Wiseguys in the Woods

by John P. M. Wappett

  The task force members still wondered why Madonna, laying low in the U.S., would constitute a threat to the NF sufficient to justify sending a hit team from Italy. In any event, it was agreed that Warren County Jail would have increased security as long as Madonna was housed there. Thereafter, whenever Peter drove onto the County Municipal Center property, he saw marked State Police cruisers strategically stationed to cover angles of attack, including the forest behind the facility.

  With the help of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and Montreal Metro Police (RCMP), Tanner Saint and the other task force members were finally able to locate Gennaro DiGiorno, the elderly uncle of Vito Santon, the son of the owner of the restaurant in Lake George Village. DiGiorno was quietly living out his life in a nursing home in Laval, a town just north of Montreal. Although not the ideal time of year for a road trip, Tanner did not want to wait until spring to get the answers to some of their questions. So he and his Lieutenant, Bruce Hall watched for a sustained break in the weather and when it looked promising, they pointed the lieutenant’s Crown Vic north and took off at a sedate 90 miles per hour.

  A little over four hours later (due to coffee breaks), they arrived at the nursing home and were shown into a private room where a small, shriveled man in a wheel chair welcomed them in with a nod. He gestured them to two chairs next to a small green table on which stood a crystal pitcher and a half-full glass. The remainder of the room was decorated in Old World European style, complete with paintings, originals by their look, in gilt frames and padded chairs with ornately shaped arms and legs. Intricate doilies lay upon the armrests and the table tops. The shades were partially drawn, leaving much of the room in relative gloom.

  “Gentlemen. Please make yourselves comfortable. Tell me, was your drive uneventful?”

  “Yes, it was clear weather and roads all of way up” said Bruce. “We were lucky.”

  DiGiorno chuckled to himself. “It has been a very long time since any police officer showed an interest in me. I am almost flattered.”

  Tanner continued the polite introductory chat, “We do appreciate your agreeing to speak with us Mr. DiGiorno. It is our hope that you will be able resolve a very old case that we have come across.”

  DiGiorno crossed the room using a walker with the inevitable neon yellow tennis balls on the back legs, and reached for his water glass for a long, slow drink. He then refilled the glass and walked back to his easy chair without the walker.

  “I only use it when I am feeling unstable or when the nurses are around” confided DiGiorno. “If I look especially feeble I get more sympathy and better care.

  Tanner smiled and nodded politely to acknowledge the old man’s little attempt at mischief.

  “I first heard about you from an old acquaintance, a Colonel Pierre Renard, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He has been with the Mounties for many years. He suggested that if I were helpful to the two of you, then some legal difficulties that my grandson is facing in Montreal will no longer be so difficult. Now where was this old case you are so interested in?”

  Tanner answered. “In Lake George, at what used to be your brother-in law, Alphonso’s restaurant, back in 1958.” Neither cop noted a reaction from DiGiorno, but both were convinced that he had purposely set down his water glass just before Saint responded to his question, so as not to give away any reaction by allowing the water to amplify and broadcast any tremor in his hand.

  There was a long pause before DiGiorno responded. “I see. Yes, that was a very long time ago. What would you like to know?”

  “We recently found a body hidden behind a brick wall. Your nephew seems to think that the man we found was killed back in 1958, during a meeting that you attended. Do you know anything about that?”

  DiGiorno took another drink from his glass and then a deep breath which he released in a quiet sigh. “Yes, but mostly indirectly. But let us start with some background. Are you aware of the meeting at Apalachin back in 1957?” When they nodded, he continued.

  “Well, after that, uhh, I think that the word is fiasco. Yes, fiasco is right. After that, there were still many issues to resolve among the various groups, both American and Sicilian. It was important to establish territories, responsibilities, share sizes and rules. But getting everyone back together was proving impossible. No one wanted to risk the embarrassment of being chased through the woods and questioned by the police. And nearly everyone distrusted everyone else.

  Tanner and Bruce leaned forward in their chairs.

  “Those of us from the Caruana-Cuntrera families of Montreal felt that we could only trust Vito Genovese and his crew. Don Vito believed that the informant might be working for Carlo Gambino to bring him down. We first had to figure out how the cops caught on to us at Apalachin. Despite all the press claims that that State Police Sergeant noticed the amount of meat being ordered by Mr. Barbara and the number of fancy cars, we eventually learned that there had been a tip by someone that set the police on us. After a great deal of investigation of our own, we were able to narrow it down to four of our guys that had the information and opportunity to snitch us out, but we could not figure out which one.”

  “Would it be fair to say that you played a con on them to get the one to tip his hand?” asked Tanner.

  DiGiorno smiled, “Very good, Investigator Saint. That’s precisely what we did. The meeting in Lake George was to be the kickoff for a major meeting to be held during the following week. Each of these four men were told a different location where the main meeting was to be held. We believed that the informant would pass on the location and date of the major meeting to the authorities, who would then set up surveillance. At each location we had an observer near the supposed site of the meeting, who would report back to us in Lake George if they spotted an increased police presence.”

  “So it was Wally’s bogus location where the State Police set up their surveillance?” asked Lt. Hall.

  “Wally?” DiGiorno looked confused.

  Tanner explained. “The guy we found in the wall. We named him Wally.”

  The old man looked both bemused and disturbed. “Oh, I see. Yes, you are correct, I believe. At the time, I was just a soldier in the Caruana-Cuntrera family. This is where I have to tell you indirect information, you see, because I was delayed in getting to the meeting in Lake George by my car breaking down near Lake Placid. By the time I got to Alphonso’s, the problem had been dealt with. One of Vito Genovese’s lieutenants, Pietro Sciabelli, admitted to tipping the cops about the Apalachin meeting as well as the pretend meeting we fed him.”

  Tanner, who had gotten up, walked over to the room’s only window and adjusted the shade so that the afternoon sun was not glaring into DiGiorno’s eyes, mused “I wonder why he would do something so dangerous?”

  “He told those who questioned him that he did it both times to try to prevent the families from getting into the drug business. He believed that too many people were hurt by the drugs to be worth the profit.”

  “So what did you hear happened to Wally, I mean Sciabelli?” asked Bruce.

  “I was told that, after he was questioned, he was killed and the body disposed of, although I never heard how, until just now.”

  “How was he killed?”

  “I was not told that either. Just that no one would ever be able to identify him.”

  “Any idea who actually killed Sciabelli?”

  “I was not told, and I was just a soldier back then. The bosses didn’t tell us anything we didn’t need to know.”

  “Would you mind if we took a written statement from you about this event, so that we can close our file?” Tanner’s instincts were tickled by DiGiorno’s last comment. If true, then how come he knew as much as he did?

  “Certainly! If it will help you put this matter to rest.”

  Forty minutes, and a few more glasses of water later, Tanner and Bruce left DiGiorno to his solitude, and travelled back to Warren County carrying DiGiorno’s sworn statement which contained some a
nswers and a couple of new questions.

  ***

  Peter trudged into the office, already sporting a light sweat that he had worked up that morning by clearing the driveway again with the snow blower.

  Today’s Special Term court calendar included the sentencing of the wine store robber and Peter was looking forward to surprising the still silent defendant with his true name, as well as his association with the Nuova Famiglia. Wiping the smug expression off the face of a feared hit man is just one of life’s little pleasures when you are a prosecutor. The thought cheered Peter enough that he forgave the winter for having given him so much work this morning.

  When the case of People v. John Doe was called, Peter silently stepped up to the bench and handed the Court a folder of papers and then walked over to the defendant’s table and handed an identical folder to the attorney there. After he returned to his normal station, behind the prosecutor’s table, he addressed the Court.

  “Your Honor, I have just provided documents to you and to the defendant’s attorney, Mr. Knobb, which contain sufficient information to justify my moving to change the case name to People v. Vincenzo Vozella.”

  At this, the defendant’s head snapped around as he glared at the side of Peter’s face, and Peter fought hard to not change expression or return the look.

  “These folders contain copies of the photographs and finger prints of this defendant, which were mailed to the Immigration and Naturalization Service office in Rome and then delivered by police courier to the carabinieri in Naples. Authorities there positively identified this defendant as being Vincenzo Vozella and his deceased cohort as being Gino Napolitano. These identifications have been confirmed by finger print analysis and the appropriate affidavits by the examiners are in your folders. In addition, the folders contain translations of their rap sheets. These two have long been known by Italian police and prosecuting magistrates as being one of the top assassination teams of the faction of the Camorra known as the Nuova Famiglia, or the New Family.”

  “Given their job titles and affiliation, as compared with that of the other man in the store during the robbery, Enrico Madonna, the consigliere of the rival faction, NCO, it appears quite possible that the shootout at the wine store was not a robbery gone wrong. It may well have been an attempt on Madonna’s life, especially since there is presently a war between these factions that has been piling up hundreds of bodies a year in the area in and around Naples, Italy.”

  Judge Ginola turned to the defendant. “Any objection to the amendment to the case title, Mr.Knobb?”

  “No, your Honor.”

  “Mr. Vozella, is there anything you wish to say before sentencing?”

  The defendant shook his head, without speaking.

  Peter was tempted to insist that he actually speak the word “no”, but remembering Judge Ginola’s treatment of defendants who had offended him, thought better of it. The sentencing to the agreed upon 6 to 18 years in prison was concluded without incident, and it was understood that after he served his full sentence, he would be deported back to Italy to face charges there.

  One of the secretaries buzzed Peter to let him know that William Dier had arrived for his appointment. Peter went out to the waiting room and escorted Dier back to his office.

  Peter began, “Let’s start off with the question of Madonna’s prior convictions. He has a conviction for Criminal Association of the Mafia Type, for which he served a prison term of more than a year, but of course, we could not count that as a predicate offense because there is no comparable crime in New York. The same, however, cannot be said for his robbery conviction.

  These are the originals and their certified translations of the statute under which he was convicted, the accusatory instrument describing what he did that violated that statute and the certificate of his conviction and sentencing, showing that he served several years in prison on that conviction. In fact, it was during that stint in prison that he became an attorney. As you can see, the prior is within the past ten years, as the statute requires. Unless I am missing something, he is a second felony offender and subject to enhanced sentencing.”

  William took a few minutes to review the documents. “It would appear that you’ve done your homework.”

  “Even though I don’t know why he is here in New York State, and I have reason to fear the worst, I think it would be fair to offer him the opportunity to plead guilty to one count of Criminal Possession of a Forged Instrument Second, with a sentence of three to six years. I expect that at some point, INS will arrange for his deportation back to Italy.”

  Bill responded, “That still seems a bit harsh. How about if my client agrees to be interviewed by your task force? Could he earn his way to a disposition that might allow him to stay in this country and perhaps enter the Witness Protection program?”

  “Who is he afraid of, the NF?” Peter was confused by the requests.

  Bill Dier shook his head. “I really can’t go into that just now, but my client can connect a lot of dots about organized crime in the whole upstate area, at least.”

  Peter leaned back in his chair. He had never been involved in negotiating the entry of a person into the federal Witness Protection program. “I expect that it would be best to have you sit down with Henry Bradley down at INS. He and the other task force members can evaluate what your client is offering and report to an Assistant U.S. Attorney. If I had to guess, they may have some interest in the NCO and his reason for being here in the States. Based on what they learn from him, I will determine whether there should be an adjustment to the offer. It will be up to the feds to decide on the Witness Protection question.”

  Dier agreed to get together with the task force and arrange for the first of what might be a number of sit-downs for his client.

  After Bill Dier left, Peter walked down to the Sheriff’s investigators offices, where he found Dr. Haggard sitting and chatting with Tanner Saint.

  “Hey, Doctor. How the heck are you?” Peter grinned as he reached out to shake the doctor’s hand, as the doctor stood to greet his friend. “What brings you back up to the North Country during this God-awful time of year?”

  “Well, counselor, your young protégé, ADA Castor brought me up to testify before the Grand Jury regarding the autopsy of that unfortunate infant who died in his mother’s bed. As it turned out, ADA Castor decided not to present the matter, after all. So I decided to come down here and report the results of my work on “Wally’s” tattoo. As I was beginning to…”

  "Hang on! As I walked through the office before lunch, Castor was instructing Debbie on what counts for an indictment were to be typed up. The Grand Jury voted a manslaughter count. If you didn’t testify, just how in the hell were they able to vote any form of homicide? What were your findings that you told Castor?”

  “Well, Peter, I gave him the short version he asked of me, reporting that the autopsy revealed nothing that would allow me to establish a cause of death. While ADA Castor’s theory that the child’s death may have been the result of his mother’s co-sleeping with her infant child could be true, there is no medical support for this. I advised him that I could not testify to any cause of death in this case.”

  Peter shook his head in frustration. “So it would appear that our eager beaver ADA has gone ahead and presented his theory to the Grand Jury and got himself a manslaughter indictment without a cause of death. Now ain’t that fuckin’ great! I can’t wait to hear how he thinks that he can prove that the mother “recklessly caused” her child’s death, without being able to establish what caused the death in the first place.”

  Peter’s fury at his young associate’s negligent behavior and cavalier disregard for what he was putting a grieving mother through, had him fuming. “Doctor, I’d love to hear what magic you have performed on that tattoo, but I have a narcissistic ADA to murder, and probably a lot of piddle of his to clean up afterwards.”

  First Assistant District Attorney Peter Drake exploded into ADA Castor’s office
like an avenging angel and, even with the door slammed shut, the entire office was able to discern that ADA Castor had gone too far this time. The crescendo came when Peter learned from a stuttering and highly defensive Castor, that he had had Judge Ginola issue an arrest warrant for the mother, who was now in the Warren County Jail.

  “YOU DID WHAT???”

  Peter directed Castor out of his office, prodding him down the hall with his finger in the back of Castor’s shoulder. At Peter’s insistence, ADA Castor marched, like a condemned man, down to Judge Ginola’s chambers, confessed that the indictment was fatally defective and requested that Judge Ginola release the mother immediately, pending formal dismissal of the indictment.

  Before rejoining Dr. Haggard and Tanner Saint, Peter took a few minutes on the outdoor stairs at the rear of the Municipal Center, to calm himself down and smoke a cigarette. He was a shining example of the comment, “It’s easy to quit smoking. I’ve done it hundreds of times.” Although he did not start until college, it was a deeply engrained habit, reinforced by his time in the Army. As he occasionally explained, “In the Army, if you were just standing outside a building for a couple of minutes, you were goofing off and some sergeant would put you to work. If, instead, you were standing outside a building, with a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, you were on a well-deserved break and no one bothered you. So pretty soon, everyone including nonsmokers figured this out and scrambled around to get coffee and cigarettes as props.”