Tragic

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  “He was going to Manhattan . . . to a restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen called Marlon’s.”

  “And what was the purpose of his trip?”

  “He was going to meet with Charlie Vitteli.”

  “Would you please tell the jury who Charlie Vitteli is?”

  Karp watched as Antonia grimly struggled to avoid saying what she really wanted to say. He nodded ever so slightly. “Did they work together?”

  “Yes,” Antonia said. “They both worked for the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores, a dockworkers’ union. Mr. Vitteli had recently taken over the union. He and Vince both ran for union president. Charlie . . . won. . . . Vince lost.”

  “I see,” Karp said inwardly breathing a sigh of relief that he and Antonia had navigated the waters of how much to say about Charlie Vitteli. “How did your husband get to the meeting at Marlon’s Restaurant?”

  “His driver, Randy McMahon, took him.”

  “What, if anything, did your husband do just before he left the house to go to this meeting?”

  “He removed a note he’d written on a sticky pad and put it in his pocket.”

  “And what had he written down?”

  “The license plate number of a car.”

  Karp turned toward the jurors. “Would you please explain to the jury the significance of this license plate number?”

  “Yes,” she said, but then faltered for a moment as she choked up. “I’m sorry. . . . Three days before my husband was murdered, a car stopped by our house in the evening.”

  “Who was in the car?”

  “Three young men. Two came to the door and the other stayed in the car.”

  “Did you know these young men?”

  Antonia looked over at the defense table and shook her head. “No. We did not know them.”

  Karp walked over to the prosecution table and picked up five photographs marked People’s Exhibit Twenty-Five A–E inclusive. “Mrs. Carlotta, do you recall that last January I showed you photographs of different cars?” he asked, handing them to her.

  “Yes, I remember that.”

  “Please tell the jury how you know these are the same photographs?”

  “Because you asked me to put my initials and the date on the side of each photograph, which I did.”

  “And did you then identify one of these photographs?”

  “Yes. This one right here, Exhibit Twenty-Five D.”

  “And what is the significance of Twenty-Five D?”

  “It’s the same car the men who came to my house drove.”

  Turning to the judge, Karp said, “Your Honor, I ask that People’s Exhibit Twenty-Five D be placed into evidence.”

  “Any objection, Mr. Clooney?”

  “May I ask a few questions?” Clooney said, rising. “I have one important one.”

  “Please proceed, Mr. Clooney.”

  “Mrs. Carlotta, Exhibit Twenty-Five D shows a Delta 88 sedan car, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And there are many Delta 88 sedan cars, right?”

  “Yes, I believe there are.”

  “Tens of thousands?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “So this car is just one of thousands of Delta 88 sedans, isn’t it, Mrs. Carlotta?”

  “Not exactly, Mr. Clooney.”

  “What?”

  “Well, Mr. Clooney, while there may be thousands of Delta 88 sedans, I haven’t seen one with a large gray spot on the trunk that sort of looks like a dragon on any other car.” Antonia Carlotta picked up the photograph and showed it to Clooney.

  Having walked into another trap, Clooney was speechless. Judge See again broke the silence and asked, “Mr. Clooney, do you have any more questions.”

  “No, Your Honor,” the defense attorney mumbled and sat down.

  Judge See nodded. “Having heard your voir dire of the witness on the admissibility of the People’s Exhibit Twenty-Five D, I now receive it into evidence.”

  Karp smiled. The first time Antonia told him that the large splotch of gray primer on the trunk of Miller’s car looked like a dragon, he’d seen it right away and knew the jurors would, too.

  Retrieving the photograph, Karp remained in the well of the courtroom. “Did you see this car at some point prior to when these young men drove up to your house?”

  “Yes. When we came home from the store that night, we passed that car. It was parked in front of the Hudson Day School up the street from our home.”

  “You’re sure it was this car?”

  “Well, yes, it was unusual to see a car like that—an older car—in that neighborhood. I noticed it and the big gray dragon spot.”

  “Was there anyone in the car when you passed it?”

  “I couldn’t see them clearly, but yes, I saw at least two heads in our lights,” Antonia said. “When we passed, I looked over and saw someone standing next to the hedge, like he was trying to hide. But we passed quickly and it was dark.”

  “Were there any other indications that someone was in the car?”

  “Yes. Someone was smoking I think; smoke was coming from a back window.”

  “Could you tell which window?”

  “I believe the back right-hand side.”

  Karp walked over toward the easel. “Mrs. Carlotta, can you see this aerial photograph easily from your seat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you seen the photograph before?”

  “Yes. You showed it to me in January and again a few days ago in your office. It’s an aerial photograph of our home . . . what was our home and neighborhood.”

  “That’s correct,” Karp said. He pointed to the photograph. “Mrs. Carlotta, there is a circle with the letter ‘C’ in the center. Does that accurately reflect where the car containing the unknown men was parked the night of December second?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what direction would you have been coming from when you passed the car?”

  “We came from the side and rear of the car. That’s why I noticed the gray paint on the trunk.”

  Karp walked back over to the prosecution table, where he picked up a plastic bag containing the sticky-note pad before he returned to the well of the court. “Mrs. Carlotta, after your husband’s murder did an attorney named Marlene Ciampi come to your house?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what, if anything, did you discuss with her regarding the license plate number and a notepad?”

  “I told her that Vince wrote the number down but that he took the note with him.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I showed her the notepad on Vince’s desk on which he wrote the license plate number of the car the men were in.”

  “And what did Marlene do?”

  “She used a pencil to shade the top page so she could see the imprint of what Vince wrote.”

  Karp walked over and handed her the bag containing the sticky note. “And would this be the page she shaded?”

  “Yes.”

  After Karp returned it to the prosecution table, he asked, “And did you tell Marlene anything else about the young men?”

  “Yes. I told her where they had been parked near the school.”

  “And what did she do?”

  “She asked to see where the car had been parked.”

  “And did you show her?”

  “Yes. We both walked there.”

  “And did Ms. Ciampi do anything while you were there?”

  “She found a cigarette butt,” Antonia responded. “And then asked me if I would go get some envelopes from my house.”

  “And you did that.”

  “Yes.”

  “How long did it take you to go to your home, get the envelopes, and return?”

  Antonia thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. “A few minutes. I tried to hurry.”

  “When you returned, was someone else with Marlene?”

  “Yes, Detective Fulton was there,” she said.

  “And what did he do
?”

  “I guess he took over,” Antonia said. “He and Marlene looked for cigarette butts and he found the beer bottle. Then some other officers arrived. . . . I believe they were there to help with the evidence.”

  Karp nodded and walked over toward the defense table. “Mrs. Carlotta, did you tell the police investigators who came to your house after your husband’s murder about the three young men who came to your home?”

  Antonia shrugged. “I’m not sure what I told them,” she said. The young woman’s head dropped and she covered her face with her hands. Walking quickly over to the witness stand, Karp picked up a box of tissues and offered it to her. “Take your time,” he said gently. “I know this is tough.”

  Antonia took one of the tissues and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “It’s still so raw.” She dabbed at her eyes again, blew her nose lightly, then looked at Karp. “When they came and said that Vince was dead . . . murdered . . . I fell apart. I know someone, a paramedic I think, gave me some medication to calm me and help me sleep. I spoke to detectives again the next day, but I don’t think I told them about the three young men. They asked me if Vince was worried about any threats and I told them—”

  “Mrs. Carlotta,” Karp interjected quickly, “let me interrupt you for a moment. I’m not asking what you told the police about anyone other than the three young men.”

  Antonia understood and bit her lip. “It never came up. And to be honest, I didn’t think of it until Ms. Ciampi asked me.”

  Karp walked slowly over toward the defense table. “Mrs. Carlotta, you testified that neither you nor your husband had seen the three young men before that night. Did these young men say what they wanted?”

  “Only one spoke. He said they were dockworkers from San Francisco and were looking for work.”

  “What did your husband tell them?”

  “He told them to show up at the docks the next day and apply.”

  “And did your husband comment on their visit after they left?”

  “Yes. He said that he didn’t believe they were dockworkers.”

  “Why not?”

  “He shook the one man’s hand. It was soft, like he didn’t work with his hands.”

  “After the men left, what did your husband do?”

  “He wrote down the license plate number of the car with the gray paint on the trunk.”

  “Did he say why he did that?”

  “He told me there had been some burglaries in the neighborhood and that maybe these men were involved. He said he was going to turn the note over to the police.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Antonia paused for a moment before answering. “Because I knew he was lying,” she said. “Although we were only married for two years, I knew him better than anyone. He was such an honest man that he was a very bad liar. I knew he was worried about the men but not because he thought they were burglars.”

  Karp was now standing directly in front of the defense table when he asked, “Mrs. Carlotta, was there anything distinguishable about the man who did most of the talking?”

  “Yes, he had rather odd eyes, set wide apart . . . and bad teeth.”

  As he’d planned, Karp noticed the jurors turn to look at Bebnev, who blushed at the description and looked angry. “Was there anything else about this man?”

  “Yes, he spoke with a Russian accent.”

  “How do you know it was Russian?”

  “I worked in Russia when I was a model,” Antonia replied. “I am very familiar with the accent.”

  “Mrs. Carlotta, in December of last year, you were asked to view three different police lineups each with about a half-dozen men through a one-way mirror, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And were you able to identify any of the men in the first lineup?”

  Antonia shook her head. “No, I did not recognize any of those men.”

  “If one of those men was the driver of the car, is it possible you would not have been able to identify him?”

  “I did not see the driver,” she replied. “He stayed in the car and I didn’t look.”

  “Did your husband see him?”

  “Not very well. But he said he had red hair.”

  “And were you able to identify any of the men in the second lineup?”

  “I wasn’t completely sure, but I thought one of the men looked like the second man—the one standing behind the Russian.”

  “And is that man in the courtroom now?”

  Antonia nodded and looked over at the defense team. “Yes, he is the man sitting on the far right of that table,” she said.

  “You’re sure? You weren’t quite as positive at the lineup.”

  “He stood sort of back and to the side, but I did see his face briefly and I’m sure that’s him now.”

  “Let the record show that the witness identified Frank DiMarzo,” Karp said. “And Mrs. Carlotta, were you able to identify anyone in the third lineup?”

  This time Antonia’s eyes hardened as she looked at Bebnev, who glared back at her. “Yes,” she said, her voice coming out as a hiss. She didn’t waver when she raised her hand and pointed at Bebnev. “That’s him sitting on the left-hand side.”

  His accuser’s identification seemed to unnerve Bebnev for a moment. He licked his lips nervously and shook his head as Karp moved to stand directly in front of him. This time it was Karp who pointed, his finger just a couple of feet from the Russian’s face. “This man here,” Karp said.

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  Karp turned to the court reporter. “Let the record reflect that the witness identified Alexei Bebnev.”

  “So be it,” Judge See agreed. “Any further questions, Mr. Karp?”

  “Not at this time, Your Honor.”

  “Thank you. Mr. Clooney, you may question the witness.”

  The defense attorney rose from his seat but did not move from behind the table. “Mrs. Carlotta, were you present when your husband was murdered?”

  Antonia frowned. “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Did you see or hear the man or men who fired the shots that killed your husband?”

  “No, of course not, I said I wasn’t—”

  “Then the only time you say you’ve seen my clients was the night that you claim that they came to your house looking for work?”

  “Well, yes—”

  “And this conversation lasted how long?”

  “A few minutes, that’s all.”

  “And was it dark outside?”

  “Yes, but the porch light was on.”

  “But you saw these men for maybe a couple of minutes at the most?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you weren’t sure that Mr. DiMarzo was one of the men when you saw him in the lineup?”

  “I wasn’t sure. I am now.”

  “You are now, five months later.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re absolutely sure that my client, Mr. Bebnev, was the man who spoke to your husband?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Clooney pursed his lips. “And it’s not because you saw him in the police lineup.”

  “No. I knew it was him as soon as I saw him in the lineup.”

  “Mrs. Carlotta, are you aware that Ms. Ciampi is the wife of District Attorney Karp?”

  “She told me that, yes.”

  “And before she came to your house, did you go up the street to the school where you claim the defendants were parked on the night of December second?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “So you really have no idea if those cigarette butts and beer bottle were there before Ms. Ciampi’s arrival?”

  Antonia looked confused. She shook her head. “No, I guess not.”

  “But you didn’t mention these men to the police who came to your house after the murder of your husband?”

  “No. I . . . I didn’t make the connection.”


  “And in fact, you didn’t make this connection until Marlene Ciampi showed up at your house.”

  “It came up during our conversation.”

  “Yes, how convenient,” Clooney scoffed. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Karp?”

  Karp walked in front of his table. “Mrs. Carlotta, do you stand by your statements that three men, including the two defendants who you just identified, came to your house several nights before your husband’s murder?” Karp asked, his voice starting to rise with the anger he felt.

  “Yes.”

  “They parked across the street and waited for you to arrive?”

  “Yes.”

  “They walked up to your door and asked for work, claiming they were dockworkers from San Francisco?

  “Yes, all of that is true.”

  Karp’s expression suggested to the jurors that he shouldn’t have even had to ask his last question. “Mrs. Carlotta, has anyone ever come to your house in New Rochelle in the dark of night, or any other time of the day for that matter, looking for a job with your husband’s union?”

  Antonia shook her head. “No. Never.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Carlotta. No further questions.”

  23

  “MR. VITTELI, I KNOW YOU’VE been through this with the police and the District Attorney’s Office, but one last time for the record, would you describe the events leading up to Mr. Carlotta’s murder?”

  Looking up at Charlie Vitteli on the witness stand, Conrad Clooney leaned nonchalantly against the jury rail with his hands in the pockets of his expensive gray silk suit as if he was quietly discussing politics at a Madison Avenue cocktail party. The look on his face was one of polite concentration and studied confidence.

  “Well, we’d just come out of Marlon’s—me, Vince, Joey, and Jackie—where we’d been discussing union business over a couple of beers,” Vitteli recalled. “We turned the corner and we’re walking down the sidewalk towards where we’d parked—Vince had sent his driver ahead to get his car warmed up—when these two yahoos jumped out of the alley. One of ’em had a gun or I’d have—”

  “Let me interrupt you for a moment,” Clooney said, pushing away from the rail and slowly strolling over to stand in front of Vitteli. “These—how did you describe them?—yahoos . . . how were they dressed?”