A Matter of Conviction
Page 24
“Yes,” she answered. Her voice was very low.
“Are you frightened, Miss Rugiello?”
“A little.”
“Of me?”
“No.”
“Of His Honor?”
“No.”
“Surely not of the defense attorneys,” Hank said, smiling. “They seem harmless enough.”
“No, I’m not afraid of them.”
“I read in the newspapers that you had received a note warning you against testifying. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you’re afraid?”
“Yes.”
“But you have just sworn to tell this court the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Will you do that?”
“Yes.”
“Despite the note?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Did you see those three boys on the night of July tenth?”
“Yes. I saw them.”
“Take a good look. Are you sure it was those three boys?”
“Yes.”
“What were they doing?”
“They were running.”
“From where?”
“From across Third Avenue. They were coming from the west side.”
“Were they carrying anything?”
“Yes.”
“What were they carrying?”
“Knives.”
“How do you know?”
“They gave the knives to me.”
Hank walked to his table, picked up three knives and then said, “If the court please, I would like these knives marked as evidence.”
“Mark the knives as evidence,” Samalson said. “Exhibits Two, Three and Four.”
“Would you mind looking at these knives, Miss Rugiello?”
“Yes?”
“Are these the knives those three boys gave you on the night of July tenth?”
Angela Rugiello studied the knives. “Yes. Those are the ones.”
“Do you remember which boy gave you which knife?”
“No. It all happened so fast. I just took the knives from them and then brought them home.”
“Was there blood on these knives?”
“Yes.”
“On all these knives?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do with the knives when you took them home?”
“I put them in a paper bag at the back of my drawer.”
“Did you do that as soon as you got home?”
“Yes.”
“Did you wash the knives first?”
“No.”
“You did not wash these knives?”
“I did not wash them.”
“Not even one of them?”
“None of them. I just put them in a paper bag and put them at the back of my drawer.”
“Let me understand this clearly, Miss Rugiello. You did not wash any of those knives, is that correct?”
“That’s right.”
“You did not wash one of those knives?”
“No … I told you.”
“Then the way you turned those knives over to the police later, they were in the same condition that you’d received them, is that right?”
“That’s right. I didn’t do anything to them.”
“But you do not know which of these knives came from which boy, is that also true?”
“That’s true.”
“I have no further questions.”
“You may proceed with the cross-examination,” Samalson said.
Randolph, one of the defense attorneys, approached the witness chair. “Miss Rugiello,” he said, “are you certain that the three boys who gave those knives to you were Arthur Reardon, Anthony Aposto and Daniel Di Pace?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I know them, don’t I?”
“Yes, but wasn’t it dark that night?”
“It wasn’t so dark that I couldn’t see them.”
“But it was dark, wasn’t it?”
“It wasn’t nighttime yet. It wasn’t that kind of darkness.”
“But it was dark.”
“Only because it was raining.”
“And in this darkness, couldn’t you have mistaken the three boys who allegedly gave you those knives?”
“No. I didn’t make any mistake. It was the three of them. I talked to them, so how could I have made a mistake?”
“I see. Who gave you the first knife?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Was it Reardon?”
“I don’t remember. It all happened so fast.”
“Was it Di Pace?”
“I told you, I don’t remember.”
“But you do remember that it was these three boys who gave you the knives? You’re sure of that. But you’re not exactly sure who gave you the knives, are you?”
“Objection! Defense counsel is attempting to distort the witness’s testimony. She has already stated that the knives were given to her by Reardon, Di Pace and Aposto. She simply does not remember the order of presentation.”
“Sustained. Strike the question.”
“I have no further questions,” Randolph said.
“Call Daniel Di Pace.”
Danny rose from where he was sitting. He glanced at the defense attorneys, received their nod and then walked hesitantly toward the witness stand. He wore a dark-brown suit. His red hair caught the rays of the sun which streamed through the long windows lining the courtroom. The clerk swore him in and he took the chair, wiping the palms of his hands on his trousers. Hank approached him. Silently, they surveyed each other.
“You are Danny Di Pace?”
“Yes.”
“You know, don’t you, Danny, that you’ve been accused of murder in the first degree, and that if this jury finds you guilty, you can go to the electric chair? You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes. I know.”
Hank picked up the knives and held them up to Danny.
“Recognize these knives?”
“No.”
“You’re under oath, Danny!” Hank snapped. “Don’t add perjury to the charge against you.”
“Is that any worse than first-degree murder?”
“Look at these knives. Do you recognize them?”
“No. I don’t recognize them.”
“Tell me the truth, Danny.”
“Objection!”
“These are the knives that were used in the murder of Rafael Morrez. Now, you recognize them, so don’t lie to me. I don’t want to hear lies.”
“Objection! Witness is being intimidated.”
“Overruled.”
“Do you recognize these knives, or don’t you?”
Danny hesitated. “Okay,” he said at last. “I think maybe I recognize them.”
“Never mind thinking maybe. Yes or no? Do you or don’t you?”
“All right, yes. I do.”
“Which one is yours?”
“I don’t know.”
“Which of these knives is yours, Danny?”
“I can’t remember. How do you expect me to remember?”
Hank extended one of the knives. “Is it this one?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look at it!”
“I am looking.”
“Is it your knife?”
“I don’t know.”
“Whose knife is it? It has a black handle and a silver stud. Did your knife have a black handle?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Then this isn’t your knife. Is that right?”
“I guess so.”
“If your knife didn’t have a black handle, this can’t be your knife, isn’t that right?”
“I suppose so.”
“Yes or no? Is this your knife, or isn’t it?”
“All right, no. It isn’t.”
Hank sighed. “Thank you. Now what about this other knife—with the mother-of-pearl handle? Is it yo
urs?”
“No.”
“These first two knives are not yours, is that correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“Then this last knife is yours, isn’t that also correct?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, look at the knife. Take a long look at it, and then tell me whether it’s the knife you used on July tenth.”
“Objection!”
“Sustained.”
“Just tell me if it’s your knife, Danny.”
“I don’t know.”
“When I came to visit you on Welfare Island, you told me you’d stabbed Morrez four times. Now is—”
“Objection!”
“Sustained.”
“Did you or did you not tell me you had stabbed Morrez four times?”
“I—I don’t remember what I told you. That was a long time ago.”
“Yes or no?”
“I … I … suppose I told you that.”
“That you stabbed Morrez?”
“Objection!”
“Overruled.”
“In self-defense,” Danny said.
“But you stabbed him, did you not?”
“Objection! Your Honor …”
“Overruled.”
“Yes,” Danny said. “In self-defense.”
“With this knife?”
“Objection!”
“Your Honor, I cannot examine this witness properly if my every word is challenged,” Hank said angrily. “I can see no objection to my line of questioning. If counsel for the defense would simply shut up and allow me to—”
“You’re leading the witness,” Randolph shouted.
“Damnit, you allowed him to take the stand, didn’t you?”
“Order! Order!” Samalson said firmly. “I want no such further outbursts! The line of questioning seems acceptable to this court. I must warn defense counsel against harassment of the district attorney. Witness will please answer the last question.”
“What—what was it?” Danny asked. He was beginning to perspire. He wiped sweat from his brow and his upper lip.
“Read back the question, please.”
“‘With this knife?’”
“Well, Danny?”
“What if it is my knife?”
“Answer the question!”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
“Thank you. Now tell me what happened on the night of July tenth.”
“I already told you.”
“Tell the court.”
“We were out for a walk,” Danny said, almost by rote. “Morrez jumped us. He had a knife in his hand. So we protected ourselves.”
“Whose idea was it to go for a walk?”
“We just got the idea. All of us together.”
“Who was it who first said, ‘Let’s go for a walk’?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Was it you?”
“No.”
“Aposto?”
“No.”
“Then it must have been Reardon.”
“I suppose so. Maybe it was Tower who got the idea to go for a walk.”
“Did he say he wanted to go for a walk?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Or did he say he wanted to go into enemy turf to stir up a little trouble?”
“Objection!”
“It was his idea to go into Spanish Harlem and start a little trouble, wasn’t it?”
“Objection!”
“Your Honor, you just warned …”
“And I must warn you, Mr. Bell, against leading your witness. Objection sustained. Strike both those questions.”
“Did Tower Reardon,” Hank said, “when he first brought up the subject of a walk, suggest that you walk into Spanish Harlem?”
“I don’t remember. I think he just said, ‘Let’s take a walk,’ or something like that.”
“Didn’t he say where?”
“Maybe.”
“Did he say, ‘Let’s walk over to Park Avenue’?”
“Maybe.”
“Did he say, ‘Let’s walk into Spanish Harlem?’”
“Maybe.”
“All right, when you got into Spanish Harlem, what did you do?”
“We started up the street …” Danny turned to Samalson. “Do I have to answer that?”
“The question is acceptable. You will answer it, please.”
“We just walked up the street.”
“Who was the first of you to spot Morrez?”
“I … I don’t know.”
“Tower?”
“Yes, I … I guess so. I don’t know. What difference does it make? We all stabbed him!”
A murmur went up in the courtroom. Hank leaned closer to Danny, and the murmur suddenly died.
“Why did you stab him, Danny?”
“He jumped us. He had a knife.”
“He had a harmonica, Danny!”
“What?”
“Isn’t that true? Didn’t he have a harmonica? It wasn’t a knife at all, was it?”
“I … I don’t know. It looked like a knife.”
“Then you knew it was a harmonica?”
“No, no, I’m just saying it looked like …”
“What did?”
“The harmonica, I told you! You just said it was a harmonica, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but when did you realize it was a harmonica?”
“Just this minute. I didn’t know until you—”
“You knew it was a harmonica when you stabbed him, didn’t you?”
“No. No, I thought it was a knife.”
“Who stabbed him first?”
“T-T-Tower.”
There was not a sound in the courtroom now. For Danny and Hank, the courtroom did not exist. They faced each other with the sweat streaking their faces, each straining forward as if to establish a contact which was somehow denied them.
“And who next?”
“Batman.”
“And then you?”
“Yes, yes. I don’t want to answer no more questions. I don’t want to—”
“How many times did you stab him?”
“Four, four.”
“Why?”
“I told you. He …”
“Why, Danny?”
“I don’t know!”
“You knew it was a harmonica, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”
“No!”
“You knew! You knew! Tell me the truth, Danny!”
Randolph leaped from his chair. “Just a minute here! Just a—”
“Tell me the truth! You knew it was a harmonica. You saw it!”
“Yes, yes, I knew,” Danny shouted. “All right? I knew.”
“Then why did you stab him?”
“I … I …”
“Why? Why, Danny? Why?”
“The—the—the others. Because the others … the others …”
“The others stabbed him?”
“Yes. Yes.”
“And so you stabbed him, too?”
“Yes. I stabbed him four times! What do you want from me? I stabbed him, I stabbed him, I stabbed him!”
“You didn’t stab him!” Hank shouted. “You’re lying!”
“What?” Danny said. “What?”
And then, before anyone fully realized what was happening, before the shock of Hank’s hurled words had worn off, he whirled to his table, snatched a blue folder from its top and thrust it at the court clerk. “I want this marked as evidence,” he said rapidly. “It’s a report from the New York City Police Laboratory on the weapons used in the Morrez slaying. The report states that the blades of only two of the knives were stained with blood. The blade of the third knife was clean. Only the handle of that knife had any blood on it.” He whirled back to Danny. “That was the knife you identified as yours, Danny! You turned the knife around, didn’t you? You only pretended to stab Morrez. You only struck his body with the handle of your knife!”
“No, no, I stabbed him!”
“Don’t lie, Danny! What the hell are you afraid of?”
“Order! Order!”
“I stabbed him, I stabbed him!”
“You’re lying!”
“I … I … I …”
And suddenly Danny Di Pace went limp. He slumped back into the chair, utterly resigned now, shaking his head over and over again, beginning to cry gently and quietly like a whimpering animal.
“Did you stab him?” Hank asked. His voice was almost a whisper.
“I never stabbed anybody in my life,” Danny mumbled through his tears. “Never, never, never. I never hurt nobody. Never, oh, Jesus, never, never.”
“All right, Danny,” Hank said gently.
“But I—I didn’t want them to think I was afraid. How could I let them know I was afraid? How could I do that?”
The reporters, led by Mike Barton, had already started their rush for the back doors. Mary Di Pace, sitting with her husband in the first row of benches, got to her feet and made an involuntary move toward her son.
“Order!” Samalson said quickly. “We will recess until two o’clock this afternoon. Will the district attorney and the defense counselors join me in my chambers immediately?” He rose.
“All rise!” the clerk shouted, and as Samalson swept out of the room, the court suddenly disintegrated into a rushing swirl of moving figures and raised voices.
On the witness chair, Danny Di Pace sobbed silently. Hank pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and said, “Here, son. Dry your eyes. It’s all over.”
“I shouldn’t be crying,” Danny said, trying to hold back the racking sobs. “Crying is for cowards.”
“Crying is for men, too,” Hank said, and he was grateful when Danny took the handkerchief.
He was stopped by Mary and her husband, stopped by the defense attorneys, stopped by the reporters who had made their rush calls and then hurried back into the courtroom. And finally he reached the side of his wife and daughter, and he held them to him, and Karin kissed him swiftly and cleanly and then looked up into his face, her eyes sparkling.
“You were wonderful!” she said.
“Daddy, Daddy!” Jennie said, and she squeezed his hand.
“I’ve got to go back to see Abe,” he told them. “Will you wait for me? We’ll have lunch together.”
“Hank, will there be trouble?”
“Maybe. I may lose my job, Karin.”
“There are other jobs,” she said.
“Yes. There are other jobs.” He paused. “I was scared stiff, Karin. Did it show? Could you tell my knees were trembling?”
“No, darling. You looked very brave—and very magnificent.”
“I was scared,” he said again. He paused. “But I’m not scared any more.” He laughed suddenly. “Damnit, all I am is hungry.”