Tragic

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  Anticipating the defense attack on Miller’s motivations, Karp had focused the jury’s attention on what his confession and testimony had cost him. And with that he’d been helped by something Miller had told him that morning before the trial.

  After a brief discussion during witness preparation about his upcoming testimony, Karp had asked Miller about his relationship with Nicoli Lopez and their son now that he’d been sent to prison. “She moved to the town where the prison is located and visits pretty often, but she’s working and trying to take care of Billy on her own, so sometimes she’s too tired,” the young had man told him. “Billy’s growing like a weed. If she can’t bring him to visit for a week or two, the next time I see him, it’s like he’s a whole new kid.”

  Miller shook his head sadly. “I know that someday Nicoli will move on; then they’ll visit once a month, then every few months and finally, maybe, once a year. After that, if I’m lucky, I’ll get photographs. I’ll tell ya, it’s a tough way to watch your son grow up, Mr. Karp, and a visiting room is no place for a kid to get to know his dad.”

  Karp had known then how he would respond to Kowalski’s expected attack. In the courtroom, he’d asked Miller to repeat what he’d told him that evening after Judge See had adjourned for the day.

  After Miller’s tearful testimony, Karp called an NYPD graphologist to the stand to testify about the writing on the photograph. Following Vitteli’s indictment, he’d sought a court order to obtain “exemplars”—samples of Vitteli’s handwriting—to compare. Initially there was some difficulty because most of what was located was the defendant’s cursive signature, but he’d written on the photograph in block letters. Meeting with Karp and Guma in the office, she’d said that while she could to a reasonable degree of scientific certainty testify that both were written by a left-handed person, to link it to Vitteli she’d need an example of Vitteli’s printing. Again, it was V. T. Newbury who obtained a court-ordered search warrant for union records, including everything in Vitteli’s office and home, and located printed notes that the defendant, ironically, made at the union meeting when Carlotta filed his formal complaint about the election.

  On the witness stand, the handwriting expert testified that whoever wrote on the photograph was left-handed, pointing out several factors that led her to that conclusion. One was that the circle drawn around Carlotta’s face had been drawn with a clockwise motion. “And in almost all cases, left-handed people prefer to draw circles clockwise and most right-handed people prefer to draw circles counterclockwise. This is probably attributable to brain hemispheres.”

  Other indicators had to do with the different way that left-handed writers have to tilt the page to get the forward slant to their letters; left-handed writers also tended to make vertical pen strokes from left to right going up, while right-handers did the opposite. “Also, you’ll notice the slight smudging of the letters, which is caused when a left-handed person writes left to right and drags his hand across the ink.”

  On cross-examination, Kowalski asked if it was possible that whoever wrote on the photograph could have been a right-handed person “trying to emulate” a left-handed writer.

  “It’s possible,” the graphologist conceded, “with a lot of practice. But normally it would appear more forced. I would also expect to see evidence of forgery; there are small nuances to writing, unconscious habits, if you will, that anyone who’s not a professional forger or a trained handwriting analyst probably wouldn’t know, such as left-handed and right-handed people tilt the page differently. The circle is a good example; a right-handed person trying to pretend to be left-handed would need to remember to draw the circle counterclockwise. There was no evidence of forgery in this case, the writer was left-handed and a match to the defendant’s handwriting to a high degree of scientific certainty.”

  After the handwriting analyst, Karp called a fingerprint expert. There wasn’t much to discuss, just a partial thumbprint on the top right-hand corner of the page—only enough to note “several points of similarity and no discrepancies” to the defendant’s. As a demonstration, Karp asked the witness to place his thumb at the same spot on the same page in another copy of the Dock to demonstrate how that was a logical place for someone tearing the page from the magazine.

  During cross, Kowalski countered by getting the expert to show that the placement of the thumbprint could have also been from someone “thumbing” through the magazine. Apparently content to concede that the print was Vitteli’s, Kowalski did not challenge the identification.

  Throwing jabs and roundhouses, the attorneys continued to spar, especially after Karp put Mahlon Gorman on the stand.

  Karp began by questioning Gorman about the union election and Carlotta’s efforts to overturn the results. Gorman described the first meeting with a Labor Department attorney named Martin Bryant who told them that federal law required that the complainant exhaust union procedures according to the Landrum-Griffin Act before federal officials could get involved. When the union investigation headed by Charles Vitteli determined that the charges were unwarranted, “as expected,” Gorman had gone to Washington, D.C., to “go up the ladder” and over the head of Bryant about their complaint, and that even the alleged union investigation was rigged.

  Karp’s questions had then turned to the meeting in Gorman’s office after the three men had showed up at Carlotta’s home. The young attorney testified that when he expressed concern for Carlotta’s safety, his friend had shown him the .380 handgun he was carrying in his coat.

  “Had you known Mr. Carlotta to carry a handgun on other occasions?” Karp asked.

  “I didn’t even know he owned one,” Gorman responded.

  “Just to clarify, did he say he had the gun to protect himself because he was going to be walking down the street at night in a rough neighborhood?” Karp asked.

  “No, he was carrying it because of the three guys who came to his house the night before. He was pissed off because he thought Vitteli sent them as a threat.”

  “Do you know the names of the three men who went to Mr. Carlotta’s home?”

  “Yes, Alexei Bebnev, William Miller, and Frank DiMarzo.”

  “And how do you know those names?”

  “Bebnev and DiMarzo were convicted of Vince’s murder,” Gorman said. “Miller pleaded guilty and testified against the other two.”

  Gorman wrapped up his testimony recalling the telephone call he received from Carlotta the night of the murder. “He said Vitteli had agreed to step down if Vince would drop his complaint with the Labor Department and pay him to ‘retire.’ I could tell he’d been drinking and was pretty happy with the way things had gone.”

  Rising swiftly to his feet to cross, Kowalski asked, “Was this meeting with the Labor Department attorney informational, or did you file a formal complaint?”

  “We attempted to file a formal complaint, but Bryant said we had to go through the union first.”

  “Well, did you see Bryant create any sort of record of this meeting?” Kowalski asked.

  “He took notes, but there was no recording that I’m aware of,” Gorman replied.

  Karp frowned and picked up his pencil. Fulton had interviewed Bryant, who seemed to have only a vague recollection of the meeting with Gorman and Carlotta. He’d struck the detective as a lazy bureaucrat who had been only too happy to pass the problem back to the union. “He probably thought it would go away,” Fulton had said at the time. Now Karp wondered what Kowalski was up to with his line of questioning and made a note on his legal pad to consider later.

  “If I understand your testimony, Mr. Gorman,” Kowalski said, “the reason you went to the Labor Department was to complain about the election.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “It didn’t have anything to do with concerns that someone in management might be stealing union funds?”

  “We weren’t aware of the thefts at the time.”

  “So there was no reason to kill Vince Carlotta over union
funds,” Kowalski pointed out.

  “Not yet,” Gorman said. “But if they were worried that Vince would get in and then find out what they’d done—”

  “If, if, if, Mr. Gorman. We don’t convict citizens based on if,” Kowalski retorted, then moved onto the meeting the night of the murder.

  “Mr. Gorman, did Mr. Carlotta tell you that he had a confrontation with Jackie Corcione and Barros at Marlon’s Restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen that night?”

  “No,” Gorman replied. “It started with Barros, and then Vitteli got involved. Jackie’s about the last person to confront someone else, much less Vince, who’d known him all of his life and treated him like a kid brother.”

  “A kid brother willing to kill him to cover up the theft of union money,” Kowalski interjected.

  Gorman hesitated then nodded. “Apparently so. But Vince didn’t say anything about Jackie being involved in the stuff at the beginning of the meeting.”

  “Tell me, Mr. Gorman, was Vince Carlotta carrying his gun to protect himself from Charlie Vitteli?”

  “Not directly from Vitteli, if that’s what you mean. Charlie wouldn’t have had the balls to take on Vince man-to-man,” Gorman said, looking directly at Vitteli. “Charlie’s a coward who has other guys to do his dirty work for him.”

  “Why you little . . .” Vitteli snarled as he started to stand.

  Judge See’s gavel banged down hard. “The defendant will sit down and be quiet,” the judge ordered. “Counsel, please control your client.”

  “Your Honor, the witness’s response went beyond answering the question and was intended to bait my client,” Kowalski complained. “He got the response he was hoping for.”

  “I believe the ‘baiting’ goes both ways,” Judge See said. “And I want it to stop. I’d like to see direct questions from counsel, and succinct answers from the witness. It that clear?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Kowalski and Gorman answered.

  “Good. Mr. Kowalski, please continue.”

  “Mr. Gorman, you just said that my client would not have physically challenged Mr. Carlotta,” Kowalski said. “So wouldn’t it be more accurate to say that Mr. Carlotta was carrying a gun because of Joey Barros?”

  “As far as a direct threat, yes. But Barros didn’t sneeze unless Vitteli told him to.”

  “That’s a cute metaphor, Mr. Gorman, but how well did you know Joey Barros?”

  “Mostly by reputation, but—”

  “The reality is, you didn’t know Joey Barros except by reputation, so if he was involved in some sort of scheme with Jackie Corcione, or was acting on his own accord without the knowledge or approval of Charlie Vitteli, you wouldn’t really have known, would you?”

  “No,” Gorman replied tersely. “I would not have necessarily known.”

  “You would not have known,” Kowalski corrected him. “I have no more questions.”

  “Mr. Karp?”

  “No more questions.”

  “Very well. The hour is late. We’ll adjourn until tomorrow morning. Are we near the end of the People’s case, Mr. Karp?”

  “We are, Your Honor, possibly by noon,” Karp responded.

  “Very well, Mr. Karp. Mr. Kowalski, have your first witness ready to go as soon as the People rest.”

  33

  THE PRISONER WHO LOOKED DOWN at Karp from the witness stand appeared pale and haggard. Yet, the District Attorney of New York County knew that Frank DiMarzo was more at peace than at any time since the murder of Vince Carlotta. It was the sort of change that, had the jury been able to compare DiMarzo as Karp had seen him four months earlier and now, there would have been no question that an enormous burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

  Over the intervening months, Marlene had kept tabs on the prisoner through Assistant Warden Dave Whitney. Whitney reported that the young man had been attending Catholic Mass daily and reading the Bible his sister had delivered to him from home, the same Bible in which he’d kept the photograph from the Dock used to identify Carlotta. The young prisoner had also asked to be involved in prison ministries, though that would not occur until he’d been removed from administrative segregation, where he was currently housed for his own protection.

  When DiMarzo appeared at the side door leading into the courtroom, his eyes sought out his family, who this time were sitting on the prosecution side of the courtroom. He’d teared up at the sight of his parents and sisters, but he smiled slightly and gave a small wave. From the sad, proud looks on his family’s faces, especially that of his mother, someone who didn’t know the circumstances would have thought he was the hero of this tale, not a convicted murderer.

  As DiMarzo made his way to the witness stand, Karp’s gaze had switched to the beautiful woman in black sitting two rows in front of the DiMarzo family and just behind the prosecution table. Antonia Carlotta was watching the young man who’d participated in her husband’s murder with a frown, her dark eyes hard and unforgiving.

  After Vitteli’s indictment, Karp had spoken to her about the trial and the possibility of calling her as a witness. She begged him not to, because she wanted to watch the proceedings. “I want to see Vitteli squirm when he is exposed for the coward he is,” she’d pleaded.

  Karp considered her request and whether he would need her to testify. There was no question that Miller and DiMarzo had come to her house; Miller already had admitted it on the stand, and soon DiMarzo would follow suit. So she wasn’t needed for that. She could have testified about what her husband had said about the election and his distrust of Charlie Vitteli, as well as his comments about Joey Barros and Jackie Corcione. But Mahlon Gorman was sufficient in that regard, and he’d seen the gun and knew why Vince Carlotta was carrying it.

  In fact, probably to keep his wife from worrying, Vince Carlotta had downplayed any danger to his person in his conversations with her, though he was clearly angry about the three men who came to their house. She didn’t buy his excuse about burglars in the neighborhood, and believed that it had something to do with Vitteli, but that wasn’t what he told her.

  So Karp acceded to her request, and she’d been there every day from jury selection to Frank DiMarzo taking the stand as the People’s final witness. And with each witness, he’d caught glimpses as her face mirrored what she was going through. Angry and bitter when Jackie Corcione took the stand, Karp then saw her crying as he wept over lost love. She’d stared with hatred at Vitteli as Gorman testified about her husband’s telephone call saying Vitteli was stepping down and everything would be all right, and shaken her head sadly as Gnat Miller described what it was like watching his son grow older from a prison visiting room.

  Earlier that morning, Antonia came to his office to thank him for his efforts. Her words had humbled him. Reminded of her reactions to other witnesses, he’d then asked her how she felt about the upcoming testimony of Frank DiMarzo. “I feel sorry for his family,” she’d said. “I’ve watched them during jury selection. They seem very close and remind me of my family back in Italy. I’m sure this has been devastating for them. But I don’t know how to feel about him. I’m glad he’s testifying now, but he could have stopped the whole plot by going to the police. Or at least he could have confessed instead of pretending he was innocent during that first trial. He was a coward when he helped kill my husband, and he was a coward after he got caught. I guess I’ll see how I feel when today is over.”

  Antonia saw him looking at her and nodded. He nodded back and then turned to begin his questioning by asking DiMarzo to describe his friendship with Gnat Miller and then how he’d become acquainted with Alexei Bebnev. He’d then moved on to “the job” Bebnev recruited him for and the promised payment of fourteen thousand dollars to be split between him and his friend.

  “You agreed to help murder a man you didn’t know for money?” Karp asked.

  “Yes,” DiMarzo replied. “That’s all it was, just a lousy seven grand.”

  “Did you know the name of the man Bebnev intended to mu
rder?”

  “No. Just that two guys he met in Hell’s Kitchen named Joey and Jackie paid him to kill a union big shot who lived in New Rochelle.”

  “Who introduced Bebnev to Joey and Jackie?”

  “A Russian gangster named Lvov.”

  “Did Alexei Bebnev tell you that he overheard one of these men say who wanted Vince Carlotta murdered and when it was to happen?”

  DiMarzo’s ability to answer that question represented a prime example of how carefully every detail in a trial needed to be considered, prepared for, and laid out in the proper order. If Jackie Corcione had not come forward and already testified that Barros told Lvov that “Charlie wants this to happen as soon as possible,” and that Bebnev was in a position to overhear the statement, DiMarzo could not have answered him, as it would have been hearsay and inadmissible.

  In fact, Kowalski had fought tooth and nail at a pretrial hearing to keep it out on those grounds. But Corcione’s testimony established the predicate upon which DiMarzo’s testimony could be admitted into evidence. It was deemed part of the overt acts of the conspiracy—the defendants acting in concert—to kill Vincent Carlotta.

  So now when Kowalski objected for the record and was quickly overruled by Judge See, DiMarzo was allowed to answer, “Yeah. He said he walked up on those guys at the restaurant and heard one of them tell Lvov that ‘Charlie wants it done as soon as possible.’ ”

  Watching the jurors as DiMarzo answered, Karp saw the piece of the puzzle linking Corcione’s testimony and DiMarzo’s click together in their heads. “Why did you ask your friend William Miller to help?”

  “We needed a car,” DiMarzo explained. “And I knew he needed money so that he and his girlfriend could move out of her parents’ basement.”

  The answer, of course, mirrored Gnat Miller’s own testimony about his reasons for committing the crime, and again Karp saw pieces fall into place and noted this in the eyes of the jury. The comment about living in the basement of Nicoli Lopez’s parents wasn’t a big deal on its face, just a small detail that could have gone unnoticed if DiMarzo hadn’t repeated it. But sometimes the connectivity—the linkage—of small details remembered by multiple witnesses carried more weight than any one “significant” item on its own.