Tragic (42 page)

Karp looked over at Vitteli. He wondered where the defendant fell along the spectrum of evil. Was his conscience at all troubled by what he’d done? Could he get the blood off his hands?
Closer
to Barros than Corcione,
he thought,
and it was his evil that spread to the others. He threw the stone.

As Kowalski rose to call his first witness, Karp added to the notes on his legal pad.
Shades of gray. Free will. Conscience. Blood on hands. The stone.
The foundational substance, the persuasive power, of his summation had been laid out before the trial even began. But he considered the final arguments afforded attorneys in a case to be subject to an organic process allowing for adjustments depending on from his point of view the defense strategy, as well as thoughts that occurred to him during the course of testimony.

Kowalski’s first witness was Al Rubio, a foreman on the docks and a union steward with the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores. He claimed that shortly before his death, Vince Carlotta told him that he suspected Jackie Corcione and Joey Barros of stealing union funds.

“Vince was suspicious because Jackie’s little gay-boy lifestyle didn’t fit with his salary,” Rubio, a big man with a hound dog’s jowly face, said. “But he didn’t think Corcione would have the balls to do it on his own, and he’d kind of been watching how Corcione and Barros seemed to always have their heads together when Charlie wasn’t around.”

“What did you think when Vince Carlotta told you he suspected Joey Barros and Jackie Corcione?”

“Ah, I thought it was bullshit,” Rubio said with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t believe it. I mean, Joey, yeah okay; he was pretty rough, and I never did like the guy. But Leo Corcione’s own kid? Stealing the pension funds would be like robbing his old man’s grave, and I didn’t think Jackie would do that. At least I didn’t back then.”

“Did he mention Charlie Vitteli as another possible suspect in the thefts?” Kowalski asked.

“Nah, nothin’ about Charlie,” the man claimed. “I know there was some bad blood about the election, so I think if he thought
something like that he would have said so. But Charlie and Vince was like brothers; they grew up on the docks together. Sure, they had their beefs, but after they had it out, they’d sit down over a couple of beers and things was cool again.”

Karp noted the obvious attempt to remind the jurors of how the evening at Marlon’s had begun and ended. Of course, it was all a lie, and it didn’t take him long to tear into it during cross-examination. “Mr. Rubio,” he began, “did you ever tell anybody else about this alleged conversation with Mr. Carlotta prior to his death?”

Rubio shook his head. “No, like I said, I didn’t want to believe that Leo’s kid would do such a thing. I thought Vince was just bitter about the election.”

“If he was just bitter about the election, why wouldn’t his accusations include Charlie Vitteli, the man who beat him out for union president?”

“Beats me,” Rubio replied with a shrug. “Maybe he knew better already and had something on Jackie.”

“But he didn’t tell you what this ‘something’ he had was?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Did you take any notes or record in any way this alleged conversation?”

“No.”

“You just had a hard time believing it so you dismissed it?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you tell anybody about this alleged conversation with Vince Carlotta after he was murdered and police were looking for suspects?”

Rubio’s eyes flicked over to Kowalski and Vitteli before returning to Karp. “No, I heard they caught the guys,” he said. “So I figured that was it.”

“But the suspects weren’t arrested for several weeks,” Karp noted. “I guess during that time the idea didn’t pop into your head that maybe the murder had something to do with Carlotta’s alleged accusations about Corcione and Barros?”

Rubio sat back in his chair and studied Karp. “Yeah, I thought about it,” he said. “But those are pretty heavy things to say about somebody if you don’t have any evidence.”

“Did you make any efforts to gather evidence? Or share yours with the police, who were collecting their own?”

“I might have asked around a little down at the docks,” Rubio replied. “But I didn’t hear nothin’.”

“Can you give us the name of someone you talked to?”

Rubio squirmed a little on the chair. “Uh, you know, my mind’s a little discombobulated being up here and all,” he said, making an effort to smile at the jurors. “Give me a minute, and I’ll try to recall who I talked to.”

“While you’re trying to recall who you talked to,” Karp said as he walked over to the prosecution table where Guma handed him a notebook, “do you remember giving a statement to Detective Fulton and my colleague Mr. Guma a month ago when you first came forward with this information?”

With his eyes fastened on the notebook as Karp walked back to stand in front of him, Rubio nodded. “Uh, yeah, I remember that . . . the guy sitting over there and a big black cop, right?”

“Yes, the man sitting at the prosecution table and a big black cop,” Karp repeated drily. He opened the notebook to a tabbed page and then held it up to the witness. “I’m handing you a copy of the transcript of that conversation you had with ADA Guma and Detective Fulton as it was recorded by a stenographer from the District Attorney’s Office. I’ve opened it to page forty-three, where you can see a portion highlighted in yellow. Do you see that?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like you to read it to the jury, please.”

Rubio frowned and turned to Judge See. “Do I hafta?” he asked.

The judge raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Yes, you hafta.”

Looking back down at the page, Rubio let out a deep breath
and said, “Okay, here goes. Question: ‘Who did you tell about this conversation with Mr. Carlotta?’ Answer: ‘No one. I didn’t think it was important.’ ”

Rubio stopped and glanced up at Karp, who said, “Go on, all of what’s highlighted in yellow.”

“Question: ‘Did you tell anybody about this conversation after Mr. Carlotta’s murder?’ Answer: ‘No, the papers said it was a robbery and that’s what I figured it was.’ Question: ‘Did you ever talk to anybody at any time about this conversation with Mr. Carlotta?’ Answer: ‘Not until today with you.’ Question: ‘No one?’ Answer: ‘Nope. Nada. Zip.’ ” Rubio reached the end of the highlighted portion and extended the notebook toward Karp like it was uncomfortably hot in his hands.

As Karp accepted the transcript back, he asked, “So which is it, Mr. Rubio? ‘Nope. Nada. Zip’? Or you asked around and can provide us with a name so that we can get that person in here to corroborate your story?”

“Objection,” Kowalski said. “The witness already said he’s nervous and having a problem remembering who he talked to.”

“No,” Karp corrected him, “he said that he asked around but he needed a minute to think about who he spoke to. In the meantime, he just testified about a statement he gave to Mr. Guma and Detective Fulton a month ago in which he stated categorically that he didn’t tell anybody. ‘Nope. Nada. Zip.’ I’m trying to ascertain which version is the truth.”

“Overruled,” Judge See said.

“So which version is it, Mr. Rubio?” Karp demanded.

“I . . . I . . . like I said, I didn’t really talk to anybody,” Rubio stammered. “It was more listening around, you know, seeing if there was any scuttlebutt down on the docks.”

“So you didn’t really ‘ask around’ regarding your alleged conversation with Mr. Carlotta?”

“Uh . . . no,” Rubio replied.

“Why not?”

Rubio stared at Karp like a rat looking at a terrier that just wouldn’t give him a break. “Like I said, I didn’t think it was important,” he growled.

“Not important that Vince Carlotta told you he suspected that Jackie Corcione and Joey Barros were stealing union funds, and then a short time later he’s gunned down in the presence of both of them? That wasn’t important?”

“I didn’t put two and two together,” Rubio replied.

“Let’s turn to your comment that there was bad blood between the defendant and Mr. Carlotta from the election.”

“Yeah, a little, but they patched it up. No big deal.”

“Are you aware that Mr. Carlotta complained to the U.S. Department of Labor regarding the election?”

“I don’t know nothin’ about that.”

“No? But you are aware that he filed a complaint with union management regarding the election and that his complaint was investigated?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You know because you were part of the investigation that determined his complaint was without merit, right?”

“Yeah. We looked into it and it was bogus, just sour grapes.”

“Who appointed you to that investigation?”

Rubio looked over at the defense table. “Mr. Vitteli.”

“Mr. Vitteli appointed you to help investigate Mr. Carlotta’s allegations that Mr. Vitteli stole the election,” Karp said.

“It was a good investigation,” Rubio mumbled looking down at his hands.

“Mr. Rubio, who was in charge of Charlie Vitteli’s election campaign for the Manhattan office of the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores?”

Rubio licked his lips nervously. “Uh, that would be me.”

“And who appointed you union steward, which, if I understand correctly, is a paid position?”

“Vitteli.”

“And weren’t you recently promoted to foreman, also by Charlie Vitteli?” Karp asked.

“I been with him thirty years, the union, I mean,” Rubio said angrily. “I deserved it.”

Karp smiled grimly. “I bet you did. No further questions.”

Judge See looked at the defense table. “Redirect, Mr. Kowalski?”

“No,” Kowalski said rudely as he stood. He caught the glare from See and corrected himself. “No, thank you, Your Honor. We call Sal Amaya.”

As the big man squeezed himself into the witness chair, he clearly gave the impression that he didn’t want to be there. If he’d had his preference, he would have done whatever he could to avoid testifying. Gone into hiding. Left the country. Even taken the stand and immediately pleaded the Fifth Amendment against self-incrimination. However, the defense needed him to refute Corcione’s testimony.

“Mr. Amaya, are you just a bodyguard?” Kowalski asked shortly after questioning began.

“I do a lot of things for Mr. Vitteli,” Amaya claimed. “I drive and, uh, sometimes go get the car warmed up. Or sometimes he wants me to deliver something.”

“Were you concerned when he told you to go with Randy McMahon on the night of Vince Carlotta’s murder?”

“Nah, I wasn’t real worried,” he said. “He was with two other pretty big dudes, all of ’em tough as nails, plus Jackie, who’s a fairy but at least he’s another guy.”

“Would it be unusual for Mr. Vitteli to send you on ahead?”

“Nah, sometimes I go first to make sure the coast is clear.”

“No further questions.”

Writing a note on a different pad, Karp rose from his seat but remained at the table. “Mr. Amaya, is that what you were doing when you left Mr. Vitteli? Making sure the coast was clear?”

Amaya considered the question suspiciously. “Yeah, sure I did.”

“So did you look in the alley you passed on the way to get Mr. Carlotta’s car?”

“Uh, what?

“I asked if you bothered to look in the dark alley that your boss would be walking past after you?”

Amaya nodded. “Uh, yeah, I looked in but didn’t see nothin’. I guess those guys must have been hiding behind something. Or maybe they were in the car across the street still.”

“That’s a good point,” Karp said. “Did you notice the car parked across the street from the alley with a man sitting at the steering wheel?”

Amaya frowned. “Uh, yeah, I noticed him.”

“But you weren’t worried about him,” Karp pointed out, “even though he was the getaway driver for the two killers waiting in the alley who you also didn’t see?”

“He looked harmless.”

“But he was the wheelman for the murderers, so I guess he wasn’t harmless?”

Squinting at Karp, Amaya shrugged. “Guess not.”

“I guess you’re just not very good at your job are you?”

The big man’s face contorted into a scowl. “I do my job,” he growled.

“Well, you didn’t check an alley where two killers were hiding, or wonder if the wheelman parked across a dark street was up to no good,” Karp pointed out. “And you were nowhere to be seen when your boss and the others were jumped. Do you think that’s doing your job?”

Amaya crossed his arms and glared at Karp. “I’m done talkin’.”

Karp turned to the judge. “Your Honor?”

Judge See leaned across his desk toward the witness. “You need to answer Mr. Karp’s questions, or I’ll hold you in contempt of court.”

“Do what you gotta do, Judge,” Amaya replied. “I ain’t sayin’ no more.”

“Your Honor, if I may,” Karp interjected, holding up the papers he had in his hand.

“Go ahead, Mr. Karp.”

“Mr. Amaya, are you refusing to answer any more of my questions?” Karp asked.

Amaya didn’t say a word.

“Okay,” Karp said. “In lieu of that, let me just read from the Q and A transcript you gave to Assistant DA Ray Guma, who is sitting right here in the courtroom. This is from page nine of that transcript. Question: ‘Was it your usual practice to leave Mr. Vitteli when working as his security guard?’ Answer: ‘No, I stick to him like white on rice.’ Question: ‘Then why did you leave him on the night of December fifth?’ Answer: ‘The boss told me to get lost and that’s what I did.’ Question: ‘Was that unusual?’ Answer: ‘Yeah, and I didn’t like it.’ Do you recall being asked those questions and giving those answers, Mr. Amaya?”

Silence.

Karp, holding the transcript, asked, “Any of this ringing a bell, Mr. Amaya?” The big man stayed silent with his arms crossed. “No? Then let me continue. Question: ‘Did you look in the alley as you went past?’ Answer: ‘No.’ Question: ‘Did you notice a car parked across the street with a man sitting in the dark at the steering wheel?’ Answer: ‘I don’t remember.’ Do you recall being asked those questions and giving those answers to Assistant DA Ray Guma, who questioned you for this Q and A?”

Returning the transcript to the prosecution table, Karp looked at Vitteli as he asked, “Your story seems to have changed, Mr. Amaya. Have you anything to say about that?”