Back to Brooklyn

by Lawrence Kelter

  “If you please, Your Honor.”

  He rapped the gavel. “Thirty minutes.”

  Theresa jumped up and hugged Vinny while tears streamed down her cheeks.

  He patted her on the back. “See, dear. It ain’t over until the fat lady…well, you know.”

  Chapter Seventy-One: Not Bad, Right?

  As Vinny stepped away from Theresa he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Faraday in the jury box. She was whispering in another juror’s ear. She caught Vinny’s glance and winked at him as he left the courtroom.

  Aidan Boydetto was waiting for him in the lobby. Vinny whisked him down the corridor where they could talk alone. “So you got something to show me?”

  Boydetto slid a photo out of an envelope and handed it to him.

  Vinny’s mouth dropped. “Holy shit! I can’t believe it. Why didn’t you come to me with this sooner?”

  “I didn’t know the picture existed.”

  “You didn’t know? How could you not know?”

  “I didn’t take the picture, Mr. Gambini.”

  “Well who—” Vinny’s nostrils flared and then revelation struck. “Don’t tell me.”

  “Yes,” Boydetto said. “Lindsay took it. I didn’t see it until yesterday when I was deleting pictures to create more space on my phone’s memory card.”

  “It’s got a date, time stamp, and everything. Jesus, Aidan, I could kiss you…but I think I’ll wait to thank Ms. Lohan instead.” He laughed.

  “I figured it was the least I could do to pay you back for the great job you did representing me. I’ve been following the murder trial closely—I mean I live right around the corner from where it happened.”

  “What? You’re kiddin’, right? I mean I saw your address at least five times when I was working on your file and I never realized…around the corner, huh? Small world. Anyway, don’t mention it.” Vinny slid the photo back into the envelope. “I was glad to help you but I gotta run now, Aidan. Let’s get in touch after the trial.” He laughed again. “I’ll take you and Lindsay out for drinks.”

  He saw Lisa standing close by and hustled over to her.

  “Vinny, you were great in there,” she said as she threw her arms around him, lavishing him with kisses. “You were holding out on me, weren’t you?”

  “Not bad, right? I think we got a fighting chance.”

  “I’m impressed. How’d you figure that out?”

  “It was what Augie said.”

  Lisa seemed confused. “My dad? What did he say?”

  “He was watching the news in the kitchen and he said, ‘It’s in their blood.’ I don’t know why but it came to me right then and there.”

  “Uh-oh.” Lisa tapped Vinny on the shoulder and pointed. “The grim reaper wants to talk to you, Vinny.”

  Gold and Doucette were standing twenty feet away, waiting to be acknowledged.

  “Wonder what they want,” Vinny said. He shot his cuffs and stepped forward with determination. “I’ll be right back.”

  Chapter Seventy-Two: Can You Identify the Man in this Photograph

  Vinny studied Gold’s and Doucette’s faces trying to figure out what they were up to. “What can I do for you two gentlemen?”

  “We had a short meeting with Deputy Mayor Cipriani and as you know he has always had a warm spot in his heart for the defendant. I mean all those years pining away for his brother has to count for something, doesn’t it?” Gold asked with a shit-eating grin.

  “I don’t know. Does it? It didn’t seem to mean shit up until now.”

  “Gambini, this is just business. You know I’ve always tried to help you out when I could. Like your brother Joe’s two appearances before the bench—we took care of those two minor inconveniences for you, didn’t we? I think we’ve more than demonstrated that we take care of our own.”

  “How are you planning to take care of your own now?”

  “We’ll reduce the charge to involuntary manslaughter. That carries a minimum three-year sentence.”

  “Yeah, and a maximum of fifteen. Let me ask you something. Why the hell would we take a plea now when I’m on the verge of pulling down your pants and spanking you right in front of the judge and jury? Where the hell is your leverage?”

  “I can be a powerful ally,” Gold said. “That’s nothing to sneeze at.”

  “Yeah? Well in case you ain’t noticed, I ain’t got a cold, not so much as a sniffle.”

  “You’re required to take our offer to your client,” Doucette advised.

  “I’ll do that. But just until she turns you down officially feel free to take your offer and stick it.”

  ***

  Vinny entered the courtroom relishing the challenge of once again crossing paths with the Teutonic Greta Träsch. He was ready with his opening salvo of questions as Whorhatz entered the courtroom and took his place on the bench. While he waited for the court officer to call Träsch to the stand, Gold struck preemptively.

  “Your Honor,” he said, “before Ms. Träsch takes the stand we’d like the opportunity to recall Mr. Cipriani.”

  Whorhatz exhaled through his nostrils. “Very well.”

  Vinny grimaced as Anthony Cipriani sat down on the witness stand.

  “Mr. Cipriani,” Gold began. “Can you please tell the court where you were on the night of February twenty-sixth of this year?”

  “I was in Los Angeles.”

  “So you were not even in the state of New York on the night your brother died?”

  Cipriani shook his head. “No, and I’ll have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life.”

  “Can you tell the court which airline you used to travel back and forth to Los Angeles?”

  “American Airlines.”

  “So, you were three thousand miles away when your brother died?”

  “Yes.”

  “No further questions,” Gold said.

  “Mr. Gambini?” the judge asked.

  “No questions at this time,” Vinny said with a slight note of defeat in his voice. “We recall Greta Träsch, Your Honor.”

  Träsch was reminded that she was still under oath and again took the stand.

  “Ms. Trash.”

  “Träsch,” she shouted.

  Vinny ignored her. “You testified that on the night Samuel Cipriani died you were out with a friend. For the record, please tell the court the name of this ‘friend’ you spent the evening with.”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with my testimony.”

  “Please answer the question,” Vinny said.

  She remained silent, her eyes darting back and forth between Vinny, Gold, and the judge.

  “Please answer the question,” the judge said.

  She lowered her gaze and wrung her hands but remained silent.

  Vinny retrieved the photo that Lisa had been so excited to show him the other day. “Your Honor, we submit into testimony Exhibit A for the defense.” He handed it to the court officer, who delivered it to the judge.

  Whorhatz scrutinized it before handing it back to Vinny with a disturbed look on his face. “Continue, Mr. Gambini.”

  Vinny handed Träsch the photo. “Can you please tell the court the names of the people in this photograph?”

  She stared at the picture in her hands, before scowling at Vinny like an angry bear.

  “I didn’t hear you.” He gave her another moment to comply before snatching the photograph out of her hands and delivering it to the jury foreman. “Let the record reflect that the witness, Greta Träsch, and Deputy Mayor Anthony Cipriani are pictured in this photograph, canoodling right here in the courthouse. Just so we all know, is the deputy mayor a good kisser?”

  A rumble of oohs and ahs went through the courtroom along with whispers and accusations.

  Vinny glared at Gold before turning to Lisa and giving her a thumbs up.

  Cipriani seemed unsteady as he stood and hurried toward the back of the courtroom.

  “Uh. Uh. Uh. Not so fast, Mr. Deputy Mayor. The defens
e ain’t through with you yet.”

  “Have a seat, Mr. Cipriani,” the judge ordered. “Do you wish to recall Mr. Cipriani at this time, Mr. Gambini?”

  “Ye—” Vinny noticed Parikh entering the courtroom and that he was smiling at him as he took a seat in the audience. “Your Honor, the defense reserves the right to recall Mr. Cipriani, and I’m through with Ms. Träsch. At this time, we’d like to recall Detective Nirmal Parikh.”

  Parikh popped out of the seat he’d just taken and approached the witness stand with zip in his step.

  “Now, Detective,” Vinny began. “It has been argued by the DA that Mr. Cipriani was not in New York at the time of his brother’s death. What do you got to say about that?”

  “I was quite uncomfortable with some of the testimony I heard in the courtroom this morning,” Parikh began in his thick accent. “I checked with the local airlines to confirm the dates that Mr. Cipriani left and returned to New York.”

  “And what did you find out?”

  “I found that Mr. Cipriani did indeed purchase a round trip-ticket from New York JFK to LAX, leaving on February twenty-fifth and returning on February twenty-eighth.”

  The audience murmured in response to Parikh’s testimony.

  Cipriani grinned.

  “Anything else?” Vinny asked.

  “Yes. I pulled the flight manifest for the American Airlines flight Mr. Cipriani was scheduled to take out of New York. ”

  “And?” Vinny asked with piqued interest.

  “There is no record of Mr. Cipriani boarding that flight or any other.” There were gasps from the jury.

  “So what you’re saying is that he paid for a ticket but never left New York?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Thank you. Anything else?” he asked. He caught Mrs. Faraday’s eye and could see her smiling.

  “Yes. A DNA match is so conclusive that we rarely bother to type blood these days. When I heard Dr. Kent confirm the possibility that we might’ve mistaken the victim’s blood for the blood of Anthony Cipriani, his brother, I asked the lab to type the blood samples we found on the roof, which is a simple ten-minute procedure.”

  “And?”

  “The blood evidence we collected didn’t come from Samuel Cipriani.”

  The audience began to rumble once again.

  “Can you explain?”

  “Prison records indicate that Samuel Cipriani had Type O negative blood, but the samples we collected at the crime scene were AB positive.”

  “And isn’t type O negative blood the universal donor type, and AB positive the universal recipient?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I see,” Vinny said. “So for the record, did you find any traces of Samuel Cipriani’s blood on the rooftop?”

  “No.”

  “No! Not even a drop?”

  Parikh played into Vinny’s hands, “Not even a drop.”

  “Thank you, Detective. No more questions.”

  Vinny scrambled back to the table and delighted in Theresa’s emerging smile while he retrieved another photograph. “Your Honor,” he said, while waving an eight-by-ten photograph high in the air. “We would like to submit this photograph into evidence as Exhibit B.” The photo was logged into the official record, traveling from the clerk to the judge.

  Whorhatz’s eyes grew wide.

  “I object, Your Honor,” Gold said. “Why wasn’t the prosecution made aware of these photographs? I move that they be disallowed from evidence.”

  “Your Honor,” Vinny said. “This photograph only became available during our last recess. There was no time to provide it to the prosecution until now.”

  “How did you come by the photograph I now hold in my hand?” Whorhatz asked.

  “Your Honor, that photograph was hand delivered to me not thirty minutes ago by a private citizen.”

  “Does this private citizen have a name?” Whorhatz asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor, the photograph was taken by Ms. Lindsay Lohan.”

  Startled, Whorhatz asked, “The film star?”

  “Well, yes and no, Your Honor.”

  “Explain.”

  “You see, the photographer’s actual legal name is Aidan Boydetto, a former client of mine. However, Mr. Boydetto suffers from a psychological affliction. Maybe you’ve heard of it…dissociative personality disorder, formerly referred to as multiple personality disorder.”

  “You can substantiate this?” Whorhatz asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor. As a matter of fact, Mr. Doucette was opposing counsel when I defended Mr. Boydetto on an unrelated matter and can personally attest to his long struggle with this condition.”

  Whorhatz turned to Doucette. “Is that correct, Counselor?”

  Doucette reluctantly nodded.

  “But how does that explain why the witness just chose to come forward at this late hour?” the judge asked.

  “Because, Your Honor, the photo was taken by Ms. Lohan and Mr. Boydetto was unawares that the photo existed until just recently when he was deleting photos off his phone to clear space on the memory card.”

  Gold challenged him. “Are we to believe this preposterous story, Your Honor? Is a man who thinks he’s another person a credible witness in a murder trial?”

  “Although I agree that the story is bizarre…I’ve heard stranger. Pending authentication of the photograph and the photographer’s medical history, I will allow it,” Whorhatz ruled. “You’re on a roll, Mr. Gambini. Please continue.”

  Vinny hand delivered the photograph to the foreman. “It just so happens that the photographer lives just around the corner from where the victim fell to his death. As you can clearly see from the angle at which this photograph was taken, a car is about to strike a body. The timestamp and date indicate that the picture was taken at four-oh-three a.m. on the morning February twenty-sixth of this year, and the cross street signs are of those where Samuel Cipriani fell to his death.” Parikh was still on the stand. Having made the rounds in front of the jury box, Vinny handed the photo to Parikh. “Detective Parikh, for the record, can you clearly identify the man behind the wheel of this car?”

  Parikh’s jaw dropped. He scrutinized it carefully before answering, “The man behind the wheel is New York City Deputy Mayor Anthony Cipriani.”

  Chapter Seventy-Three: Rub a Little Dirt on it, Mr. DA

  “Your Honor,” Vinny said, his voice barely audible above the clamor coming from those in the courtroom. “No further questions for Detective Parikh.”

  “Silence,” Whorhatz yelled with a slam of his gavel. “Silence in the courtroom.”

  Gold was so busy slapping Cipriani’s hands off him that he almost missed his opportunity to address the judge. “Your Honor, look at the lateness of the hour. I’m sure the members of the jury are fatigued. Wouldn’t it make sense to adjourn for the day and continue in the morning when everyone’s fresh?”

  “That sounds like an awfully desperate attempt at postponing the inevitable, Mr. Gold.” He addressed the foreman. “Too tired to go on, sir?”

  “Not a chance,” the foreman said. “The sooner I get home to my family the better.”

  Whorhatz addressed Mrs. Faraday. “How about you, ma’am?”

  “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  “Anyone in the jury too tired to go on?”

  Their responses were universal.

  Whorhatz turned to Gold. “We have an expression in the marines—rub a little dirt on it, Mr. DA. The jury is good to go. Mr. Gambini, you have the floor.”

  “Yes!” Lisa blurted from the audience.

  Vinny turned to see her pump her fist, but wasted no time. “The defense recalls Dr. Clark Kent.” He was now on autopilot and no longer needed to check his notes. “Dr. Kent, the victim, Samuel Cipriani was pronounced dead at the scene. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the victim died from lethal head trauma. Is that also correct?”

  “Yes. It is.”
/>   “Are you familiar with the coroner’s findings?”

  “Completely.”

  “From your considerable knowledge of forensics, and the coroner’s report, was any determination made as to whether the victim died as a result of the fall or from the automobile injury?”

  Kent thought long and hard before answering. “Actually, no. The two head traumas occurred within mere seconds. Forensically speaking, there was no way to tell them apart.”

  “So is it possible that Samuel Cipriani was alive when he was struck by that hit-and-run driver?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you. No more questions.”

  “Cross? Mr. Gold?” the judge asked.

  The DA struggled with his decision. “Not at this time.”

  “Then you may continue, Mr. Gambini.”

  Vinny jumped at the opportunity. “Your Honor, the defense recalls Deputy Mayor Anthony Cipriani.”

  Gold was again on his feet. “Your Honor, the deputy mayor has urgent business to attend to at City Hall. Surely you can be sensitive to the importance of his position and his integral role in running the city. I insist that we adjourn so that Mr. Cipriani can attend to these urgent matters.”

  “You insist?” Whorhatz asked with a look of disdain on his face.

  “Yes, Your Honor, I do.”

  “You know, I admire a man with a take-charge attitude, Mr. Gold. However, it just so happens that I’m up here and you’re down there.” He pointed his gavel at Cipriani and roared, “Sir, you’ve been called. Please take a seat on the witness stand.”

  Cipriani seared Gold and Doucette with his gaze as he reluctantly stood. He moved to the witness stand and was reminded that he was still under oath.

  Vinny bit his fingernail. “Mr. Cipriani, got anything to say?”

  “Not unless you’ve got a question.”

  “For the record, what is your blood type, Mr. Cipriani?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

  Vinny walked to his table and produced a document. “Your Honor, I hold in my hand a lab report, which is only being produced to jog the witnesses’ memory and is not being submitted into evidence. I hold in my hand a lab report dated this week. The specimen belongs to Anthony Cipriani and states his blood type is AB positive, the same blood type as the specimens collected at the crime scene.”