Tragic

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  “Was it dark outside?”

  “Yeah, pretty dark . . . just a streetlight down on the corner.”

  “And it all happened fast, right?”

  “Yes, very fast.”

  “So is it possible that, along with being afraid, maybe even having second thoughts, the dark, and the speed with which this went down, you could be mistaken about my client’s intentions and what you saw?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But you don’t know for sure, do you?”

  “I believe what I said is true.”

  “Fortunately,” Kowalski scoffed, “determining what is true won’t be up to you.”

  “Fortunately,” DiMarzo replied, “it’s not up to you, either.”

  For a moment, the defense attorney’s face contorted in anger at DiMarzo’s quick response. But then he moved on.

  However, Karp was surprised that Kowalski spent so little time on the magazine photograph other than to ask DiMarzo when he’d received it from Bebnev. Guma whispered that he thought it was because Kowalski knew how damning the photo was and wanted to deemphasize it, but Karp wasn’t so sure. “I think he’s up to something,” he whispered back, and made another note on his legal pad.

  As expected, Kowalski tried to beat DiMarzo up on the sentencing “deal” he’d received. “And won’t it be nice to have a letter in your parole file from the District Attorney of New York County stating what a help you were in putting away Charlie Vitteli?” the attorney sneered.

  There was a lull. The defense attorney was obviously waiting for DiMarzo to protest. But instead, he nodded. “I know I deserve to be punished. But yes, I don’t want to spend twenty-five years of my life in prison, and every year that goes by will be tougher than the one before it. The sooner I can return to my home and family and make them proud of me again, the better. So if I can get out in eight and four, I’m praying that God will be merciful.”

  Kowalski seemed confused for a moment, but then scowled. “In other words, you’re hoping that your testimony here today will buy you that letter?”

  Karp felt Guma tense in his seat. He knew that his combative colleague was champing at the bit to object at defense counsel’s insinuations. But that was Guma, all-out bull rush. Karp was more subtle; he knew this witness and believed he would rise to this occasion, which would impress the jury more than the prosecutor “rescuing” the witness by objecting.

  “I’m not trying to ‘buy’ anything, but I am trying to earn some things,” DiMarzo replied softly. “My self-respect. My family’s love and support . . . forgiveness.” He looked out at Antonia Carlotta and then at the jurors. “But only God knows when I deserve to walk out of prison, and I’m willing to leave it in His hands. Mr. Karp has promised me nothing but what you’ve already been told.”

  Karp hid it well but inside he was smiling. He noted that Guma had relaxed, too. Sometimes in a trial you just have to trust your instincts, he thought.

  Then it was over. Kowalski said he had no more questions, and Karp didn’t feel he could improve on DiMarzo’s last statement by asking more himself. Instead, he rested the People’s case. Now it was time to see if Vitteli was going to take the bait.

  34

  AS IT WAS NEARLY TIME for the afternoon break, Judge See sent the jury off so that Kowalski could make the perfunctory argument that the prosecution had not proved its case beyond a reasonable doubt and demand that it be dismissed. The judge denied his motion and told him to be ready to begin the defense case as soon as they returned from break.

  When everyone else was gone, Karp left the courtroom through the side door and made his way to the prosecution witness waiting room. Knocking, he entered. Inside were Marlene and Frank DiMarzo’s family. “You’ll have twenty minutes,” he said gently to the old woman, who sat at a table surrounded by her husband and daughters.

  “Thank you, you are kind,” the old woman replied.

  There was a knock on the door, which opened to allow a court security officer to enter, followed by Frank DiMarzo, who’d changed from the civilian clothes he’d worn into the courtroom back into a gray prison jumpsuit.

  The young man wouldn’t let his parents visit him in prison. “I don’t want them to see or hear what goes on there,” he told Marlene during one of her visits with his sister Liza. “I don’t want them picturing me in this place.” But there hadn’t been the opportunity for him to hug his parents one last time after his trial, and that was the one thing he’d asked.

  DiMarzo was engulfed by his family, who wept at the same time they patted him on the back and told him how proud they were of him. Karp looked at the security officer and pointed toward the door. “Think it would be okay if you and I waited outside, Lyle?” he asked. “Marlene will keep an eye on things here.”

  The officer glanced at the grieving family and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s not going anywhere, and they’ve all been through security.”

  Twenty minutes passed. With court convening soon, Karp knocked on the door and poked his head inside. Frank DiMarzo was sitting next to his mother with his head on her shoulder while she patted his cheek. “I’m sorry, but it’s time,” he said.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, but the old woman smiled as she looked up at him and nodded. “My boy’s ready, Mr. Karp,” she said. “And so am I.” She lifted her son’s face and looked down into his eyes before kissing his forehead. “Vai con Dio, mio figlio. Good-bye for now, my little Frankie. Don’t worry, we’ll all be together someday in the arms of Jesus. I’m proud of you.”

  Frank DiMarzo sobbed as he kissed her cheek and stood. But he pulled himself together to shake his father’s hand and hug each of his sisters. “I love you all,” he said, then turned to Karp. “Thank you.” He then walked up to Marlene and held out his hand. “I’m glad we met,” he said with a smile. “I owe you more than you know.”

  Tears in her own eyes, Marlene grasped his hand. “I do know; I’ve been there myself. As your mother just said, go with God and stay safe, Frank.”

  This sidebar in the tragedy of Vince Carlotta’s murder was still playing in Karp’s mind when court reconvened and Judge See asked the court clerk to bring the jury in. Karp had little sympathy for Alexei Bebnev, who he believed was a conscienceless sociopath, especially after Ivgeny told Marlene that Bebnev likely killed two old men for Lvov prior to the Carlotta murder. Nor was Karp in the least bit troubled by the death of Joey Barros, another murderous sociopath, though he did feel sorry for the wife and two daughters Barros had left behind. They’d apparently known nothing of his dark side until his death; the man was pure evil, but his family were also victims.

  It was all a reminder to Karp that evil came in shades of gray. Jackie Corcione had been lured by greed and then paralyzed by fear until unable to live with the guilt. He’d done an evil thing, but he wasn’t by nature an evil man, like Barros. Nor were Miller and DiMarzo, despite their petty crimes as youths and their willing participation in exchange for money. It didn’t mean they weren’t guilty of murder or deserving of their fates; with all DiMarzo’s talk of God, Karp believed that God allowed men to make their own choices, good or evil, and they’d made theirs and had to suffer the consequences. But the ruined lives of three young men—Corcione, Miller, and DiMarzo, all with good people who loved them and mourned their loss—was nothing to celebrate or even take satisfaction in. Nor was the waste limited to the perpetrators and the man they killed.

  Like a stone cast into a still pond, Vince Carlotta’s murder had had a ripple effect, one that devastated many lives. Antonia Carlotta and her son, who would grow up without ever knowing his father, were closest to where the stone had gone in. But also caught in the widening circle were Nicoli Lopez and Billy Jr., Frank DiMarzo’s family, and Greg Lusk. Farther out from the center, but still impacted, was the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores, some of whose members, like T. J. Martindale, had attended every day of the trial. They counted on leaders with integrity, like Vince Carlotta, to
protect their interests, not rob them and put their safety below the lust for power and money.

  Karp looked over at Vitteli. He wondered where the defendant fell along the spectrum of evil. Was his conscience at all troubled by what he’d done? Could he get the blood off his hands? Closer to Barros than Corcione, he thought, and it was his evil that spread to the others. He threw the stone.

  As Kowalski rose to call his first witness, Karp added to the notes on his legal pad. Shades of gray. Free will. Conscience. Blood on hands. The stone. The foundational substance, the persuasive power, of his summation had been laid out before the trial even began. But he considered the final arguments afforded attorneys in a case to be subject to an organic process allowing for adjustments depending on from his point of view the defense strategy, as well as thoughts that occurred to him during the course of testimony.

  Kowalski’s first witness was Al Rubio, a foreman on the docks and a union steward with the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores. He claimed that shortly before his death, Vince Carlotta told him that he suspected Jackie Corcione and Joey Barros of stealing union funds.

  “Vince was suspicious because Jackie’s little gay-boy lifestyle didn’t fit with his salary,” Rubio, a big man with a hound dog’s jowly face, said. “But he didn’t think Corcione would have the balls to do it on his own, and he’d kind of been watching how Corcione and Barros seemed to always have their heads together when Charlie wasn’t around.”

  “What did you think when Vince Carlotta told you he suspected Joey Barros and Jackie Corcione?”

  “Ah, I thought it was bullshit,” Rubio said with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t believe it. I mean, Joey, yeah okay; he was pretty rough, and I never did like the guy. But Leo Corcione’s own kid? Stealing the pension funds would be like robbing his old man’s grave, and I didn’t think Jackie would do that. At least I didn’t back then.”

  “Did he mention Charlie Vitteli as another possible suspect in the thefts?” Kowalski asked.

  “Nah, nothin’ about Charlie,” the man claimed. “I know there was some bad blood about the election, so I think if he thought something like that he would have said so. But Charlie and Vince was like brothers; they grew up on the docks together. Sure, they had their beefs, but after they had it out, they’d sit down over a couple of beers and things was cool again.”

  Karp noted the obvious attempt to remind the jurors of how the evening at Marlon’s had begun and ended. Of course, it was all a lie, and it didn’t take him long to tear into it during cross-examination. “Mr. Rubio,” he began, “did you ever tell anybody else about this alleged conversation with Mr. Carlotta prior to his death?”

  Rubio shook his head. “No, like I said, I didn’t want to believe that Leo’s kid would do such a thing. I thought Vince was just bitter about the election.”

  “If he was just bitter about the election, why wouldn’t his accusations include Charlie Vitteli, the man who beat him out for union president?”

  “Beats me,” Rubio replied with a shrug. “Maybe he knew better already and had something on Jackie.”

  “But he didn’t tell you what this ‘something’ he had was?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Did you take any notes or record in any way this alleged conversation?”

  “No.”

  “You just had a hard time believing it so you dismissed it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you tell anybody about this alleged conversation with Vince Carlotta after he was murdered and police were looking for suspects?”

  Rubio’s eyes flicked over to Kowalski and Vitteli before returning to Karp. “No, I heard they caught the guys,” he said. “So I figured that was it.”

  “But the suspects weren’t arrested for several weeks,” Karp noted. “I guess during that time the idea didn’t pop into your head that maybe the murder had something to do with Carlotta’s alleged accusations about Corcione and Barros?”

  Rubio sat back in his chair and studied Karp. “Yeah, I thought about it,” he said. “But those are pretty heavy things to say about somebody if you don’t have any evidence.”

  “Did you make any efforts to gather evidence? Or share yours with the police, who were collecting their own?”

  “I might have asked around a little down at the docks,” Rubio replied. “But I didn’t hear nothin’.”

  “Can you give us the name of someone you talked to?”

  Rubio squirmed a little on the chair. “Uh, you know, my mind’s a little discombobulated being up here and all,” he said, making an effort to smile at the jurors. “Give me a minute, and I’ll try to recall who I talked to.”

  “While you’re trying to recall who you talked to,” Karp said as he walked over to the prosecution table where Guma handed him a notebook, “do you remember giving a statement to Detective Fulton and my colleague Mr. Guma a month ago when you first came forward with this information?”

  With his eyes fastened on the notebook as Karp walked back to stand in front of him, Rubio nodded. “Uh, yeah, I remember that . . . the guy sitting over there and a big black cop, right?”

  “Yes, the man sitting at the prosecution table and a big black cop,” Karp repeated drily. He opened the notebook to a tabbed page and then held it up to the witness. “I’m handing you a copy of the transcript of that conversation you had with ADA Guma and Detective Fulton as it was recorded by a stenographer from the District Attorney’s Office. I’ve opened it to page forty-three, where you can see a portion highlighted in yellow. Do you see that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like you to read it to the jury, please.”

  Rubio frowned and turned to Judge See. “Do I hafta?” he asked.

  The judge raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Yes, you hafta.”

  Looking back down at the page, Rubio let out a deep breath and said, “Okay, here goes. Question: ‘Who did you tell about this conversation with Mr. Carlotta?’ Answer: ‘No one. I didn’t think it was important.’ ”

  Rubio stopped and glanced up at Karp, who said, “Go on, all of what’s highlighted in yellow.”

  “Question: ‘Did you tell anybody about this conversation after Mr. Carlotta’s murder?’ Answer: ‘No, the papers said it was a robbery and that’s what I figured it was.’ Question: ‘Did you ever talk to anybody at any time about this conversation with Mr. Carlotta?’ Answer: ‘Not until today with you.’ Question: ‘No one?’ Answer: ‘Nope. Nada. Zip.’ ” Rubio reached the end of the highlighted portion and extended the notebook toward Karp like it was uncomfortably hot in his hands.

  As Karp accepted the transcript back, he asked, “So which is it, Mr. Rubio? ‘Nope. Nada. Zip’? Or you asked around and can provide us with a name so that we can get that person in here to corroborate your story?”

  “Objection,” Kowalski said. “The witness already said he’s nervous and having a problem remembering who he talked to.”

  “No,” Karp corrected him, “he said that he asked around but he needed a minute to think about who he spoke to. In the meantime, he just testified about a statement he gave to Mr. Guma and Detective Fulton a month ago in which he stated categorically that he didn’t tell anybody. ‘Nope. Nada. Zip.’ I’m trying to ascertain which version is the truth.”

  “Overruled,” Judge See said.

  “So which version is it, Mr. Rubio?” Karp demanded.

  “I . . . I . . . like I said, I didn’t really talk to anybody,” Rubio stammered. “It was more listening around, you know, seeing if there was any scuttlebutt down on the docks.”

  “So you didn’t really ‘ask around’ regarding your alleged conversation with Mr. Carlotta?”

  “Uh . . . no,” Rubio replied.

  “Why not?”

  Rubio stared at Karp like a rat looking at a terrier that just wouldn’t give him a break. “Like I said, I didn’t think it was important,” he growled.

  “Not important that Vince Carlotta told you he suspe
cted that Jackie Corcione and Joey Barros were stealing union funds, and then a short time later he’s gunned down in the presence of both of them? That wasn’t important?”

  “I didn’t put two and two together,” Rubio replied.

  “Let’s turn to your comment that there was bad blood between the defendant and Mr. Carlotta from the election.”

  “Yeah, a little, but they patched it up. No big deal.”

  “Are you aware that Mr. Carlotta complained to the U.S. Department of Labor regarding the election?”

  “I don’t know nothin’ about that.”

  “No? But you are aware that he filed a complaint with union management regarding the election and that his complaint was investigated?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “You know because you were part of the investigation that determined his complaint was without merit, right?”

  “Yeah. We looked into it and it was bogus, just sour grapes.”

  “Who appointed you to that investigation?”

  Rubio looked over at the defense table. “Mr. Vitteli.”

  “Mr. Vitteli appointed you to help investigate Mr. Carlotta’s allegations that Mr. Vitteli stole the election,” Karp said.

  “It was a good investigation,” Rubio mumbled looking down at his hands.

  “Mr. Rubio, who was in charge of Charlie Vitteli’s election campaign for the Manhattan office of the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores?”

  Rubio licked his lips nervously. “Uh, that would be me.”

  “And who appointed you union steward, which, if I understand correctly, is a paid position?”

  “Vitteli.”

  “And weren’t you recently promoted to foreman, also by Charlie Vitteli?” Karp asked.

  “I been with him thirty years, the union, I mean,” Rubio said angrily. “I deserved it.”

  Karp smiled grimly. “I bet you did. No further questions.”

  Judge See looked at the defense table. “Redirect, Mr. Kowalski?”

  “No,” Kowalski said rudely as he stood. He caught the glare from See and corrected himself. “No, thank you, Your Honor. We call Sal Amaya.”