Wiseguys in the Woods

by John P. M. Wappett

  Despite a half dozen prior misdemeanor convictions and an indictment for burglary and for an assault that happened while he was out on bail on the burglary, Jeff Henderson had negotiated a very favorable plea deal in which the defendant would serve six months in local jail for the Burglary and then three years on probation for the assault.

  “I object!” The defendant, Willie Wilkie shouted, startling his attorney into jumping slightly.

  Judge Ginola leaned forward in his large, high-backed chair. “While I would love to hear how you could find this plea offer objectionable, it would be prudent to speak to your attorney first.”

  “I don’t wanna talk to him. I want a year in jail or no deal!”

  “Well, that’s not the offer, sir. You have to do three years of probation on the assault.”

  “That’s okay. A year for the burglary and probation for the assault. That’s what I want!”

  “But you only have to do six months in jail!” Jeff Henderson was clearly surprised and frustrated.

  “I don’t want six months. I want a year.”

  Judge Ginola turned to Peter. “Any objection by the People?”

  “None come to mind, your Honor.” Peter was desperately trying not to laugh out loud at the pained and confused expressions flashing across Jeff Henderson’s face.

  Ever so slowly, the judge turned back to face Henderson. “Now I know you really want to object, but it appears that your client has his heart set on a year in jail.”

  Jeff let out a loud sigh. “I have spoken with Mr. Wilkie and he is determined to do this. I have to say that this is the first time I have participated in plea bargaining where the sentence went up rather than down.” Even the court security officers laughed at this. The rest of the plea process went without incident, other than the repeated shakes of Jeff Henderson’s head, as though to rattle something back into place.

  The last case, also Henderson’s, was a Driving While Intoxicated felony for which the defendant was going to prison. As his client was being brought out, Jeff leaned over the table toward Peter. “At least this guy is normal. Thirsty, but normal.”

  “Not so fast, son.” Peter quietly drawled, handing Jeff a copy of the defendant’s pre-sentence report. Jeff started scanning the report as the judge had the guards return the defendant to his holding cell until his attorney was ready. Suddenly, Peter noticed Jeff’s eyes widen and his jaw drop, cartoonlike.

  “Soooo. Got to the part where your client once tried to commit suicide by jumping into a cess pool, did you?” Even though Peter had said it quietly, enough people heard it to create a lot of laughter and several eeeeuuu’s. All in all, a day that proved the effects of the moon beyond all doubt.

  ***

  Officer Skip Tyson courted disaster by trying to be chivalrous. In one motion, he stacked the two large coffees one atop the other, clamped them in place with his chin and swung out his now-free arm to catch and hold the door for an elderly woman who was entering the Stewart’s shop he was just exiting. As he repeated the move to open the passenger’s side door of the Crown Vic, his partner for the night, Dep. Lee Cordon applauded the gymnastics. “You ought to take that act on the road!”

  “Half way through it, I remembered that I am 50 miles away from my spare uniforms, if I spill.” laughed Skip.

  Skip and five other Colonie P.D. officers were on loan to the Warren County Sheriff’s Department, to fill out the roster for the protection detail assigned to the Drake family. As they were not in their own jurisdiction, they could not arrest anyone, but could certainly back up their local partner.

  “So how did you wind up on this detail here in God’s country?” asked Lee as he backed out of his parking space and resumed his patrol. Like most residents of Warren County, Lee felt that Albany and the rest of the Capital District were some sort of distant and alien land.

  “Actually, we all volunteered when we heard from our investigators what was going on up here and that it involved our former ADA. Our guys think the world of Drake, and the case originated with us in a way, since Madonna lived in our county, so here we are.”

  Lee nodded in agreement, “Yeah, we kinda like him, too. Even if he is a lawyer.”

  They both laughed at this and then Skip said, “But he doesn’t act like one, all snooty and shit. He really works hard to make our cases and he is very careful at crime scenes to not interfere.”

  Their patrol car quietly entered the development where the Drakes lived which was three minutes north of the West Mountain ski resort. It was a heavily wooded area where the streets were often in the shade of tall pines and oaks. Many of the homes had contrasting white birches in their yards, and forest behind the homes on the east side of the street through which deer, fox and the occasional bobcat wandered.

  “I guess that’s why our investigators think he’s special, too,” concluded Lee.

  As he turned onto Weeping Willow Terrace, Lee realized the irony of the street’s name, as there was every type of tree but.

  Driving past the Drakes’ house, they returned the wave of Peter’s wife, who was sitting on the front steps, as her children blew bubbles and then chased after them. Even from forty feet away, the officers could hear the children’s laughter and shouts.

  Although the officers wore different uniforms and had only met a couple hours ago, their thoughts at that moment were the same: Nothing was going to happen to that family on their watch.

  ***

  Dave, Mike and Guy spent most of the drive to Springfield debating the motivation of Crazy Nancy, their primary informant in the Madonna case. Especially confusing was how she went from not knowing anything significant about Bruno Sica, to giving Dave and Mike an earful of how “Enrico” was a mob lawyer, to spilling the beans on how Biagio Cava, a professional assassin within the Camorra, was given a contract to kill Madonna or perhaps his prosecutor.

  Mike, who was riding shotgun next to Dave, offered his opinion: “The way she switched from not knowing any thing about Sica to giving us solid hints about who he really was struck me as spiteful – that she was sticking it to him.”

  “Even though she’s married, she seemed to have a thing for Madonna, at least at the beginning. She was happy to keep his secrets. Then something changed, almost like she became the woman scorned,” agreed Dave.

  Guy, sitting in the back seat, said, “Even if all that is true, why the heck would she turn around and warn us about Cava? Why not just let him take out Madonna?”

  “Beats me!” Mike responded “If this was a movie, I’m sure there’d be some clever answer that you, the quiet one, would come up with. Maybe it’s something simple, like she was pissed at him, but not THAT pissed.”

  Dave and the rest of the team caught a break shortly after their arrival in Springfield, when they learned that a member of the Springfield P.D. had recognized the photo of Cava that Mike and Guy had sent on ahead. The local cop had told the team that a guy who looked a lot like Cava, was staying at the home of an elderly Italian couple over in the east end of town. The reason that the cop had taken notice of this guy was that he did not seem to go to work and he did not come out of the house until after dark. Even then, his movement was furtive – as if he was trying not to be clearly seen.

  The three visitors from New York complimented the quality of this beat cop’s police work and began to discuss a plan for grabbing Cava before he could cause any trouble for anyone. Because Cava had not yet done anything to anyone, in the United States, he couldn’t be arrested for his evil thoughts.

  He was probably in the country illegally, though, because he was likely using false documents to enter. So they discussed charging him federally, with Title 8 USC 1325, Entry Without Inspection, Title 8 USC 1324c Penalties for Document Fraud and the catchall, Title 18 USC 1001, Making False Statements, which prohibits lying to or concealing (information) from a federal official by oral affirmation, written statement or mere denial.

  The problem, though, was that these were looked upon as
minor, even frivolous felony offenses and many federal judges would set low bail or even release Cava without the need for bail. So it was agreed among the three, that they would have the Springfield PD file state charges, as well. A local judge would likely be overwhelmed when told of Cava’s history and profession and would deny any amount of bail. Given Cava’s habits as told by the Springfield beat cop, they decided to contact the federal prosecutors in order to obtain an arrest warrant and a search warrant for the elderly couples’ home.

  The search warrant served two purposes in this scenario. Not only would it allow them to search the portion of the house used by Cava for bogus papers, personal documents, weapons and the like, but it authorized them to enter the house in the first place, to search for and arrest Cava. The arrest warrant, alone, was insufficient, as he would be in the home of the elderly couple, whose Fourth Amendment rights had to be taken into account, according to the U.S. Supreme Court in the decision known as Payton v. New York. While they could execute the arrest warrant if he was walking down the street or in his own home, only the search warrant allowed them to enter the couples’ home to get to him.

  Grace’s first step was to enlist the help of the local OCDETF AUSA. This alphabet soup title stood for the Assistant U.S. Attorney assigned to the Organized Crime Drug Enforcement Task Force. Dave had his boss, Henry Bradley call ahead to pave the trio’s way. They did not have a lot of time to spare and had no clue when Cava might decide to head west toward the Albany/Lake George area, so boss-to-boss introductions would be essential. Dave and his colleagues were immediately ushered into the office of the OCDETF prosecutor.

  When Dave led them into the office, he saw a woman with long blonde hair look up from a large book, which she closed with a snap. AUSA Glinda North popped out of her chair and walked briskly across the room to the three, holding her hand out to be shaken. She led them to a conference table and, taking the seat at the head, invited them to be seated and fill her in on the case.

  After forty minutes of briefing, punctuated with rapid-fire questions from AUSA North, who scribbled notes furiously throughout, she announced that she would begin to prepare the warrants and their supporting applications immediately. The affidavit supporting the warrant applications would be signed by Grace, as the federal agent knowledgeable in the case. She directed him to return at 4 P.M., and she would drive to the federal judge who would authorize the warrants. When Mike Connolly tried to pin her down on when the warrants would be available for the police teams being put together back at the Springfield P.D., she sidestepped the question, saying that it would be difficult to locate and meet with a judge after normal work hours.

  Grace and Connolly were back at the federal office building at quarter to 4. The Springfield PD had had to order their SWAT team to stand down, due to the lack of an approximate time when the warrant would be available. It was the same story everywhere – budgets were tight and overtime costs had to be contained. One good thing happened – the sergeant in charge of the SWAT team authorized overtime to have one officer sit on the house through the night. This task, and the overtime that went with it was given to the alert officer who had observed Cava’s activities.

  Before they were dismissed, the SWAT team members were briefed on the plan to take down Cava, with a minimum of risk to the couple who owned the house. While a hard and loud entry would probably upset the old pair, the shock value of that type of entry improved the odds that Cava could be secured safely. Considering that his tool of choice was a lupara, the sensibilities of his hosts would have to be ignored for their own safety. If possible, a late night, sudden entry would catch him asleep, so the tentative assault time was set for twelve hours later, at 4 A.M.

  Mike and Dave soon found that their plans and priorities did not match up at all well with those of AUSA North. As Mike read the proposed search warrant, Dave, who was looking over Mike’s shoulder to read it, could see Mike’s neck turning red – and then he read what Mike had, and he understood why. Turning to AUSA Glinda North, Senior Investigator Michael Connolly, wrestled with himself to maintain some control and said:

  “It says that the search warrant is authorized to be executed between the hours of 7 AM and 10 PM. We were hoping to grab him when he was less than fully refreshed and alert. Did we forget to mention that he kills people for a living?”

  “You did mention it, and the sarcasm is unnecessary, Investigator. It is the policy of this office to limit the execution of search warrants to times when they will be less upsetting to those citizens living in the vicinity of the search, and…”

  Dave interrupted, both to express his own unhappiness and to back up his partner. “Don’t you think a fire fight spilling out into the street, while the citizens are having their morning coffee might upset a few of them? And what about the morning commuter traffic? How do we deal with that, without alerting the assassin?”

  AUSA North visibly stiffened and stood taller, but couldn’t match the smoldering menace of the two cops whose case was being put in danger, not to mention those who would be executing the search warrant in broad daylight against someone quite likely armed.

  “Both federal officers and their local counterparts have been able to act effectively and safely when executing warrants within these constraints, for years. I don’t see why you cannot do the same.”

  “All respect to the officers, it is likely that they have not come up against someone like this. He’s not exactly a street corner coke dealer” said Mike, even though he knew that they had lost the argument. In fact, they had never been asked their opinion in the first place.

  To add insult to injury, AUSA Glinda North made it clear that Mike Connolly’s presence was not necessary for the meeting with the federal judge. Dave Grace sat, alone, in the waiting area of U.S. Attorney’s Office for nearly half an hour. Dave did not think it too much of a stretch to conclude that this was her way of reasserting her authority. When she did finally appear, to drive the two of them to meet with a federal judge, she announced that they would be driving to Pittsfield.

  “Why do we have to drive all the way to Pittsfield? There has to be a judge here in Springfield. Grace was beginning to get tired of the chicken shit games that she was laying on them.”

  She responded, “I’ve known this judge for years and I want to be sure that we get the warrant on the first try.”

  Dave was finding it very hard to stay under control. “Why? The P/C is solid for both the arrest warrant and the search warrant.”

  P/C, or probable cause, was the measure of the certainty of the information that the judge is going to base his decision upon. Often described as “more likely than not”, it was less than the ‘beyond a reasonable doubt “trial” standard, but it excludes guesses, gossip, and speculation. In this instance, a judge would have to determine that it was “more likely than not” that Cava had committed a federal crime when he snuck into the country, and that it was “more likely than not” that Cava, together with evidence of his crimes, would be found at the elderly couples’ house. Grace’s affidavit, which included the INS and Customs records showing what they knew of Cava’s movements so far, his criminal record in Italy and the beat cop’s statement of his observations of Cava in Springfield seemed more than sufficient to Grace. AUSA North was not to be dissuaded.

  “I have already arranged to meet with Judge Cabaye, and I am not going to screw up my relationship with him by standing him up.”

  Dave had no choice in the matter, and had to go along in order to be available to answer questions should the judge have any – but he did not have to be happy about the situation. The hour-long trip to Pittsfield passed in stony silence. AUSA North turned into a driveway in the countryside south of Pittsfield and wound her way between two rows of ancient oaks which led them up a hill to a massive stone-sided colonial home. Adjacent to this imposing structure were various outbuildings, including a matching carriage house, complete with carriages, and a large wooden barn. Grace could immediately see t
hat these were not recent replicas, but had probably been here since the Revolutionary War.

  This impression was confirmed by the massive wood-plank front door that opened onto a pine floor, with the boards set with wooden pegs rather than nails. They had been ushered into a small parlor by the judge’s wife, a strikingly handsome woman in her 70’s, who reminded Dave of Barbara Stanwick in the old TV show The Big Valley. The furnishings and wall decorations were clearly antique and well preserved, making the muscular agent anxious about turning and breaking something.

  A small clerk’s desk made of cherry, stood at the far corner of the room next to a window of what appeared to be hand blown glass panes. Almost immediately, the door to the parlor squeaked open and Judge Ernest Cabaye darted in and reached out his hand to AUSA North.

  “Glinda! How good to see you, again. It has been far too long. The down side of living out here in the farm country, I suppose.”

  “You are looking well, your Honor. This life seems to suit you.”

  The judge spun to his left to face Dave. “And you must be Special Agent Grace. It seems that you have a tiger by the tail, eh? AUSA North gave me some of the highlights on the phone this afternoon.”