Trap (9781476793177)

by Tanenbaum, Robert K.

  Karp retrieved the photograph, which he held up. “Your honor, I’d like to enter this photograph as People’s Exhibit 24 in evidence.”

  Rainsford looked at Mendelbaum. “Any objections?”

  “No, your honor.”

  Karp returned the photograph to the prosecution table and accepted another handed to him by Katz.

  “Did you loan the van to Mr. Forsling?”

  LaFontaine shook his head. “No, I told him that the cops could trace the van back to me and I didn’t want to get tangled up in whatever he intended to do. I also said I needed it to get to work.”

  “What happened next?”

  LaFontaine shifted in his chair as his face grew red and angry. “The son of a bitch pointed my own gun at me and said he was going to steal it. That’s when Jimmy Gerlach tried to take him, but that bastard shot ol’ Jimmy in the head and that was the end of him. I tried to go for my shotgun but he shot me, too.”

  “What about Robert Mencke?”

  “Yeah, he put a hot one in Bob’s chest.”

  “What happened next?”

  “He robbed my till, took my van, and left me lying in my own blood.”

  Karp walked over to LaFontaine. “Do you remember talking to Assistant District Attorney Ray Guma?”

  “I talked to some guy by that name.”

  “Do you remember when you first saw Mr. Guma?”

  “Hard to forget,” LaFontaine said. “I was lying on the floor of my bar, trying not to die, when that guy walked in from the back. He checked on me and my friends, and I heard him call 911.”

  “Did he ask you any questions?”

  “Yeah, he was trying to help me by putting pressure on the bullet wounds and asked if I knew who shot me and the others.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I said, ‘Lars Forsling did it.’ ”

  “What happened next?”

  “The ambulance arrived, and as they were putting me in, he kept asking questions. I think he thought I was a goner and wanted to make sure he got his answers.”

  “Such as?”

  “He wanted to know if I had any idea where Forsling might have gone. I told him the son of a bitch lived with his mom and was a night watchman at some nearby construction site on the East Side. I didn’t know much more than that.”

  Karp nodded. “Thank you, Mr. LaFontaine. No further questions.”

  Rainsford looked at the defense table. “Cross, Mr. Mendelbaum?”

  “Yes, your honor,” Mendelbaum said. He rose from his seat but remained standing behind the table. “I believe your testimony is that Lars Forsling had assumed a leadership role with your group?”

  “That’s right,” LaFontaine said.

  “And as such, organized your group’s attacks on Jewish businesses in November to celebrate the anniversary of Kristallnacht?”

  “Yep.”

  “And it was his idea to protest the book signing for Rose Lubinsky?”

  “Yes, that was him, too.”

  “And I believe your testimony was that you think it’s a good idea if you kill someone to not talk about it. Is that right?”

  “Only dead men tell no tales,” LaFontaine said.

  “Mr. LaFontaine, much has been made by my colleague, Mr. Karp, about Mr. Forsling having no previous history for violent crime. But he certainly exhibited quite a capacity for it when he shot you and your friends, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “So would you say that a man who is capable of gunning down three friends in cold blood might also be capable of planting a bomb to kill someone he didn’t like?”

  “Yeah, I suppose if you put it that way,” LaFontaine agreed, “you might say he was a cold-blooded killer.”

  “No further questions.”

  “Mr. Karp, do you have anything for redirect?” Rainsford asked.

  Karp, who had been checking his legal pad, rose to his feet. “Just a few, your honor,” he said, then looked at LaFontaine. “I just want to be clear. When Lars Forsling showed up at your bar after his release from jail, you thought that he was responsible for the car bombing the night before?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And his response was, ‘I didn’t do it.’ Is that correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And the reason he said he was agitated was that he blamed Detective Fulton and me for the death of his mother?”

  “Yes, that’s what he said.”

  “And that we unjustly suspected him of the car bombing?”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “And he wanted the gun and the van to exact some sort of revenge?”

  “Objection,” Mendelbaum said. “I don’t believe that there’s been any testimony regarding what Mr. Forsling intended to do with the gun or the van.”

  “Your honor, Mr. Mendelbaum is being disingenuous. He knows and very soon the jury will know exactly what the late Lars Forsling did and said immediately after he left The Storm Trooper bar. For purposes of establishing an accurate evidentiary chain of events, I suggest the court permit the question to stand, hear the answer, and take it subject to connection.”

  “Very well, but you know the rules, Mr. Karp,” Rainsford said. “I’ll overrule the objection; you may answer.”

  LaFontaine smirked at Karp. “Yeah, yeah, he wanted to get even with you.”

  Karp turned from the witness. “Thank you, your honor, I have no further questions.”

  “Mr. Mendelbaum, do you have any further questions for Mr. LaFontaine?”

  “No, your honor.”

  “Then the witness may leave the court,” Rainsford said.

  When he was gone, Rainsford addressed the jury. “Some of you may be wondering why I permitted this witness to utter those foul and upsetting, ugly racial epithets and vile religious references,” he said. “I allowed it so that you could be able to decide the facts of this case understanding the sometimes harsh and oppressive realities of who some of these witnesses are. I believe you will be better able now to decide the credibility of this witness having heard his testimonial utterances and observations without him being censored. Having said that, this will be a good time to take a break. We’ll meet back here in fifteen minutes.”

  22

  THE NEXT MORNING, KARP NODDED to Fulton, who was standing by the door in the side of the courtroom leading to the witness waiting room. “Your honor,” he said, “the People call Goldie Sobelman.” The detective opened the door and poked his head inside to say something. He then stepped back, holding the door ajar.

  Goldie Sobelman entered and for a moment stood transfixed and appeared to be frightened. Karp thought she looked a little like someone who had wandered into a Broadway theater from the street and found herself standing in a spotlight on a stage in front of a packed house. Her eyes searched the courtroom until they found whom she sought; she then relaxed and smiled.

  Karp glanced back at the front row behind the prosecution table, even though he knew who she was looking for, her husband, Moishe. He was smiling at her and then nodded his head in encouragement. She raised her head, and began to walk confidently past him toward the middle aisle that would bring her to the well of the court.

  She’s going to do fine, Karp thought. He and Marlene had invited the Sobelmans over to their loft the night before, partly to talk to Goldie about her testimony the next day, but mostly for social reasons. They hadn’t seen much of their old friends since the funeral for Rose Lubinsky nine months earlier. The rush of daily life, especially with two active teenage boys, an activist attorney wife, and the exigencies of being the chief law enforcement officer for New York County and its two-plus million souls, ate time like a starving dog eats a handout.

  The funeral services had been held at the Third Avenue synagogue with standing room only, and thousands more mourners packing the lobby, the outside stairs leading into the building, and the sidewalks below. Those in attendance represented a wide variety of pe
ople from the Jewish community, the association of charter schools, many of Rose’s former students and teaching colleagues, and a majority of the members of the temple’s congregation.

  At the services, Rabbi Michael Hamilburg praised Rose’s book as “cathartic both to Rose and to anyone who has dealt with the weight of their past—though in truth, I think Rose carried a far greater burden than she deserved—a testament to the power of forgiveness and love that will last on library shelves long after we have all passed.” He also talked about how her work to champion charter schools had been interrupted, “but we, her friends and those who loved her, must see to it that it hasn’t been destroyed. We must all pick up the mantle and carry her work forward.”

  The most moving eulogy was written by her husband, Simon, who asked Moishe to deliver it. As Goldie wept, huddled against Marlene, and Simon sat next to Karp, who kept his arm around the shaking shoulders of the old man, Moishe read:

  “I was blessed to have met and married Rose Kuratowski. I thought that she was the most beautiful woman in the world the moment I first saw her, but I had no idea that the beauty on the outside paled in comparison to the beauty that resided within. My Rose was all about love; her love for books, her love of quiet walks along the beach or through Central Park; her love of people, especially her friends and children—when we lost our son she poured all of that motherly love into helping the children of other people. And I will always be grateful and humble that she loved me as well. I never felt that I deserved the love of such an angel, but I tried every day to earn it. I will miss having that challenge until the day we meet again. I love you my Rose, your Simon.”

  At the request of Simon, Giancarlo then sang “Va, pensiero.” Listening, Karp thought his son’s voice had gained power and depth and apparently others agreed as there was not a dry eye in the audience. But what had surprised and impressed him the most was when the rabbi asked anyone who wanted to say a word to come forward and Zak rose from his seat.

  Taking the stage, Zak had at first experienced a case of stage fright and stood shifting from foot to foot, staring out at the congregation with a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. But then he’d looked down at his scribbled notes and cleared his throat.

  “A couple of weeks ago I was having second thoughts about going through with my bar mitzvah. My brother and I were older than everybody else in our class, but it was more than that. I was struggling with what it meant to be Jewish. Like I told my dad, I didn’t feel Jewish. I’d listen to what Rabbi Hamilburg said about our upcoming bar mitzvah, but I just felt like a fraud. I’d hear a story about some heroic Jew in the past, but it didn’t mean anything special to me.”

  Zak had looked then at his mother and father with a smile. “But I didn’t want to disappoint my folks, so I kept at it even though I wasn’t feeling it. No one was forcing me, and when I talked to Moishe about it he told me, ‘If you don’t feel Jewish in your heart and soul, then you should not go through with it.’ But I felt bad. I’d heard about everything that happened to my fellow Jews in the Nazi death camps and felt like I should keep going because of that, but again it just seemed like something that happened a long time ago and didn’t mean what I thought it should to me.

  “But then I came here to listen to Mrs. Lubinsky talk about what had happened to her and how it affected her life. At first I thought it was going to be the same story about the Nazis and how she had suffered and then overcame it. But it wasn’t like that, at least not all of it. The part that I identified with the most was how she struggled with the idea of being Jewish . . . that she didn’t feel it in her heart. She didn’t want to be a so-called ‘dirty Jew,’ as she said.”

  Zak paused and looked down at his feet. “I knew what she meant.” He looked back up again. “My dad says I shouldn’t say much about what happened to me and my brother and Goldie a few days ago so I’ll just tell you what I learned from it. And that’s this: being Jewish isn’t supposed to be easy. We’re not God’s chosen people because God is going to give us an easier life and more stuff than other people. In fact, it’s the opposite. Being God’s chosen people means He chose us to be constantly tested and challenged, to be attacked and singled out . . . to see if we have the courage and faith to remain Jewish in spite of it all. And I think I understand it all now, that being Jewish is a test and how I do on the test will determine what sort of man I will become. Knowing that God is looking over us all, I will work tirelessly to be a moral man and like Mrs. Lubinsky reach out and help the vulnerable and defenseless. And I have Rose Lubinsky to thank for teaching me that.”

  Thinking about Zak’s eulogy as he watched Goldie enter the well of the court and stand before Judge Rainsford to be sworn in, Karp allowed himself a moment of anger. Although death had been a constant companion for most of his career, her death had affected him as well. Seeing the impact her murder had had on so many people at her funeral left him incensed that such a good woman had died at the hands of those who worshipped at the altar of greed and power. That in order to accomplish their evil ends, Olivia Stone and Tommy Monroe employed an assassin to snuff out the life of Rose Lubinsky. In doing so, they had harmed not just Simon, or Rose’s friends like Goldie and Moishe Sobelman. Their selfishness and amoral lust for power threatened the dream of a better education and better future for tens of thousands of children. He’d used that anger and disgust to help him focus on putting together the case to convict the defendant Stone.

  After Monroe’s arrest and subsequent interrogation in Karp’s office with his attorney present, more vital information had come forward from an unexpected source. Having amassed sufficient evidence to convict the Brooklyn DA, Karp then sent Fulton to arrest her.

  Flanked by two other detectives from the New York DAO unit, Fulton had marched into her office and announced to the receptionist that he was there to see Olivia Stone. When the flummoxed woman said he’d have to wait because Stone was in a meeting, he’d marched past her and into the Kings County district attorney’s inner office and found her shredding documents.

  “She told me to get the hell out of her office, or she’d call the police,” Fulton reported to Karp. “I told her, ‘I am the police and you’re under arrest for murder in New York County.’ She started yelling about getting even with you, but then started crying and begged me to leave.”

  Fulton did leave . . . with Stone in tow, as well as her computer. He’d left the two other detectives to start going through documents, including the box of papers she’d been in the process of shredding.

  Stone had been brought to the conference room adjacent to Karp’s office, where in the presence of Fulton he informed her that she’d been indicted for acting in concert with Thomas Monroe and Yusef Salaam to murder Rose Lubinsky, Mary Calebras, and Tawanna Mohammad. She’d stared at him like he was some sort of alien creature but didn’t say a word.

  Suddenly a crack appeared in Stone’s façade. She began crying. “Please, you’re making a big mistake. It was all Monroe’s idea. Don’t do this.” Then she stopped, the tears dried up, and her face contorted into a mask of rage. “Everybody knows this is a political vendetta, Karp. I’ll fry your ass and you’ll be done in this town when I finish with you.” Then she began sobbing and begging for mercy. He’d pointed to the telephone and said, “I think you should make that call,” then he left the room, leaving her and Fulton.

  A half hour later, a high-priced white-shoe lawyer from a Wall Street firm showed up and was directed where to find his client. Karp gave them a half hour, then knocked on the door.

  The lawyer asked if there was a disposition to manslaughter doable as sort of “a gesture to a colleague in the prosecution business.”

  “Counselor, this is a ‘no lesser plea case’; the only disposition will be to murder,” Karp said.

  The attorney, now incensed that his alleged civility was repudiated, held up a hand before Stone could respond. “We’ll see you in court then, Karp. I hope you’re ready for hell to break loose on this
case.”

  “Is that a threat, counselor?” Karp asked mildly.

  “No, it’s a warning,” the attorney sneered.

  Later that day at Stone’s arraignment, the attorney’s attempt to have bail set for her was denied. She was remanded to Rikers Island pending trial and led away in tears. But the attorney then followed up on his threats by hitting the media circuit to depict Karp as a “loose-cannon conservative” and longtime advocate of a “racist” voucher system and “elitist” charter schools. “No one was more shocked by the death of Rose Lubinsky than my client,” he frothed on the air and in the newspapers. “But for Karp to use this tragedy to go after a political opponent whose support for the public school system is one of the high marks of her career is below loathsome. And who’s he protecting here? Who was the real killer? A Nazi, that’s who . . . sort of makes you wonder about just how far to the right his politics are, doesn’t it?”

  Stone soon got rid of that lawyer and hired Irving Mendelbaum. It was the first smart thing she’d done since her arrest. But it’s not going to save her, he thought as Goldie stepped up to the witness stand while James Farley poured her a cup of water.

  Waiting for her to get settled, Karp thought about how the previous day ended with Ray Guma on the stand. His longtime colleague revealed how the day after Lubinsky’s murder, he’d talked to a member of the NYPD Gang Unit, who suggested that he go to The Storm Trooper bar to locate Forsling’s associates.

  “Just as I was being dropped off, I heard what sounded like muffled gunshots from down the block,” Guma testified. “But in New York it’s hard to tell the difference between that and cars backfiring.”

  Guma said he’d proceeded to the bar. “A sign in the window said they were open, but the door was locked,” he said. “I knocked but no one answered. So I decided to go around back to see if I could find someone that way. I’d just reached the alley when I was nearly hit by a white van; it didn’t stop before taking off into traffic.”

  “Did you get a look at the driver?” Karp had asked.