Baker Street Irregulars offices in Denver, Colorado.”

“Is that common practice to use an outside agency for these tests?” Karp asked.

“Well, most of the forensic testing conducted for the New York Police Department and District Attorney’s Office is conducted by in-house laboratories,” Fulton said. “However, both will occasionally go outside for help.”

“And what reasons would they have for doing so?”

Fulton shrugged. “It could be owing to a possible conflict of interest, or for a more specialized type of forensic testing, or, say, time is of the essence and the in-house labs are swamped with work, which is typical. In this case, we wanted the greater variety of forensic expertise offered by the Baker Street Irregulars and needed it done quickly.”

“But couldn’t the NYPD or my office have requested an expedited analysis?”

“Yes, but given the extensive caseload at the city lab we felt why disrupt their ongoing obligations when we had access to an expert and reliable outside agency? So you suggested the evidence be sent to Swanburg’s lab in Colorado.”

“Have we in fact used this group’s expertise before?”

Fulton nodded his big head. “Yes, several times, as have district attorney’s offices and police departments all over the country. They are very highly regarded.”

“So that’s the reason why the jurors will also find Jack Swanburg’s initials on the envelope?”

Clooney, feeling he had to say something, stood. “Objection, Your Honor,” he said in his sonorous voice. “If the initials belong to Swanburg, let him testify to it.”

Shaking his head and smiling, Karp replied, “Your Honor, trials—like most everything in life—have an order to them. With all due respect, I’ve already listed Dr. Swanburg as a witness, and read the People’s witness list to the jurors prior to jury selection. And the People, of course, will call Dr. Swanburg to the stand in the orderly process. Moreover, I’ve given the defense a copy of Dr. Swanburg’s expert report.”

“Mr. Clooney, you do recall the People’s intention to call Dr. Swanburg as a witness. I will allow this testimony, subject to connection. If the prosecution doesn’t call Dr. Swanburg I will strike this last statement. So your objection is overruled; please proceed, Mr. Karp.”

“Detective, can you identify the contents of the envelopes, starting with People’s Exhibit Eighteen?”

“Yes, People’s Exhibit Eighteen contains five partially smoked tobacco cigarettes.”

“Any particular brand?”

“Yes, they are all Belomorkanal.”

“Could you tell us a little bit about them?”

“They’re a cheap Russian brand,” Fulton replied, sticking with the theme of getting under Bebnev’s skin.

“Are they widely available?”

“Objection!” Clooney shouted. “The witness has not been qualified as any sort of expert witness on the distribution of this particular brand of cigarette.”

“Mr. Karp?” Judge See asked.

“Your Honor, if I may ask another question,” Karp replied, “I believe I may be able to shed some light on this.”

“Go ahead.”

“Detective Fulton, during the course of your investigation did you at any time look into the availability of the Belomorkanal cigarette brand?”

“Yes,” Fulton replied pleasantly. He and Karp had gone over this very scenario knowing that Clooney would walk right into it. “I assigned one of the detectives who works for the District Attorney’s Office, Fran Verbeyst, to do just that. It was actually easier than I would have thought, because the cigarettes are imported and not widely distributed like an American cigarette, at least not in Verbeyst’s canvassing of more than fifty New York tobacco product distributors.”

“Thank you,” Karp said and looked at the judge. “Your Honor, I’d suggest that for the general answer to my question, Detective Fulton, through one of his colleagues, has done his homework enough to render an informed opinion.”

“Objection overruled, but unless he also wants to get into more detailed data, let’s keep this short and general,” Judge See said, looking at Karp from under his bushy eyebrows.

“We’ll be brief, Your Honor,” Karp replied and turned to Fulton. “Detective, you were about to answer my question as to the availability of Belomorkanal cigarettes in the greater New York City vicinity.”

“Well, it is possible to order these cigarettes online,” Fulton noted. “However, they are a cheap brand, even in Russia, so it would seem to defeat the purpose. As for over-the-counter sales, they are mostly confined to traditionally Russian immigrant communities.”

“Such as the neighborhood known as Little Odessa in Brighton Beach over in Brooklyn?”

“That would be a good example. There are several shops in that area, as well as two vending machines we could locate, that carry that brand.”

“Thank you,” Karp said. “Now, let’s move on to People’s Exhibit Nineteen marked for identification. Please explain its contents.”

Again, Fulton carefully picked up the envelope from the ledge of the witness stand and looked inside. “Sure, this exhibit found in front of the Carlotta residence contains a single cigarette butt, also Belomorkanal.”

Karp retrieved the envelopes and brought them back to the prosecution table. “Detective, is there a reason the cigarette butts are in paper envelopes as opposed to, say, a plastic bag?”

“Yes, plastic bags retain moisture that can damage DNA evidence.”

With another
CSI
moment locking in the jury, Karp turned back to the witness stand. “Detective, in a moment I’m going to ask you where the contents of each envelope were located, but could you first explain why you happened to be in New Rochelle on that particular evening?”

“I received a telephone call from the Carlotta residence indicating that some evidence pertaining to this case may have been located.”

“Who placed the call?”

Here it comes,
Karp thought, though his face gave no indication.

“Marlene Ciampi.”

“And that is the same Marlene Ciampi who just happens to be my wife?”

“She sure is,” Fulton shot back with a full-moon-sized grin that gave rise to titters throughout the courtroom.

Judge See interrupted the moment. “Sometimes in these matters of extreme importance, tension breakers do occur. Let’s hope that they serve as an aid helping us refocus our undivided
attention on the testimony we’re about to hear.” The courtroom was hushed as Judge See smiled and said, “Please proceed, Mr. Karp.”

“Okay, Detective Fulton, do you know what she was doing at the Carlotta residence?”

“It’s my understanding that she was working as the attorney for Nicoli Lopez, the girlfriend of William ‘Gnat’ Miller.”

“Why would she have been at the Carlotta residence?”

“Apparently, her client had indicated that her boyfriend might have implicated himself in this crime, and she was attempting to interview the victim’s wife, Antonia Carlotta, to help determine if that was true or not.”

“Please explain the circumstances that caused you to go to New Rochelle after you received her call.”

“She discovered what she felt was evidence related to the case,” Fulton explained. “She immediately called me as the head of the district attorney’s detective squad so that I could ensure the chain of custody and secure the evidence.”

“And did you meet with Ms. Ciampi when you arrived on the scene?”

“Yes. She was standing in front of the Hudson Day School.”

“What was she doing?”

“She had just located one of the cigarette butts contained in People’s Exhibit Eighteen.”

“Why was she at that particular location?”

“Mrs. Antonia Carlotta had indicated to Ms. Ciampi that one or more of the men was smoking when she and her family passed them on the night of December second. Marlene had asked the victim’s wife to take her to where the men were parked.”

Karp walked over to the prosecution desk and picked up two photographs, which he then handed to Fulton. “Detective, I’ve handed you People’s Exhibits Fourteen and Fifteen. Are you familiar with these photographs?”

“Yes, I am.”