Tragic

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  “Am I correct then to state that so long as you, Vitteli, and Barros controlled the union and its accounting, the three of you were safe from discovery?” Karp asked.

  “Yes. However, if someone had any suspicions and a qualified independent auditor with real access to the books, it would have fallen apart like a house of cards.”

  “Did there come a time when the three of you became concerned that this house of cards might be in jeopardy?”

  “Yes. Just before my father, Leo, died, Vitteli was worried that he was getting ready to name Vince Carlotta to succeed him as president,” Corcione said. “That would have been a disaster for us, because we knew Vince would have insisted on an audit when he took over, if for no other reason than to follow the money in and out of the union.”

  “What happened?”

  The question seemed to strike Corcione hard. He started to speak but choked up and wiped at his eyes. Finally, he said quietly, “My father died. So there was an election for union president between Mr. Carlotta and Vitteli.”

  “Who won?”

  “Vitteli.”

  “Was it a fair election?”

  “No. Vitteli and Barros, along with some of the old guard who were paid off or owed favors, rigged the results. Otherwise Vince would have won, and we would have been caught.”

  For the next twenty minutes, Karp led Corcione through the history of Carlotta’s attempt to demand that the allegations of fraud be investigated, including by the U.S. Department of Labor. “Where Vitteli had a spy who made sure he intercepted the complaint and let us know what was going on,” Corcione testified.

  “Do you know the name of this spy?”

  “No,” Corcione replied. “Vitteli likes to keep those sorts of things to himself; he doesn’t want anybody besides himself to know everything about his business.”

  Karp glanced at the clock. Corcione’s testimony about siphoning funds and election fraud was important for the jury to understand. Motive, although not required to be proven, was certainly extraordinary to explain to the jurors to have them understand the underlying reasons for the defendant to commit the crime.

  “Your Honor,” he said to the judge. “Mr. Corcione will be on the stand for the remainder of the day, but I’ve reached a place where it might be good to recess for the afternoon break.”

  Judge See nodded. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I have some scheduling issues on several unrelated cases that will extend our regular afternoon break for about forty-five minutes, so we will reconvene in about an hour.”

  30

  THE SOUND OF JUDGE SEE’S gavel had barely echoed around the courtroom before Karp was striding down the aisle and out the doors, headed for his office. He hoped for two things: that Guma was still questioning Anne Devulder and that no one had made off with his copy of the New York Times.

  He reached his office’s reception area just as the three women in the company of Fulton and Guma were about to leave. Asking the women to wait with the detective, he pulled Guma back into his inner office. “How’d it go?” he asked quietly.

  “Great,” Guma replied. “Pretty damning when put in context with the rest of our case.”

  “Where are they going now?” Karp asked.

  “We were just arranging an escort to the East Village Women’s Shelter. Marlene set it up and got it okayed by the director, at least until we figure out something better.”

  Karp nodded and then poked his head out of the door. “Anne, could I speak to you alone for a minute, please?”

  The woman looked apprehensively at her friends, but they smiled and nodded in his direction so she relaxed and entered the office. “I told Mr. Guma everything I know,” she said, like a child who thought she was in trouble.

  “I’m sure you did,” Karp replied. “And again, I can’t thank you enough for your cooperation. I don’t know for sure, but I may need you to testify in this trial.”

  A wave of fear passed over Devulder’s face, but then she said, “I understand. I should have come in sooner.”

  “What matters is that you’re here now,” Karp replied, “but I want to go over two points you made when you and I first talked. I just want to be clear about something before court resumes again.”

  A few minutes later, Devulder left his office accompanied by plainclothes detectives from Fulton’s squad. She headed off with her friends to the women’s shelter. Sitting at his desk, Karp looked down at the front page of the Times that Dirty Warren had given him. Under the headline UNION BOSS TRIAL was a stock photograph of Vitteli from the night of the Carlotta murder and some general observations of the current state of the stevedores’ union and the outrage and betrayal felt by a large segment of its membership. He opened his desk drawer and took out a pair of scissors.

  Soon he was back in court, where he asked Corcione to describe the meeting with Vitteli at which the union boss said his spy in the Labor Department had told him that Carlotta was not giving up his quest to overturn the election results.

  “That’s when Vitteli said that Vince had to go.”

  “Go? What do you mean by ‘go’?”

  “That Vince Carlotta had to die.”

  “Did you agree to the plan to murder Vince Carlotta?”

  “I didn’t want to at first . . .” Corcione started to explain, but then stopped and shook his head. “Yes, I went along with the plan.”

  “Why? Did Vince Carlotta ever do anything to you personally for you to want to cause his death?”

  The question seemed to take Corcione aback. “No, not at all. Vince Carlotta was a good man. He always treated me well.”

  “Then why go along with a plan to kill him?”

  “I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Prison. Or that I’d be next if I tried to stop them. Most of all . . .” Corcione tried to finish his statement but couldn’t; his words just came out in gasps as tears poured down his face.

  As the young man struggled, Karp stepped up to the witness stand and poured water from a pitcher that was on the stand into a paper cup. He handed the cup to Corcione, who gratefully accepted it and took a few sips before placing the cup beside the pitcher.

  The witness sat still on the stand for a few more moments, looking down at his hands, which were now clasped in his lap. At long last he let out a deep sigh. “Most of all, I was afraid I’d lose the person I loved more than anyone, and who loved me, my life partner, Greg.”

  Corcione looked as if one more question in that vein would send him over the edge, and mercifully, Karp moved on. “Did you know a man named Marat Lvov?”

  “I knew who he was,” Corcione replied.

  “Could you explain to the jury what you knew about him?”

  “He was a small-time gangster who lived in the Russian section of Brighton Beach. He was the contact between Charlie Vitteli and the Malchek gang in Brooklyn.”

  “Objection,” Kowalski said. “Russian gangs have nothing to do with this case and such a reference is highly prejudicial. I ask that it be stricken from the record and a mistrial declared.”

  “Your Honor, all of the People’s evidence is per force prejudicial to the defendant,” Karp said. “It’s necessary for the jury and this court to hear and understand all the planning and scheming by the defendant and his intermediaries and conduits that resulted in the execution of the deceased, Vince Carlotta. Simply, Your Honor, all of these overt acts in furtherance of the conspiracy to murder are relevant and admissible.”

  “Objection overruled. Please proceed.”

  Karp continued: “Was there a time when you met with Marat Lvov in regard to the plan to murder Vince Carlotta?”

  “Yes, Barros and I met with Lvov and a man named Alexei Bebnev at Marlon’s Restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen.”

  “Who asked you to attend this meeting?”

  “Charles Vitteli sent us.”

  “Why didn’t he attend?”

  “Vitteli wanted to keep his hands clean by putting lay
ers between himself and whatever might come back to haunt him. He doesn’t trust anybody, except maybe Barros, and I don’t think he even told Joey everything.”

  “And what was the purpose of this meeting?”

  “To arrange the murder of Vince Carlotta. Bebnev was introduced to us by Lvov as a man who would be willing to kill Vince Carlotta.”

  “Was there an agreement to pay Alexei Bebnev to murder Vince Carlotta?”

  “Yes. We said we would pay thirty thousand dollars.”

  “How would Bebnev get paid?”

  “We paid Lvov and he paid Bebnev.”

  “Then why meet with Bebnev at all?”

  “Vitteli wanted us to check him out,” Corcione replied. “But more than that, he wanted to make sure Bebnev knew who to kill and how he wanted it done.”

  As Corcione answered the question, Karp again moved toward the defense table, bringing frowns to the faces of Kowalski and Vitteli, who flushed deep red as his six-foot-five nemesis approached. “Prior to Bebnev arriving, do you recall any conversations between you, Barros, and Lvov regarding Vitteli’s instructions for when the murder was to take place?”

  “When we were waiting for Bebnev to arrive, Lvov asked how soon it was supposed to happen. Barros told him that Vitteli wanted it done as soon as possible. Or words to that effect.”

  Karp turned to face Vitteli. “Words to the effect that Charlie Vitteli wanted Vince Carlotta to die as soon as possible, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “You indicated that you were waiting for Alexei Bebnev to arrive,” Karp said, looking back at the witness stand. “Was there any chance that Bebnev would have overheard the conversation?”

  “Quite possibly. I remember that at the time I was a little surprised when he came around the corner . . . just sort of appeared at our booth right as Barros said Charlie wanted it done as soon as possible. Like I said, Vitteli’s paranoid and he wouldn’t have wanted Bebnev to know his first name. Even Barros and I weren’t too happy when Lvov introduced us by our first names to Bebnev.”

  “Did Bebnev know Vince Carlotta before this?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” Corcione replied.

  “Then how was he supposed to know if he was targeting the right man?”

  “He was given a photograph by Barros from the Dock, the in-house magazine of the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores. Vince was in the photograph.”

  “Was anyone else in the photograph?”

  “Yes, Vitteli, Barros, and me.”

  “Was there anything else to help Bebnev identify which of the four men in the photograph he was supposed to kill?”

  “Yes, Vitteli drew a circle around Vince’s face and wrote ‘Vince Carlotta.’ ”

  “How do you know that the defendant drew the circle and wrote that name on the photograph?”

  “I was in his office with Barros when he did it. It was right before we were supposed to meet Lvov and Bebnev,” Corcione replied. “After he wrote on the photo, he cut the page out of the magazine and gave it to Barros.”

  Walking over to the prosecution table, Karp picked up a magazine and a clear plastic envelope and then returned to the witness stand. He first handed the magazine to Corcione.

  “Would you please identify People’s Exhibit Twenty-Seven for identification, the magazine I just handed you, along with the date of the publication?” Karp asked.

  “Yes. This is last year’s winter edition of the Dock.”

  “How often is the magazine published?”

  “Quarterly.”

  “And to whom is it distributed?”

  “It’s sent to the 250,000 union members and it’s also available in union offices across North America,” Corcione replied.

  “And who has final say regarding the magazine’s content?”

  “The president of the union . . . Charlie Vitteli.”

  “Would you please open the magazine to page fifteen—there is a marker, I believe, taped to the page—and describe what you see?”

  “It’s a copy of the photograph I was describing.”

  “Is it the same photograph?”

  “Oh no, it’s the same photograph that appeared in all editions of this magazine, but it’s not the one given to Bebnev that Vitteli wrote on.”

  “When and where was the photograph taken?”

  “It was taken in August of last year at the annual union management convention in Atlantic City.”

  “In the photograph, there are four men standing on what appears to be the Atlantic City boardwalk. Who are they?”

  “Left to right that’s Barros, Vitteli, me, and standing a little apart from us with his arms crossed is Vince Carlotta.”

  Karp next handed the plastic envelope to Corcione. “Can you identify the contents of People’s Exhibit Twenty-Eight for identification, this envelope?”

  “Yes, now this is the same photograph that Vitteli wrote on and that Barros gave to Bebnev.”

  Karp reached up and retrieved the photograph. However, he did not yet offer it into evidence.

  “Were you aware that Bebnev was going to hire other accomplices to help him murder Vince Carlotta?”

  “Not at this meeting,” Corcione said. “We only heard there were two more men with him after the first attempt failed.”

  “First attempt?”

  “Yes,” Corcione explained. “Originally the plan was that Bebnev would shoot Vince at his home in New Rochelle on December second. That way the police would think it was a home invasion or even a mob hit—Vince was pretty adamant about keeping organized crime off the docks and made enemies of some pretty dangerous people.”

  “Were you told why the first attempt failed?”

  “Just that Vince’s wife showed up with their kid, and Bebnev decided not to go through with it.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Charlie was upset,” Corcione recalled. “But then he came up with another plan to lure Vince to Hell’s Kitchen. Bebnev and his guys were supposed to make it look like a botched robbery. Vitteli thought it would give us all a good alibi to be there.”

  Under Karp’s guidance, Corcione described the meeting at the restaurant, from the initial confrontation in which Carlotta threw the note with the license plate number of the car at Vitteli, to his nearly coming to blows with Barros, to Vitteli’s offer to step down from the union presidency. “It ended with everybody acting like old friends,” Corcione said. “And I played along with the whole thing, even though I knew Bebnev was waiting outside to kill Vince.”

  “Besides the four you have mentioned, were there two other men in the bar who were part of the group?” As he asked his question, Karp turned to look at Vitteli as if to say, “Now do you understand why I came after you at the first trial?” hoping the defendant would rise to the bait.

  “Yes, Carlotta’s driver, Randy McMahon, and Vitteli’s bodyguard, Sal Amaya,” Corcione said.

  “Did they leave the bar with you?”

  “Yes, but Carlotta told McMahon to go get the car, and Vitteli sent Sal with him.”

  “In the ordinary course, how would you describe Sal Amaya’s role in respect to his boss, Vitteli?”

  “Whenever Vitteli left the office, Amaya stuck to him like glue.”

  “Yet you just testified that the defendant sent Sal Amaya away with Vince Carlotta’s driver, Randy McMahon, and it was after midnight, when the defendant would be following down a dark alley? Can you explain the discrepancy?”

  “Objection,” Kowalski stated. “He’s not a psychiatrist and he can’t give testimony to the state of mind of Mr. Vitteli as to the reasons he may have had for directing his bodyguard to accompany Mr. Carlotta’s driver.”

  “Your Honor, permit me to have the witness be more precise as to why he is able to describe the defendant’s state of mind during their relationship,” Karp said. “That way I can lay the predicate with respect to this issue.”

  The judge narrowed his eyes and thought about it. “Okay, but be
very brief, Mr. Karp, we’re in some tenuous territory. Let’s hear it and see how we can proceed.”

  Karp turned back to the witness stand. “Mr. Corcione, based upon your long-standing relationship with the defendant, what were the reasons for Mr. Vitteli to have a bodyguard?”

  “I’ve known the defendant since I was a kid hanging out at my dad’s office and around the docks,” Corcione recalled, now staring at Vitteli. “He’s always played the role of the big shot. He talks real tough and likes to call names, but he’s a scared man, paranoid about people coming after him. Basically, he’s a bully and a coward.”

  “You mean Charlie Vitteli is, in the vernacular, a chicken?”

  “Exactly,” Corcione retorted.

  With a guttural shout, Vitteli shot to his feet and pointed a thick finger at Corcione. “We’ll see who’s chicken, you faggot!” he screamed as the vein in his forehead pulsed and his face turned purple with rage.

  Judge See banged the gavel. “That will be quite enough, gentlemen,” he said calmly but firmly, without raising his voice. He kept his eyes on Vitteli, who continued to glare at Corcione as he straightened his suit jacket, but he sat back down. “Good. Now, Mr. Karp, return to what happened in the alley. Please ask your question again so we can get back on track.”

  Pointing at Vitteli, Karp asked Corcione, “So, again, why would that man over there, send his bodyguard—a man who shadows him even during daylight hours when he’s out in public—away on a dark night in Hell’s Kitchen.”

  “Because Charlie knew what was going to happen and that he was safe,” Corcione replied. “But also he couldn’t take a chance that Amaya might see or hear something; like I said, Vitteli doesn’t trust anybody. And unless he told Amaya what was going to happen, which he didn’t do for the same reason, Sal might have tried to intervene and messed everything up.”

  As it was, Corcione went on, the plan was nearly foiled by Vince Carlotta when the two “robbers” jumped out of the alley. “Vince had a gun in his coat pocket and pulled it out. The other guy, Bebnev, was kind of slow, and Vince probably would have got him, but Vitteli saw what was happening and grabbed Vince’s arm and sort of pulled down on him so he couldn’t aim.”