Suffering Fools

by Ed Gaffney

  3. DATE: 03/19/04. Armed robbery, night; murder.

  Note: Multiple enemy issues, multiple disciplinary

  report issues. See disciplinary file for details.

  Massachusetts Correctional Institution Inmate

  Status Report as of September 8, 2004

  TEDESCO, ROGER. aka Robert Tedesco,

  Robert Rogers, Ted Rogers.

  DOB: March 30, 1971

  Height: 74 inches

  Weight: 200 lbs

  Dist. Marks: Barbed-wire tattoo, left bicep; scar, left eyebrow

  Inmate #: W-79032

  Incarceration Status: Parole Fugitive

  05/24/04–Present (CH 9)

  Parole 01/05/04–05/23/04

  (CH9)

  MCI–Bayview,

  07/31/00–01/04/04 (CH9)

  MCI–Wakefield,

  02/22/00–07/30/00 (CH9)

  Probation,

  10/13/99–02/21/00 (CH8)

  MCI–Wakefield,

  01/01/98–10/12/99 (CH8)

  Probation,

  11/28/97–12/31/97

  (CH3–7)

  MCI–Whitemarsh,

  09/19/95–11/27/97

  (CH3–7)

  Probation,

  08/23/95–08/23/96 (CH2)

  MCI–Whitemarsh,

  08/23/94–08/22/95

  (CH1–2)

  Probation,

  04/04/93–07/05/93 (CH1)

  MCI–Bayview,

  01/15/93–04/03/93 (CH1)

  Criminal History (convictions only):

  1. DATE: 01/15/93. Assault and battery.

  2. DATE: 08/23/94. Possession Class B with intent to

  distrib.

  3. DATE: 09/19/95. Armed robbery.

  4. DATE: 09/19/95. Violation 209A Order.

  5. DATE: 09/19/95. Assault and Battery with Dangerous

  Weapon.

  6. DATE: 09/19/95. Kidnapping.

  7. DATE: 09/19/95. Illegal possession firearm.

  8. DATE: 01/01/98. Larceny.

  9. DATE: 02/22/00. Possession Class B less than 28 g.

  September 8, 2004

  Day 2 of the Babe Gardiner trial

  MARIA LOOKED AT THE TWO CRIMINAL HISTORY sheets, and there it was, clear as day. Babe Gardiner and Roger Tedesco had been incarcerated in MCI–Bayview at exactly the same time, for about two months, back in 2000. The lawyer was right. There was a connection other than their employer.

  She was sitting with Anthony in the office of Ward Tyson, the associate commissioner of the Department of Corrections—the man with the worst haircut Maria had seen since her uncle Ernesto went to that overpriced thief barber in Worcester. Apparently, Tyson, Anthony, and Anthony’s boyfriend, Joe, had been good friends back when they were in grad school together, and they had remained in touch.

  Although what Anthony and this man—with his Julius Caesar short bangs and his nasty brown checked polyester blazer—ever had in common was hard to imagine.

  Regardless of how lame they might look, Maria sure wished she had some big-shot government friends like Ward Tyson. Although if she’d had a choice, she probably would have picked someone working for a different agency than the Department of Corrections.

  But thanks to Anthony, even though she didn’t have friends in high places, she had a big fat half-million-dollar life insurance policy, already in effect.

  It was amazing how much better that made her feel. Oh, she was still plenty scared working for Anthony on this case. Every time somebody slammed a door shut, Maria jumped about ten feet into the air. But now, she didn’t feel quite so foolish when she pushed her way through the fear.

  “And I can get you some more detailed stuff, but it’s going to take me a minute.” Tyson moved his mouse around, then clicked it a couple of times. “Okay, here we go. Some of these records aren’t the greatest, because they’re just the officers’ handwritten logs that we scanned in over the past few years. But the police have found them to be very helpful. In fact, a detective out of Springfield was here the other day. She was looking for Tedesco, too.”

  He hit a button, and a printer hummed to life. When the last of several pages emerged from the machine, he gathered them up and passed them over to Anthony. “I hope this helps,” he said.

  Anthony took the sheets of paper, glanced at them, handed them to Maria, and then looked back up at Tyson. “Thanks, Ward,” he replied. “You know how it goes—head down, legs moving.” Anthony used that phrase a lot. It had something to do with football. Basically, it just meant working hard.

  Tyson smiled and nodded. “Even when they’re shooting at you?”

  “Especially then.”

  Maria studied the papers while the two friends started to share some memories of the old days.

  Even though Tedesco had had a prison record, nobody had thought to look into that as a possible connection with Babe Gardiner because Babe had never gotten any jail time for his prior offenses. He’d pleaded guilty both times and had gotten probation.

  But what they had all forgotten was that when Babe was arrested for stealing that car radio, not only had he committed a crime—he’d also violated his probation on the drug charge. So he’d been thrown in jail, pending the resolution of the larceny charge, with a pretty high bail. His mother hadn’t been able to come up with the bail money because she was sick and out of work at the time.

  So for about six weeks, between the time that Babe got arrested and the time he pleaded guilty, he was locked up at MCI–Bayview, in the same cell as Roger Tedesco. In fact, thanks to a temporary overcrowding situation at the prison, a third inmate had shared the cell with them for about a month during that time. Some guy named David Zwaggert.

  Tyson was handing a copy of another form to Anthony. “Here’s the only contact information I have on Tedesco, but I doubt it’s going to do any good. First of all, it’s about four years old, and second, I’m sure that Tedesco’s parole officer already gave this to the detective who’s looking for him. Warrants have been issued, the state cops have been notified, the whole nine yards. I doubt you’ll be able to track him down before they do, but you’re welcome to try.”

  “And how about the visitor logs?” Anthony asked.

  “Oh yeah.” Tyson moved his mouse around, and clicked again, saying, “This is going to be a little bulky.” When the final page emerged from the printer, Tyson handed them all to Anthony.

  “Thanks, Ward,” he said, as they all stood and shook hands.

  “Stay safe,” Tyson said. “They’re saying this Tedesco guy could well be armed and dangerous. They have no idea why he bolted.”

  Good thing that life insurance policy was in place.

  A LIGHT MIST WAS FALLING WHEN VERA PULLED up to the Regal Estates Apartments, home of Roger Tedesco’s mother. The lofty name of the place merely emphasized the dilapidated condition of the building. It looked terrible.

  Vera hurried into the lobby through the main door, and the broken lock allowed her entrance into the core of the building. She found Apartment 16 at the end of the hall on the second floor, and rang the bell.

  A little dog started barking. Then a woman’s voice screamed, “Shut up, Barnaby! Get in the damned bathroom!” The barking stopped, and an interior door slammed shut. Then footsteps approached, and the entry door swung open. A thin, gray-haired, wrinkled woman smoking a cigarette asked, “Are you the detective?” as Vera presented her identification and badge.

  According to the parole officer, who had spoken to her some weeks ago, Mrs. Tedesco had been about as useful as a blizzard in May. But Vera really didn’t have anywhere else to turn.

  The fugitive’s mother looked much older and frailer than Vera had expected. Of course, having a son like Roger probably aged a mother pretty quickly. When they had spoken on the phone earlier today, for some reason, Vera had imagined a more robust-looking woman. Maybe that was because of her no-nonsense attitude toward her son’s disappearance. There was no question that Mrs. Tedesco would cooperate
in trying to find Roger. She wanted absolutely no part of her son’s criminal behavior, and was only too happy to help the police or anybody else find him and try to straighten him out.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m Detective Demopolous. May I come in?”

  The dog started yapping again. “Shut up, Barnaby!” screeched Mrs. Tedesco. Then she turned back to Vera. “Sure. Come on back and have a seat.” As they headed into the apartment, she continued, “But like I already told that parole officer, I have no idea where Roger is. He called me exactly once after he got out of jail, and that was more than a month ago, asking for money.” She looked down and sniffed, then shook her head and laughed softly, but without any humor. “Said he would pay me back.”

  The living room in Mrs. Tedesco’s apartment was no smaller than Irene Quarrels’s, but somehow it managed to be a whole lot more depressing. And not just because Barnaby was whining from the bathroom.

  The entire place smelled like wet dog. The paint was peeling on the ceiling over the small television in the corner, which was tuned to a rerun of some game show. Mercifully, it was muted. There was a single chair in front of the TV with a small book of crossword puzzles sitting on the frayed upholstery of the arm. Several stains on the carpet attested to Barnaby’s toilet habits, and the sole window looked out upon the Dumpster stationed in the apartment’s parking lot.

  Mrs. Tedesco led Vera into the kitchen, where a card table and a couple of chairs were set up in a corner, under a small crucifix hanging on the wall. A nearly full ashtray, a pack of cigarettes, a glass of soda, a badly worn deck of playing cards, and a small book sat on the table in front of the seat that Mrs. Tedesco went for. Vera sat in the other.

  “I’m sure the parole officer went over this,” Vera said apologetically, “but we’re also looking to find Roger. Right now we have no idea what’s happened to him, so if you don’t mind…” Her voice trailed off as she opened her notebook.

  “I don’t mind at all,” replied Mrs. Tedesco. “I just don’t think there’s anything I can help you with.”

  “Well, my grandmother always says, ‘When you got nothing, sometimes a little looks like a lot.’ And right now, I got nothing. So whatever you can tell me is going to look pretty good.”

  Mrs. Tedesco flicked the ash off her cigarette and smiled. “Your grandmother sounds like a pretty smart lady.” She took a sip of soda, put the glass down, and looked up at Vera. “Why don’t we put our heads together and see if we can find this lost soul before he does something we all really regret?”

  ELMO WAS SWEATING, AND NOT JUST BECAUSE IT was hot. He took a hit of beer.

  He was watching the trial on TV, and the A.D.A., this kid named Lovell, was giving his opening statement.

  There wasn’t actually too much to see. The way they had the camera set up, it faced the judge, who was in the center of the shot, and the witness stand, which was to the right of the judge on the screen. In the center of the foreground, directly in front of the judge, you could see the podium and the back of Lovell’s head and shoulders as he made his opening remarks.

  The jury was off to the far right, out of the view of the camera. But just to the right of the podium you could see where Lovell sat during the trial, and just to the left of the podium you could see one of the defendant’s lawyers at their table, and to the left of him was Babe Gardiner, the defendant, in his prison-issue orange jumpsuit.

  The problem was that Lovell sounded so matter-of-fact. He was telling the jury what the Commonwealth’s case was against Gardiner. It should have sounded good—Christ, they had the victim’s ID and a DNA match—but the prosecutor wasn’t putting anything extra into it. He didn’t sound angry, or upset, or much of anything. Just kind of straightforward.

  Elmo took another swig of beer. He didn’t have any margin of error in this case. He would have been a whole lot more comfortable if the A.D.A. sounded like one of those guys on television, banging on the table and screaming, like his life depended on whether the defendant was convicted.

  Because Elmo’s life depended on whether the defendant was convicted.

  If Gardiner went down for this murder, like he was supposed to, everything was going to be fine. But if the stringy-haired idiot somehow beat this thing, then shit was going to fly all over the place, and Elmo had no desire to see that happen.

  He had done a lot of work to make sure this played out right. Messages had been sent, people had been talked to, things were already in place. It really didn’t make sense for Elmo to get any more directly involved.

  But just in case, he was going to be having dinner over the next few nights with Wally.

  Because if this kid Lovell didn’t wake up and start lighting a fire under somebody’s ass, and if the trial started to head south, there was no question that Elmo was going to get directly involved.

  Seriously directly involved.

  TWENTY

  ASSISTANT DISTRICT ATTORNEY LOVELL: We will present evidence that on the night of March 19, 2004, a young man named Steve Hirsch was working alone at the Nite & Day Convenience Store on Route 15 in New Wilton. And we will present evidence that at about 11:45 P.M. that night, the defendant entered that store, threatened Mr. Hirsch, overpowered him at knifepoint, and then robbed the cash register of approximately one hundred dollars and some lottery tickets. He also told Mr. Hirsch that he would kill him if he reported the robbery, and then he ran off.

  We will also present evidence that on the following day, Mr. Hirsch did not show up for work. And later, on July 6, nearly three months after the robbery, Mr. Hirsch’s body was found, locked in the trunk of an abandoned car, in the woods in the town of Overton. His skull had been crushed.

  The evidence will also show that DNA tests done on certain strands of hair found on the victim’s body revealed that the hairs were, almost certainly, the defendant’s hairs.

  And then, after all of the evidence has been heard, at the end of the trial, I will address you again. And at that time, I will ask you to return a verdict of guilty.

  Thank you.

  THE COURT: Ladies and gentlemen, as you know, our system of criminal justice here in the United States puts the entire burden of proof on the Commonwealth. In other words, the defendant has no obligation to say anything, and the defense attorneys are under no obligation to make a single statement, or ask a single question. If the Commonwealth fails to prove to you beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant committed a crime, then you are obliged to return a verdict of not guilty, whether he has raised a defense or not.

  And that extends to the opening statement. There is no obligation on the defense to make such a statement, and I have been advised that defense counsel wishes to defer making an opening statement. Later on in the case, after the prosecution has presented its evidence, if the defense wishes to do so, it may make an opening statement at that time. Of course, it may also choose to decline to make such a statement….

  (Commonwealth v. Gardiner, Volume II, pages 18–21)

  Hostage

  SHE WAS GOING TO HAVE TO MOVE FAST TO GET help in time.

  She crept to the open door to see how to get past her kidnapper, and froze.

  The flood of information that washed over her at that moment was so intense, she actually blinked and staggered back, as if she had been physically hit by everything she suddenly knew.

  First, her captor, probably knowing that he was in danger of falling asleep, was sitting in a big easy chair which he had moved directly into the doorway. He was still asleep, but there were only two ways she could leave the room—move the chair, which was going to be impossible with him in it, or climb over it, which would be sure to wake him up.

  And second, just a few feet in front of the chair a television set was on with the volume turned down, tuned to the local news channel. A reporter was standing outside a courthouse, speaking into a microphone she held. Then the picture changed, and the screen was filled with the mug shot of a thin young man with very stringy hair.

  And
suddenly, she remembered everything.

  Including who she was.

  BY THE TIME LOUIS LOVELL STEPPED ONTO THE bus, just about everyone else—all fourteen jurors, the court reporter, the clerk, and the defense attorneys—were already on board. Louis took his seat across the aisle from the other lawyers, just as Judge Park and his court officer joined them. Everybody but the judge sat down, and he began to speak as the bus pulled away from the curb and started down past the expensive clothing stores on State Street.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, as I mentioned to you yesterday, today we are going to interrupt the testimony portion of the trial to travel together to certain locations that the attorneys have decided would be best for you to see in order to assist you in performing your duties in the trial.

  “First, we will be visiting the Nite & Day Convenience Store, in New Wilton. The way we will proceed is that when we reach the location, we will all exit the bus together, and we will stay together, because the lawyers will have some brief remarks….”

  Judge Park was a good judge. He knew the law, and he managed to put a great deal of energy and effort into all of his criminal trials—at least the ones Louis had done—without attempting to influence the outcome. He seemed to accept the notion that justice was served if a criminal defendant received a fair trial, period. Regardless of the verdict.

  That was impressive. Sometimes it was really tempting for judges to try to tip the scales in favor of the prosecution. Especially for those judges who had worked as prosecutors before they were on the bench. But that was not only a perversion of the system, it often backfired, distorting the trial so badly that the defendant ended up winning a new trial on appeal.

  The bus turned down Spring Street, passing the sandwich place where Louis ate lunch when the weather was nice enough to walk from the courthouse. Then it turned at the corner past the Parade Theatre, where the local community group still put on musicals twice a year, the costume shop next door, and lastly Freddie’s Pizza Shop, before finally merging onto the ramp for the interstate.