Back to Brooklyn

by Lawrence Kelter

  ***

  “So, Ms. Trash,” Vinny began.

  She scolded him. “That’s Träsch.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “No, you said Trash.”

  “Whatever,” he said. “Anyway, you testified that you had wine with dinner and then even more drinks at ‘a friend’s house.’ In total, how many drinks would you say you had during the course of the evening?”

  “Maybe three or four.”

  “Let’s call it four. Two glasses of wine and two cocktails, if I remember correctly, because you said you had cocktails at your friend’s house. Over how long a period of time did you consume those four alcoholic drinks?”

  “Five…maybe six hours. I’m very careful with my drinking. I pace myself.”

  “And how much do you weigh, Ms. Trash?”

  “Träsch!”

  “Okay, Träsch. How much, dear?”

  “I’m a very svelte one hundred and fifteen pounds.”

  “That’s quite a bit of alcohol for a woman of your meager weight to process. Do you know what the legal blood alcohol limit is in New York State?”

  “Oh I was fine. I can hold my liquor.”

  “Really? Exactly where do you hold it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well on this planet, alcohol stays in the blood. Unless you’re from somewhere out in the solar system…” The jury laughed. Vinny reviewed a printed table before continuing. “Would it surprise you to know that a one-hundred-and-fifteen-pound woman who has consumed two glasses of wine and two cocktails over a period of six hours has a blood-alcohol level of zero point one-five-six.”

  “That means nothing to me.”

  “Well maybe it means nothing in the motherland but here in New York it means that you were legally impaired. Your blood-alcohol level was nearly twice the legal limit. Yet, you maintain that you positively identified my client while legally impaired from a distance of roughly one hundred feet.”

  “Ja. That’s right,” she insisted. “I saw her clear as day.”

  “Except that it wasn’t day, was it? It was four a.m. in the morning, a full two hours before sunrise.”

  “So?”

  “So, it was pitch black, and you were one hundred feet away, drunk as a skunk. Are you still sure it was my client that you saw on the roof and not someone else?” Before she could respond Vinny added, “No more questions, Your Honor.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two: I Said I Want a Proper Wedding

  “How do you feel about the way things went today?” Lisa asked as soon as court adjourned.

  “Oh, so you’re talking to me now.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “In the future, it would be nice if you started out the day talking to me so that I don’t have to walk into courtroom half out of my mind thinking that you hate me. Do you think maybe you could do that tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that if you don’t leave me in Joe’s house to eat cat food.”

  “Lisa, can we please put this behind us? I asked you to marry me and you said no. First you wanna go to dinner and then you don’t. You’re driving me out of my mind.”

  “Think about it, Vinny, did I say, ‘No, I don’t want to marry you?’”

  “Yeah, you said ‘No.’”

  “I never said that. I said that I wanted a proper wedding.”

  He scrutinized her face. “So you do wanna marry me?”

  “Yeah, I wanna marry you, but not until you’re prepared to do it the right way.”

  “You mean you want a church wedding.”

  “Yeah, a church wedding and all the bells and whistles that go along with it.”

  “Tell you what. As soon as this murder case is over, why don’t we sit down and plan the wedding you want?”

  “You mean it?”

  “Yeah, of course I mean it. We’ll have the wedding of your dreams. That make you happy?”

  “Yeah,” she said halfheartedly.

  “You don’t sound too excited.”

  “Seeing is believing, Vinny. We haven’t even set a date.”

  “Right after this trial, Lisa. I really mean it.”

  “You’d better. Anyway, not to change the subject but how do you think it went today?”

  “All things considered, I think it went pretty well. I discredited Gold’s first two witnesses and I didn’t get thrown in jail. That’s a big improvement over the way things went during Billy’s trial. But Gold’s gonna call his forensics witness tomorrow so I gotta prepare.”

  “Let’s go home and I’ll fix some dinner.”

  “Why? Is it broke?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I’ll cook some fish.”

  “Why fish? It’ll smell up the house.”

  “Don’t ya know nothing? Fish is brain food.”

  “You think eating a piece a swordfish is gonna make me some kind of legal genius?”

  “It couldn’t hurt. Scientists believe the reason civilization began in Mesopotamia was because the people there had a virtually unlimited supply of fish from the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers.”

  “You’re saying that without the fish we’d still be living in mud huts and crapping in the woods because our brains wouldn’t have evolved?”

  “Precisely.”

  “So if primitive man lived in a completely landlocked area like say, Arkansas or West Virginia, we wouldn’t be driving in cars or flying in planes?”

  Lisa teased him with her expression. “And I’m making kale also.”

  “Kale? That’s a healthy thing?”

  “It’s jam-packed with antioxidants, vitamins, and minerals.”

  “I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t digest it so good. One large dish of kale and I could singlehandedly solve the planet’s dependency on fossil fuels.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three: What’s with the Glasses?

  Vinny made sure that he got to court early the next day to avoid another reprimand from Judge Whorhatz. The room was empty as he prepared for trial, arranging his notes and legal pad so that he’d easily be able to find anything he needed.

  Clark Kent was scheduled to be Gold’s next witness and was the next one to arrive in court. He did his best to avoid eye contact with Vinny, but Vinny wasn’t having it. “Hey, Dr. Kent, can I ask you a question?”

  “We really shouldn’t be talking, Mr. Gambini.”

  “That’s all right. It ain’t about the case.”

  “Is it another Superman question? Because people have been asking me those annoying questions my entire life.”

  “Yeah, you really took it between the eyes on that one. The hell were your parents thinking?”

  “I wish I knew. So, you said that you have a question?”

  “It ain’t about Superman neither. It’s about Clark Kent.”

  “Clark Kent the forensic scientist or Clark Kent, Superman’s alter ego?”

  “The second one.”

  “What?”

  “What’s with the glasses?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The glasses, the ones Clark Kent wears. I been watching Superman since I was a kid and I can’t never figure it out. He puts them on and he’s Clark Kent. He takes off the glasses and he’s Superman, only he’s the same guy with the same face, with or without the glasses. How come no one can tell it’s the same guy? Are they some kind of magic glasses that hypnotize everyone, or is it just one of them things like people are whispering behind his back, ‘There’s Clark Kent over there. We all know he’s Superman but we’re not gonna say nothing?’”

  “It’s fiction. You have to suspend disbelief.”

  “Um…what do you mean?”

  “It means you go along with it for the sake of the story.”

  “Really? Even though you know it’s just plain dumb? I mean he’s Superman. He can do anything he wants but the best disguise he can come up with is a pair of Buddy Holly glasses? That shows a serious lack of imag
ination. At least Batman has a mask.”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Gambini. I’m a forensic scientist. I’m not a comic book superhero.” The court began to fill. “I think you better take your seat. Looks like we’re about to get underway.”

  “Good talking to you,” Vinny said as he wandered back to the defendant’s table.

  The door to the judge’s chamber opened and Whorhatz took the bench. “I see you’re early today, Mr. Gambini. Fifteen minutes early I trust?”

  “Thirty,” Vinny said. “I figured I’d make up for yesterday.”

  Whorhatz grinned but muttered something under his breath. He turned to the prosecutor’s table. “Call your next witness, Mr. Gold.”

  Dr. Clark Kent was called to the witness stand. The infamous shoe print was displayed on a presentation board as it had been during the preliminary hearing. Kent again explained how his team found a partial bloody shoe print on the roof and from there reconstructed the sole pattern for a size 7 sneaker.

  “Thank you,” Gold said. “I’d now like to discuss with you the blood evidence found on the rooftop. Can you tell us about that, please.”

  “Yes, of course,” Kent said. “There were no visible signs of blood on the roof but blood was subsequently revealed by the use of the chemical agent Luminol.”

  “On the rooftop?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you be good enough to tell us whose blood you found?”

  “The blood belonged to the victim, Samuel Cipriani. We achieved a thirteen core loci point match to the victim’s DNA, which was on file with NDIS, the National DNA Index System.”

  The jurors seemed to be listening intently.

  “Why was the victim’s DNA catalogued with NDIS?” Gold asked.

  “Because of his past criminal record.”

  “Is the DNA of all convicted felons on file with NDIS?”

  “No. But the victim’s DNA was established and catalogued during the course of a previous incarceration.”

  “So in your expert opinion, is there any possibility that the blood found on the roof did not belong to the victim, Samuel Cipriani?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Kent. No more questions.”

  Whorhatz turned to Vinny. “Mr. Gambini, would you like to cross examine Dr. Kent?”

  “Yes, I would, Your Honor.” Vinny rose and approached the witness stand. “So, Dr. Kent, you testified that the sole pattern found on the roof was that of a ladies Nike Air Max ninety-five athletic shoe. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And for the record, can you please tell us which athletic shoes are most commonly found at crime scenes here in the Unites States and in Europe as well?”

  “It’s the Nike Air Max ninety-five.”

  “The same shoe, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a women’s running shoe, ain’t it?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “And what is the number one selling size for the Nike Air Max ninety-five ladies running shoe?”

  “Why it’s size seven.”

  “So, the shoeprint you found came from the athletic shoe most commonly found at crime scenes practically everywhere in the civilized world, and was also Nike’s best-selling size of women’s shoes. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you examine the defendant’s own personal pair of Nike Air Max ninety-five athletic shoes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And were you able to detect any traces of blood on the defendant’s shoes?”

  “No.”

  “None?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Not even the teensiest little bit?”

  “No.”

  Vinny walked back to the defense table. He picked up a running shoe with Nike logos on each side and held it high in the air. “Dr. Kent, can you tell me what I’m holding in my hand?” He walked toward the witness stand and presented Kent with the solitary shoe.

  “It looks like the Nike Air Max ninety-five.”

  “Exactly like the shoe found in the defendant’s apartment? The same kind that deposited a bloody print on the rooftop?”

  “I can’t be one hundred percent sure.”

  “But it appears to be?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your Honor, for the purposes of demonstration, the defense has purchased this Nike Air Max ninety-five running shoe which is identical in every way to the shoe that made the bloody imprint on the rooftop.” He held the shoe with the sole facing Kent. “Dr. Kent, do you have any idea just how many deep grooves there are in the sole of this shoe?”

  “Quite a few.”

  “Right—quite a few. You know I tried counting all the grooves but it made me dizzy. My best count was somewhere over three hundred intricate little grooves.” He retrieved a second shoe from the table. “I placed this shoe in a pan of blood I got from the local butcher, let it dry, and then tried to scrub away all the blood to see if I could completely remove every last trace from the grooves. I used bleach and detergent, and soaked it for a period of two hours.” He showed the sole to the judge and then to Kent. “What do you think, Dr. Kent? Can you still see blood stuck in the grooves of this shoe?”

  Kent studied the shoe. “Yes.”

  Vinny then walked to the jury box with the shoe in hand and allowed the jurors to examine it. “Dr. Kent, in your opinion is there any way that the defendant could’ve made a bloody imprint on the roof wearing this model of shoe, then scrubbed away every last bit of blood?”

  Clark was hesitant but finally said, “It seems unlikely.”

  “No. That’s what I thought too. In your opinion, is it possible that someone else wearing ladies Nike Air Max ninety-five athletic shoes left the bloody shoeprint on the roof and not my client?”

  Kent removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He replied in a meek voice. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m all the way over here by the jury box. I didn’t hear your answer. Would you mind repeating your answer in a loud and clear voice?”

  He replied in a shrill tone. “Yes.”

  Before speaking, Vinny looked at Mrs. Faraday and noticed she was grinning. “I’m through with the Man of Steel. No more questions, Your Honor.”

  Chapter Sixty-Four: Soul Symphony

  Gold rose and handed the clerk a photograph. “Your Honor, the people would like to introduce Exhibit number one into evidence.”

  The clerk logged in the photograph Gold handed him before transferring it to the judge. Whorhatz examined it for a moment and handed it back to Gold.

  Gold approached the jury box and gave the photo to the foreman. “As you can see, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Samuel Cipriani attempted to name his killer. You can see in this photograph that the initials TMC are clearly spelled out on the rooftop in his own blood. If it please the court, I’d like to remind everyone that the defendant’s initials are TMC as well: Theresa Mary Cototi.” He returned to his seat while the jury members passed around the photo.

  Vinny stood. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the photograph you just examined don’t mean nothin’. There’s no proof the victim actually wrote those three letters on the roof and we have no idea what they mean. For all we know those letters could stand for The Movie Channel, or nothin’ at all. As a matter of fact, the more I look at it, I ain’t sure these are letters at all—they kind of looks like ancient hieroglyphics…thank you.”

  Whorhatz turned to Gold. “Are you prepared to call your next witness, Mr. Gold?”

  Anthony Cipriani sat in the first row of the public section behind the prosecutor’s table, his face contorted with anger.

  Gold glanced at him before answering. “We are, Your Honor.”

  “We’ll break for lunch and your witness can take the stand when we return.”

  ***

  Vinny met with Theresa over the lunch break. She looked glum, her head hanging down, staring at the table. Her meal remained uneaten on a
tray before her. “They slammed us this morning, didn’t they?” she asked.

  “No, I wouldn’t say that, dear. I mean, yeah, they had an expert witness and physical evidence but it’s nothing I didn’t expect.” He laid his hand on hers. “Remember, they need a unanimous vote of all twelve jurors to convict you and there’s no way that’s gonna happen.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Like I told you before, Theresa, all their evidence is circumstantial. There’s nothing tying you to Sammy’s death except that Träsch broad’s testimony. And I think we demonstrated that she just ain’t a credible witness.” Theresa absorbed the information without comment. Seeing that she still looked worried, Vinny tried a different tact. “It’s like that street art you see everywhere in the city.”

  “You mean graffiti?”

  “Well, yes and no. But I’m sure you’ve seen it. From a distance you’d swear that there was a huge jagged rift in the street, with raging waterfalls, and giant beasts clawing their way to the top. But when you get closer, it’s just some fancy artwork. Understand what I’m saying?”

  Her response was unconvincing. “I think so.”

  “Don’t worry about that stuff—it’s an illusion. What I am afraid of is Sammy’s brother. You got any idea what he’s gonna say when he gets up on the stand?”

  She shook her head. “I told you, Mr. Gambini, I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” She sniffled. “We used to be so close. I mean he was always there for me when Sammy was in prison, and now he’s acting as if he hates me.”

  “He thinks you pushed his brother off the roof. I don’t think he’s acting.”

  “But he knows I would never do that. He knows how much I loved Sammy. I just can’t see him going from hot to cold like that. I mean without even hearing my side of things.”

  “He’s probably still in shock.”

  “Well how long will it take for him to come around?”

  “I ain’t got no idea. Look, he’ll be on the stand right after lunch. That should tell us a lot. Just try to remain calm, especially in front of the jury. Remember, you’re grieving, so it’s all right to look sad. But it’s not okay to look like you’re running for your life because you ain’t.”