“Objection!” Nash blurted out. “Your Honor, I move to have that answer stricken from the record as nonresponsive and prejudicial.”
As Kershner was about to rule, Karp didn’t wait and stood up immediately and shot right back, “Ms. Nash opened the door and the witness slammed it shut with justification.”
“I believe Mr. Karp is correct on this matter,” Kershner responded. “Objection overruled.”
Nash responded indignantly, “Well, then, I have no further questions.”
Kershner asked Karp, “Do you have anything for redirect?”
Karp remained standing behind the prosecution table. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Please proceed.”
“Sergeant Cippio, would it be okay with you if my office framed an innocent man for the murder of your son?”
“Absolutely not.”
“And why not?”
“A couple of reasons,” Cippio replied. “One, I don’t want just anybody to pay for my son’s murder. I want the actual killer caught and sent to prison for the rest of his life.”
“And the other reason?”
Cippio shook his head and slowly, deliberately answered, “What cop would want anybody framed for murdering another cop when it means the real killer would still be out on the streets, maybe killing more cops? It just doesn’t make any sense, does it, Mr. Karp?”
Karp nodded and smiled slightly. “Common sense and reasonableness are virtues of not only a good police officer but also of good citizens,” he replied, looking over at the jurors. “Thank you, Sergeant Cippio. No further questions, Your Honor.”
19
AFTER THE LUNCH RECESS, KARP led Officer Eddie Evans step-by-painful-step through the events leading to the murder of his partner, Tony Cippio. A narrative that had many members of the jury, as well as the gallery—at least those sitting on the prosecution side of the aisle—in tears.
“I was sitting on my lazy ass in the patrol car when my partner needed me,” Evans testified hoarsely. He choked up several more times as he described seeing the killer grab his fallen partner by the shoulder to turn him over. “He then stood up and shot Tony in the head.”
Karp hated to do it to the officer, who he knew blamed himself for Cippio’s murder, but he needed the details in order to do the “dovetailing” of the corroborating evidence he’d promised the jury in his opening statement. More would follow with other witnesses, the pieces interlocking, but it started with Evans.
Karp asked Evans if his partner had ever expressed any racist sentiments.
“Hell, no,” Evans replied vehemently. “Tony was color-blind. We were more than just partners, he was my brother and I was his. He would have given his life for me, or anybody, really . . .” He looked up, and with tears streaming down his face, he continued, “. . . and I would have given mine. I wish, God, how I wish, I could do it all over again and have taken those bullets for him.”
Wrapping up the direct examination, Karp questioned Evans about his meetings with Gilliam, Satars, and Delgado both at Cippio’s memorial service and the bar in Brooklyn. “And can you tell the jurors what led to your suspicions that these three rogue cops were behind the murder of Sefu?” he asked.
“It was obvious he was one of the guys they blamed for Tony’s murder and then the riots after that kid got shot by an officer . . . him and Mufti,” Evans said, nodding toward the gallery where the reverend sat. “It was too much of a coincidence that Sefu ends up ‘accidentally’ being left alone with a violent white supremacist and that guy happens to have a weapon. So that’s when I called your office.”
Nash, in her cross-examination, asked Evans only a few questions about the murder of Cippio. They were mostly to establish that he was not able to make a positive identification of the shooter, nor had he seen the gun clearly.
“I could tell it was a revolver,” Evans said, “but that was about it. It happened so fast, and I was running and calling for help.”
At that point, Nash suddenly asked, “Officer Evans, is racism pervasive within the New York City Police Department?”
Evans frowned. “Pervasive? No. Are there racists in the department? Yes, like any other segment of our society. But to be honest, I run into it more often from people on the streets than I do from my brother officers. We like to say that blue trumps black and white once you put on the uniform.”
“What about the white officers charged with the murder of Imani Sefu and the attempted murder of Reverend Mufti?
“Those officers do not represent the majority of officers at the NYPD,” Evans stated firmly.
“Nevertheless, a group of NYPD officers murdered one black activist, and conspired to murder another, because of their outspoken criticism of police brutality—”
“And they were caught and charged,” Evans interrupted. “I believe that one of the officers has pleaded guilty and the other two are still awaiting trial.”
Nash scoffed. “Do you have any doubt that those two are guilty?”
“I haven’t seen the evidence, but they deserve their day in court . . . just like your client.”
“Still, as you noted, one of them has pleaded guilty,” Nash went on. “He’s on the prosecution witness list to appear at this trial, probably part of whatever deal he worked out with the—”
“Objection,” Karp interjected, rising. “Defense counsel speculates and isn’t privy to whatever my office may or may not have done regarding the prospective witness. To be sure, once he appears on the witness stand, it will all become extremely clear.”
“Sustained,” Kershner replied. “Ms. Nash, please keep your questions on point.”
Nash rolled her eyes and turned back to Evans. “Okay, let’s stick with the fact that one white police officer has pleaded guilty to the murder of a black activist and the attempted murder of another black activist, as part of a conspiracy to silence anybody who speaks out against law enforcement. And if law enforcement is willing to murder black activists, why should these jurors believe they wouldn’t stoop to framing another?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Karp said, more forcefully this time. “Defense counsel is giving speeches, not asking questions. Even if there was one scintilla of evidence to support what she just said, and there’s not, the witness is in no position to answer a question like that.”
“I’ll overrule you, Mr. Karp. The witness may answer the question,” Kershner said.
Evans shrugged. “I guess they’ll just need to listen to the evidence and make their decisions from there.”
“Even if that means convicting an innocent man the system wants to silence, just like Imani Sefu and Hussein Mufti?”
Evans stared hard at the defense attorney and shook his head. “I guess I just have more faith in the intelligence of jurors than you do.”
Again, Nash looked stunned by a retort she hadn’t expected. But she recovered. “Or maybe you’re worried about what your white ‘brothers’ in uniform will say if you don’t toe the line. No further questions.”
Kershner raised her eyebrows at Nash’s remark but said nothing to her. Instead, she asked Karp if he had anything for redirect.
“Just a couple questions,” he said, then looked at Evans, who was obviously seething over the defense attorney’s remarks. “Officer Evans, are you angry about the murder of your partner, Tony Cippio?”
“Yes. Angry and sad, and I feel guilty as hell that I wasn’t there for him.”
“Do you want to see someone brought to justice for his brutal, cold-blooded execution?”
“More than anything.”
Karp pointed at Johnson. “Do you want to see that man pay for the murder of your partner?”
Evans scowled as he looked at the defendant. “If he’s guilty, yes.”
“And if he’s not?”
Evans frowned as he returned his gaze to Karp. “Then no. That would mean the real killer got away with it. I can’t think of anything worse than that.”
“Thank you,” Karp
said. “No more questions, Your Honor.”
“Ms. Nash, anything further?”
Sitting in her seat, writing notes on a legal pad, Nash didn’t even look up as she shook her head.
“Ms. Nash, please answer so that the jurors, the court reporter, and I can hear you,” Kershner said crossly.
Karp, who had returned to his seat, scribbled a fast note for Katz to see: “Slowly the tide turns.”
Nash sighed loud enough to be heard throughout the courtroom. “No, Your Honor,” she replied just as irritably as the judge. “I have no more questions for this witness.”
“Very well.” Kershner peered through her glasses at the clock on the wall of the courtroom. “It’s two o’clock. It’s a little early, but do you want to take our afternoon break now, Mr. Karp, or call your next witness?”
Karp stood to answer. “If it pleases the court, now would be good. My next witness is a youngster, and I’d like to look in on him before I call him to the stand.”
“All right, court is in recess,” Kershner said. “We’ll reconvene in fifteen minutes.”
As the jury was being escorted out, Karp walked over to the door leading to the witness waiting room and left the courtroom. He took just a few steps down the narrow interior hall and opened the door. Basically, the room was barren with a table in the middle and several chairs placed about.
Nevie Butler was sitting with Tyrone, who looked frightened. The woman brightened when she saw him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Karp. Did you come for Tyrone?”
“The court is in recess for fifteen minutes,” Karp explained. “When we reconvene, we’ll ask for Tyrone to be brought into the courtroom by Detective Fulton. I just wanted to check in to see how he’s doing.”
Butler stood. “I need to visit the little girls’ room. So I’ll leave you two alone if that’s okay.” She took her grandson’s face between her two hands and looked lovingly into his eyes. “I am so proud of you. You’re going to be just fine.”
With that she turned and left. When the door clicked shut, Karp sat down across from Tyrone. “Are you okay?”
The young man shrugged. “Yeah, a little nervous I guess.” He tugged on his shirt collar and tie.
Karp smiled. “It’s natural to have some butterflies. Just answer the questions honestly and focus on what you know, what you observed, and you’ll do well. If you don’t know the answer to a question, or if you don’t remember, just say so. All you have to do is tell the truth, Tyrone.”
There was a knock on the door and Fulton poked his head in. “It’s time.”
Karp patted Tyrone on the shoulder as he stood. He then held out his hand, which Tyrone shook shyly. “Your grandmother is not the only person proud of you,” he said. “I am, and so is Detective Fulton, and I know if Officer Tony was here, he’d tell you the same.”
Although not all of the fear left Tyrone’s eyes, his face relaxed and he smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Karp. I’m doing this for him.”
Karp left and reentered the courtroom, taking his seat behind the prosecution table. After the jury returned, he stood and announced, “The People call Tyrone Greene.”
Fulton opened the door, and the young teen entered and stood for a moment blinking at all the faces turned toward him. He looked like a frightened rabbit about to turn and run, but then his eyes caught those of his grandmother sitting in the row behind the prosecution table. As she smiled and nodded, he stood up straighter and walked over to where the court clerk beckoned.
Tyrone was sworn in and took the seat at the witness stand. Karp’s telling the youngster that he was proud of him wasn’t just lip service. There’d already been one attempt to intimidate, even kill, Tyrone and his family when Big George Parker met his fate. And Mrs. Butler had reported a number of threats since the media released his name as a prosecution witness.
Marlene had assured him that her man with a dog was watching out for the family. And Clay Fulton said the precinct had stepped up patrols around their neighborhood. But he knew such precautions weren’t foolproof.
Nevie Butler had refused to move to a safe house or take her boys out of school. “This is our home,” she told Karp when he called to ask how they were doing. “And their schoolwork comes first. We are not going to be chased from here by cowards and bullies. Thank you, Mr. Karp, but we’re staying. Besides, we got some good neighbors watching out for us. We know how to take care of our own around here.”
Karp picked up a photograph from the prosecution table and walked to the witness stand. “Your Honor, the record will reflect that I am showing the witness this photograph marked People’s Exhibit 31 for identification,” he said, holding it up.
Karp handed the photograph to Tyrone Greene, who looked suddenly sad.
“Tyrone, do you recognize the person in this photograph?”
“Yes, sir, that’s Officer Tony.”
“Officer Tony. Do you know his last name?”
“Cippio. Officer Tony Cippio.”
“And how did you know Officer Tony Cippio?”
Tyrone smiled, though his lower lip trembled. “He used to play basketball with us at Marcus Garvey Park.”
“Who is us?”
“Just me and my friends from the neighborhood.”
“How often did he play basketball with you and your friends?”
Tyrone looked up at the ceiling as if counting, then shrugged. “Maybe six times. He just showed up one day and asked if he could play.”
“Was he a good basketball player?”
That made Tyrone smile and snort. “Not bad for an old white guy.”
“Old?” Karp queried. “How old would you say he was?”
“Well, not as old as you.”
The court burst out laughing. “Well, thank you for that reminder,” Karp said, laughing, too.
The interplay had done its work by loosening up Tyrone, who was smiling. But he stopped when Karp walked across the courtroom to stand in front of the defense table and pointed at Johnson, who first glared at Karp but then smiled at Greene. “And do you recognize this man?” he asked.
Tyrone nodded but didn’t speak. He blinked back tears as Karp gently reminded him that he needed to speak up so that the jurors could hear him. “Yes, he said his name was Nat X.”
“Let the record reflect that the witness has identified the defendant,” Karp said. Then he walked back toward the witness stand. “He told you his name was Nat X?”
“Yes.”
“Was ‘X’ his last name?”
“I guess. That’s all he told me and my friends.”
“How do you know him?”
“He started coming around the basketball court. He wanted to talk to us about stuff.”
“Yes, we’ll get to that in a moment,” Karp said. “Approximately how long ago did you first meet the defendant?”
Tyrone looked at the ceiling to think about that, too. “Two or three weeks before Officer Tony was shot.”
Karp walked back to the witness stand and took the photograph from Tyrone. “Your Honor, I move to enter People’s Exhibit 31 into evidence,” he said as he walked along the jury rail showing the photograph to the jurors.
“Accepted.”
Returning the photograph to the prosecution table, Karp said, “You mentioned that the defendant wanted to talk to you about ‘stuff.’ What kind of stuff?”
Tyrone fidgeted in his seat. “Stuff like how white people hate black people. And that we had to stand up for ourselves and other black people. He said there should be a black America and a white America.”
“Did he say anything to you about police officers?”
Tyrone looked at the defendant and then back at the district attorney. “Yes, he said that we’re in a war and that police officers were the enemy.”
“Anything else?”
Tyrone frowned. “Yes, he said we had to protect ourselves from them and that they was enemy soldiers.”
“How often,” Karp asked, “did the defendant try to talk
to you and your friends about the police being the enemy?”
“A few times,” Tyrone said. “He invited us to meetings, but we didn’t want to go.”
“Why not?”
“We didn’t . . . I didn’t like . . . what he was saying. I ain’t ever had any trouble with the police, and my grandma, she says they’re our friends.” Sadness washed over his face again. “Officer Tony was my friend.”
“How did the defendant refer to you and your friends on occasion?” Karp asked.
Suddenly Tyrone looked angry. “Sometimes he called us names, like ‘little niggers.’ That’s not a good word. We didn’t like that.”
“Do you know anybody who did go to these meetings?”
Tyrone nodded. “Yeah, my brother, Maurice, went. And he told me his friends DeShawn Lakes and Ricky Watts went, too.”
Karp nodded. “How old are you, Tyrone?”
“I just turned thirteen.”
“And how old is Maurice?”
“He’s going to be eighteen real soon.”
“How often did the defendant come to the park?”
“Sometimes every day. Then a couple of days would go by and we wouldn’t see him, then he’d show up again.”
“Did he come alone?”
Tyrone shook his head. “He was never alone. He was always with Big George and sometimes with another man I didn’t recognize.”
Karp walked over to the prosecution table and picked up another photograph, which he then showed to Tyrone. “Do you recognize the person in this photograph?”
“Yes, that’s Big George.”
“Did Big George have a last name?”
“Not that I knew.”
“Your Honor, let the record reflect that the witness has identified a photograph, People’s 32 in evidence, of George Parker as someone known to him as ‘Big George,’ and that he has seen Big George in the company of the defendant at Marcus Garvey Park on a number of occasions.”
Karp and Nash had butted heads at a pretrial hearing over whether he would be able to get evidence about Big George Parker into the trial. Kershner had ruled that he could ask his witnesses if they knew the man and where they knew him from.
Without Fear or Favor Page 18