Back to Brooklyn

by Lawrence Kelter

  “How the hell did you get that?” Cipriani asked. “I didn’t give a blood samples to anyone.”

  Whorhatz banged his gavel. “You’re out of order, Mr. Cipriani. If there’s a question to be asked, the DA will ask it.” He glanced at Gold. “Do you have a question, Mr. Gold?”

  “What’s the source of the specimen?” Gold asked.

  “The blood sample was collected within the last few days,” Vinny said.

  “Your Honor,” Gold said. “It appears that Mr. Cipriani has no knowledge of a blood sample being drawn in recent memory.”

  “Let me refresh the deputy mayor’s memory,” Vinny said. “Don’t you remember? The lab didn’t want to inconvenience you so they sent a young lady over to your apartment the other night and she collected blood along with other seminal…excuse me. That’s embarrassing. I meant to say other samples, not seminal fluids.” He gave Cipriani an obvious wink. “Does that ring any bells?”

  Cipriani’s eyes flashed and he turned red with embarrassment.

  “Are we okay to proceed, Mr. Gold?”

  Gold read the expression on Cipriani’s face and said, “I believe so, Your Honor.”

  “Proceed, Mr. Gambini.”

  “Mr. Cipriani, at any time over the last seven years did the defendant, Ms. Cototi ever give you a key to her apartment?”

  “Yes.”

  “You see where this is going, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Objection, Your Honor. The defense is leading the witness,” Gold said.

  “Actually he’s not leading him at all, Mr. Gold. Overruled. Please answer the question, Mr. Cipriani.”

  “No, I don’t see where this is going,” he said with irritation.

  “Okay, let’s see what we now know,” Vinny said. “First of all, the victim’s blood was not found on the rooftop and the only eyewitness to the alleged homicide has a romantic connection to the individual whose blood was actually found at the crime scene and who was photographed in a hit and run accident believed to involve the deceased. You also had a key to the defendant’s apartment, which afforded you the opportunity to drug the defendant so that she wouldn’t know that you were taking Samuel Cipriani up to the roof.”

  Vinny strutted around the courtroom for a moment before going back on the attack. “Now, under these circumstances, it would seem to me that you’d have plenty to say.” Vinny smiled at the jurors before propping himself up on the defense table. “Take your time,” he said. ‘We’ll wait.”

  Cipriani’s face turned still redder and the veins in his neck stood out and pulsed. “Why you little worm,” he spat. “Do you know who I am? I’ll destroy you!”

  “Really? You’ll destroy me? That’s your response? Just so we know, how are you planning to destroy me, literally or figuratively? Because I could handle a good browbeating mind you, but I’m not too hot on being destroyed in the literal sense. Are you planning to blow me to kingdom come or just run me over with a car like you did to your brother in the wee hours of February twenty-sixth?”

  “Goddamn it! I didn’t run over my brother!”

  Vinny held up the photo of Cipriani behind the wheel of the hit and run vehicle. “It certainly looks like you did.”

  Cipriani sighed and his head fell into his hands. “I didn’t kill Sammy.”

  Vinny egged him on. “I’m sorry. Did you say you didn’t do it? Because from this photograph it certainly looks like you were just about to turn someone’s head into a falafel.”

  “I told you,” Cipriani screamed. “I didn’t kill Sam.” He lifted his head, his eyes red and veiny. “He’s—”

  Everyone turned as the heavy wooden doors at the back of the courtroom burst open. A man entered the courtroom holding a legal folder in his hand, hollering, “Samuel Cipriani is not dead!”

  Chapter Seventy-Four: “Broccoli? On his butt?”

  The courtroom burst into an uproar. Whorhatz slammed his gavel repeatedly while he yelled, “Order. There will be order in this court!” It took several moments for the clamor to subside. He pointed at the intruder and demanded, “Identify yourself, sir.”

  “Raymond Stanz, Your Honor. I’m a parole officer for the State of New York.”

  “And what is your business with this court?”

  “Your Honor, please pardon this intrusion, but I possess information vital to the outcome of this trial.”

  Vinny took a few steps toward the bench. “Your Honor, the defense calls Ray Stanz.”

  Gold protested. “Your Honor, I vehemently object. It’s not yet the defense attorney’s turn to call the new witness.”

  “Well, Mr. Gold, are you prepared to put the new witness on the stand?”

  Gold gritted his teeth and shook his head.

  Whorhatz motioned for Gold to approach the bench.

  “Yes, Your Honor?” Gold asked.

  The judge whispered, “Blow it out your ass,” and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He pointed to the court officer. “Escort Mr. Stanz to the witness stand and swear him in.”

  Vinny waited for Cipriani to sit down and for Stanz to be sworn in. “Mr. Stanz, would you please state your full name and profession for the record.”

  “My name is Raymond Stanz and I’m a parole officer for the State of New York.”

  “Now, you said that you have vital information for the court?”

  “I do. Yes.”

  “And what might that be?” Vinny asked.

  “I’m the parole officer for a rehabilitated former offender, specifically one Louis Rolfe.”

  Vinny hammed it up. “Of what significance could this possibly be to these proceedings?”

  “Louis Rolfe was released from prison approximately six months ago. He found gainful employment, a permanent residence, and up until about a month ago, had made every one of his check-in appointments with me as scheduled.”

  “I’m glad that Mr. Rolfe was a model parolee, but I still fail to see the significance of his post prison release record to this trial,” Vinny said, playing the devil’s advocate.

  “As I said, Mr. Rolfe fell off the radar about a month ago. He last reported in on February twenty-fourth of this year. At this point, there’s an open warrant for his arrest for violating the terms of his parole. In the course of searching for him and interviewing other paroled offenders we thought Rolfe might have come into contact with, it came to light that Rolfe was extorting money from former prisoners, threatening to go to the police with damaging information he’d acquired on the inside if they didn’t pay up.”

  “Not a great guy, is he?”

  “No.”

  “Anything else?”

  “His body was just found.”

  A large collective ah rose from the audience.

  Vinny asked, “And where was Louis Rolfe’s body found?”

  “A body with unrecognizable facial features was just exhumed from the grave of the deceased.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The deceased in this trial,” Stanz said. “The grave of Samuel Cipriani.”

  Everyone gasped.

  “Quiet! Quiet in the court,” Whorhatz barked.

  Vinny waited for the turmoil to subside. “I fail to see how you could possibly identify this body as belonging to one Louis Rolfe if his facial features were unrecognizable.”

  “Mr. Rolfe had a very distinctive birthmark not affected by the head injury. It was shaped like a head of broccoli you see, completely unique—photographed and memorialized in his prison records.”

  “And why was it this very unique birthmark wasn’t found before?” Vinny asked. “I mean when the coroner was studying the body thought to belong to Samuel Cipriani?”

  “The birthmark was in a place where it wasn’t readily noticeable.”

  “Oh really? So where was it?”

  “It was between the cheeks of his butt.”

  “Broccoli? On his butt?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  Vinny had to wait for the courtroom to o
nce again grow quiet before speaking. “Thank you, very, very much for your very important and timely testimony. No further questions. Your Honor, the defense recalls—”

  Whorhatz held up his hand. “Thanks for doing all the heavy lifting but this one’s on me, Mr. Gambini.” He pointed at Cipriani, his expression screaming outrage. “Get your ass back on the witness stand.”

  Chapter Seventy-Five: I Beg to Differ

  Theresa collapsed when she heard that Sam Cipriani, the love of her life was still alive, delaying the proceedings until the EMTs could revive her.

  “My brother’s alive,” Anthony Cipriani admitted. “Alive and well, and someplace where you’ll never get your hands on him.

  “Why?” Vinny asked. “Why’d you go through all this?”

  “Because Samuel Cipriani the three-time loser didn’t stand a chance in hell of making it in this world.” He looked up at the ceiling and shook his head cursing all that had gone wrong. “But with a new name and a clean slate…” His confession was punctuated with a deep and troubled sigh. “This guy, Bald Louie. He was a real piece of shit. He cozied up to Sam when they were in prison together and found out things he shouldn’t have known, things that could’ve put Sam back behind bars for a very long time. He tried to shake Sammy down as soon as he got out of prison, threatening to blab secrets to the authorities. If Rolfe ever made good on those threats…We figured we’d kill two birds with one stone.”

  “In other words, old Sam had to die so that new Sam could live.”

  He spoke through gritted teeth. “Yes.”

  “So the defendant, Theresa Cototi, never had a thing for you, did she?”

  “No.”

  “Let me see if I got this straight. You framed a poor innocent girl for your brother’s death, planted false evidence, perjured yourself, plotted with your lover to provide false witness, and all the while your brother was living it up somewhere under an assumed identity. Is that about it?”

  Cipriani scowled at Vinny but was too infuriated to answer.

  “Answer the question,” Whorhatz ordered.

  “Yes,” he answered, his lips twisted and gnarled. “I bought Greta the same kind of sneakers I knew Theresa wore. She tracked my blood on the roof a couple of days before we planned to get even with Bald Louie. I’m familiar with police protocol and standards. I knew my DNA would pass for Sammy’s in a standard NYPD forensics analysis.”

  “I don’t understand—why didn’t you just use your brother’s blood to leave the bloody footprint on the roof?”

  “Because,” he ranted, “Theresa couldn’t keep her goddamn hands off Sam for a minute. So, I had to plant the evidence in advance.”

  “Your Honor,” Vinny said, “it’s our contention that Samuel Cipriani pushed Louis Rolfe, his former cellmate off the roof of eighteen-fifty-nine Cropsey Avenue, and then Anthony Cipriani intentionally ran over the victim, with the specific intention of rendering Mr. Rolfe unrecognizable.”

  “Your Honor, I object,” Gold said. “This is pure conjecture and outside the scope of this trial.”

  “Yes. Possibly,” Whorhatz ruled, taunting the floundering DA. “Overruled. Mr. Gambini, you may proceed.”

  “And so, Your Honor and ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I propose that the bloody initials TMC don’t stand for Theresa Mary Cototi at all. They stand for Sammy AKA “Tool Man” Cipriani, the name he was given in prison because of his mastery with burglar’s tools. That’s who Louis Rolfe was attempting to identify with his last breath.” He focused on Cipriani. “So, I guess Sam lured Bald Louie to Theresa’s rooftop where he’d been told he’d receive his payoff. Only…I guess we can figure out the rest. Isn’t that right, Mr. Deputy Mayor?”

  He seared Vinny with his gaze and flipped him the bird.

  “Whoa! The F bomb right here in court? I’m astonished. Not that it’s gonna matter where you’re going. That’s one hell of a reversal of fortune, ain’t it? Sam’s on the way up and you’re on the way…”

  “I damn well know what it means,” Cipriani screamed.

  “I’ve heard enough,” Whorhatz said. “Officer, place Mr. Cipriani and Ms. Trash under arrest.”

  “That’s Träsch,” she barked as the cuffs were ratcheted down on her wrists.

  “I beg to differ,” the judge said in a haughty tone. “Take the two of them away.”

  Chapter Seventy-Six: No One Pulls the Wool Over the Eyes of a Gambini

  Judge Molloy stood at the back of the courtroom applauding the performance of his protégé long after the case against Theresa Cototi was dismissed and the courtroom cleared. His confidence in the novice attorney had not been misplaced. Seeing the earnest smile on Vinny’s face was payment in full for all the time and effort he’d invested in the young attorney’s career. Vinny had rewarded him with a shrewd legal defense that had spared an innocent woman an extensive and unjust jail term.

  Lisa was glowing and anointing her fiancé with kisses and praise when she heard Molloy clapping, and saw him standing just beyond the last aisle of the audience section.

  “Judge Molloy,” she said. “Look, Vinny! Look who’s here.” She dashed over, meeting him halfway down the aisle as he approached. “Did you see him, Judge? Wasn’t Vinny great?”

  “Did I? Why at this very moment DA Gold is probably meeting with a career counselor, and Doucette is likely on the phone trying to nail down an associates position at an obscure out-of-town law firm. There isn’t a DA between here and Sheboygan who’ll sleep soundly tonight knowing that Vincent Gambini is on the job.”

  “Ah. Thanks, Judge Molloy,” Vinny said. “I was just doing the best I could. And that kid, Theresa, she was as innocent as innocent could be. Lisa knew she didn’t do it the first time they met. It just took a little while for me to figure out what was really going on.”

  “Vinny, my boy, you sparkled out there today. You took on a political powerhouse and kicked his goddamn teeth in. Most small practitioners would’ve gone running for the hills the moment they realized they had to go up against a New York City deputy mayor, but not you. You hunkered down and stuck it out.” He turned to Lisa. “Are you proud of our boy?”

  “You know I am.”

  “How the hell did you figure out that the Cipriani boys switched this Louis Rolfe fellow for Sam Cipriani?”

  “That was just a hunch, Judge. But when Cipriani lost his cool and blurted out that he didn’t kill his brother…the whole thing just fell into place. I mean this Rolfe guy disappeared just a couple of days before Sam allegedly died. What can I say; I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “No one pulls the wool over the eyes of a Gambini,” she said.

  “No, they certainly don’t,” he said. “Vinny, this is a happy and proud day for me. You rescued a dear friend of mine from unjust incarceration and you showed me just how right I was to place my faith in you. But…” He turned to Lisa, grinning. “What about you?”

  “What about me?” Lisa asked.

  “I haven’t received a wedding invitation in the mail as yet, and he said he’d marry you after he won his first case. That was the deal, wasn’t it, Gambini?”

  “Yes, Judge. Yes, it was.”

  “Well it’s only March and you’ve already won two murder trials this year.”

  “So?” Vinny asked.

  “You’re not getting any younger. How long do you expect this ravishing young woman to wait for you?”

  “Yeah! What about the wedding?” Lisa chimed in. “You think I’m gonna wait around forever? I got a niece—the daughter of my sister who’s getting married and—”

  “Lisa,” Vinny said with a sly grin as he stomped his foot on the wooden floor twice. “I know, your biological clock is ticking.”

  “I’ll take a run at her if you don’t marry her soon,” Molloy teased. “How do you feel about older men, Lisa?”

  She blushed an intense shade of red.

  He slapped Vinny on the shoulder. “You know there’s a long standing tradition of buy
ing the victorious attorney a drink. You and Lisa up for a couple of cocktails?”

  “Yeah, sure, Judge Molloy, only I got to pay. It’s the least I can do.”

  “You flush, Vinny? I’m asking because I’ve been known to throw back quite a few when I celebrate.”

  “I think I got it covered. I rang up a lot of billable hours putting together Theresa’s defense. By the way, I didn’t ask for no retainer. She’s good for the money, ain’t she?”

  “Don’t worry, Vinny. She’ll pay. As a private practitioner, you’ve got to be a lawyer as well as an accountant. It’s not like when I grew up—nothing’s cheap these days.”

  “No, Judge. Definitely not.”

  “Why when I was a young boy, my mother would send me to the corner store with a buck and I’d come back with two loaves of bread, a sack of potatoes, milk, cheese, and a dozen eggs.”

  “Really? All that for a buck, Judge Molloy?” Vinny asked skeptically. “I know you’re getting up there in years so it was a long time ago, but I mean that’s a hell of a lot of stuff for just one dollar.”

  “Yes, Vinny. It’s true. But you can’t get value like that these days.”

  “Why? Inflation?”

  “No. Security cameras.”

  Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Quintessential Lisa

  The dining room table in Vinny and Lisa’s home was lined with aluminum trays over lit Sterno cans, a makeshift steam table filled with eggplant parmigiana, baked ziti, chicken Marsala, stuffed mushrooms, and fried calamari. Lisa and Ma had cooked for two days straight and invited all their friends, neighbors, and relatives.

  “I still don’t see why we got to have another party,” Vinny said as he groomed his hair in the bathroom mirror. “We just had one before this trial started. We gonna celebrate like this every time I win a case?”