Tragic

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  “Is it true that the first time you had any contact with the defendant was when he contacted you in June after the trial of Alexei Bebnev and Frank DiMarzo?”

  Mopping now at this forehead, Bryant looked up at the ceiling, then at the defense table, and finally back to Karp. He shrugged his shoulders but still didn’t say anything.

  “Mr. Bryant, answer my question.”

  “I can’t,” Bryant replied.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m going to . . . uh . . . plead the Fifth and . . . uh . . . that’s about what I can say about that,” Bryant replied. His head dropped and he sat staring at his feet, shaking his head back and forth.

  With a wry smile on his face, Karp continued to look at Vitteli as he said to the judge, “I ask that the witness’s entire testimony be stricken and that he be remanded pending further official action.” One last act before the final curtain, he thought. Vitteli has no choice but to take the stand.

  35

  GLANCING OVER HIS SHOULDER AT where Kowalski and Vitteli argued quietly but vehemently, Karp knew that the curtain was rising and the last act was about to begin. The scorned, beleaguered villain, backed into a corner of his own making, believed his only option was to try to fight his way out by taking the stand in his own defense.

  Most defendants chose not to testify. If they did, though, it would allow the defendant, again through his attorney’s questions, to explain his actions or attempt to discredit other witnesses or evidence, it also opened them to grilling by the prosecution and the admission of evidence that otherwise would not have been heard or seen by the jury. However, that wasn’t always enough to stop a defendant who believed that he had to take the stand to win.

  Human nature comes into play, especially if the prosecution’s case is so strong that defendants feel their only chance is to persuade the jury that they are innocent, or at least attempt to cast some doubt. And perhaps in this case, the defense hoped to find that one homophobic juror, or one whose distrust of government was so strong that they’d cling to whatever conspiracy theory the defense threw out, no matter how lacking in evidence.

  There’s probably some of all of that going on here, Karp thought. The People’s case was strong. The witnesses had been credible, bolstered by convincing corroborating evidence. That and the defense witnesses had been worthless . . . or worse. Kowalski knew that after the defense rested, Karp would be bringing Bill Clark, the supervisor of Martin Bryant at the Department of Labor, as a rebuttal witness to impeach his employee’s testimony. And because Clark was a rebuttal witness, and therefore what he had to say had not been turned over to the defense, Kowalski didn’t know everything he would testify to: such as the half-dozen telephone calls between Bryant and Vitteli’s office, or the fact that Bryant had been suspended without pay and was currently under investigation.

  However, conventional defense wisdom went out the door with some defendants who simply let their egos—knocked about during the trial by the prosecution—override their attorneys’ trial strategy. Karp knew that Vitteli was seething at the depictions of him as a coward to the public and especially the members of his union, a dozen of whom, including T. J. Martindale, were in the courtroom.

  So as the two men argued on the other side of the aisle, Karp sat impassively like a chess grand master who had patiently laid his trap starting with his first move and now waited for his adversary to make one last mistake that would spell checkmate. But Kowalski was putting up a fight.

  Karp knew the defense attorney’s reasons went beyond protecting his client. If Vitteli took the stand and Kowalski asked him questions that he knew would elicit lies, he was suborning perjury, a felony that could get him disbarred and thrown in jail. Kowalski was already walking on thin ice by putting Bryant, who for whatever reason was willing to lie, on the stand. He had to know that Vitteli’s only chance was to lie, too. All of which could put Kowalski on the hot seat after the trial.

  “Mr. Kowalski, has the defendant decided whether to testify?” Judge See asked.

  With a sigh, Kowalski stood up, glared one more time at Vitteli, and then nodded. “Yes, Your Honor, the defendant will take the stand.”

  “All right then,” See said, pointing at the witness chair, “let the defendant come forward to be sworn in.”

  Vitteli got up from the defense table and stalked over to the witness stand, where he placed his hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth. He then stepped up into the witness box, straightened his suit with a jerk, adjusted his tie and handkerchief, and settled into the chair, looking like he wanted to hit somebody. But his attorney calmed him down by starting off with a series of softball questions about how he got started with the union, his relationship with Leo Corcione, and his role through the years leading up to the presidency.

  “And how long have you known Jackie Corcione?” Kowalski asked.

  “Since the day he was born,” Vitteli answered. “I was already a union steward reporting directly to Leo. The kid was practically my little brother.”

  “Did you know he was a homosexual?”

  Vitteli chuckled. “Of course I did. Knew it before he probably knew it himself.”

  “Did you ever tell his dad, Leo?”

  “Nah,” Vitteli said. “I figured it was his business, you know? It would have broke his old man’s heart; I know he wanted grandkids and all that.” He paused as if having to control his emotions. “I loved that old man and didn’t want to see him hurt or disappointed in his kid.”

  Kowalski switched his questioning to Joey Barros. “Did you ever have cause to suspect Barros of stealing union funds?”

  “You see, that’s what doesn’t make sense,” Vitteli said. “I mean, I knew Jackie lived pretty high on the hog, but I figured it was because he was getting an allowance from his old man above and beyond his salary; then when Leo died, Jackie was blowing through his inheritance. But Joey was a family guy. He turned his check over to his wife, for God’s sake. He had two girls in college and was always complaining about how much he was paying in tuition and books and stuff like that.”

  “So did you see any indication that Barros was involved in these thefts?” Kowalski asked.

  “Well, you know, like I said, at least not while the old man was alive,” Vitteli answered. “But after Vince’s death and I started nosing around, I noticed he wasn’t complaining about his bills no more. Joey was a pretty dour guy, but he seemed happy all the time. I even wonder if he had some little chickie stashed away on the side and was just waiting for his kids to graduate and then he was going to be off to someplace sunny with this bimbo and his share of the money him and Jackie was stealing.”

  “Did you personally trust Joey Barros?”

  “Like a brother,” Vitteli said. “Him, me, and Vince grew up on the docks together. We always had each other’s backs whenever any rough stuff went down—like when the mob tried to move in or the Longshoremen tried recruiting around our docks. Joey was a tough son of a bitch, but you’d have had to see him with his wife and kids to know that underneath the tough-guy persona he had a heart of gold. That’s why I’m having such a hard time believing he was involved.”

  Walking over to the prosecution table, Kowalski picked up the photograph from the union magazine, the Dock, and held it up. “Mr. Vitteli, much has been made of People’s Exhibit Twenty-Eight. Do you recognize this photograph?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Vitteli replied. “It’s from the convention last year in Atlantic City.”

  “But do you recognize this particular copy of that page from the magazine?”

  Vitteli nodded. “I brought it to the meeting at Marlon’s,” he explained. “I wanted to sort of remind Vince that we were all a team and about the good times we’ve had.”

  “And did you circle Mr. Carlotta’s face and write his name on the photograph?”

  “I did,” Vitteli agreed. “It’s sort of hard to explain out of context, but I did that there at the table. He was pissed off—some guy
s, like Mahlon Gorman—had been feeding him a bunch of crap, or at least I thought it was at the time, about the election. I was trying to say, this guy here—the one I was circling, Vince Carlotta—was one of us . . . me, Joey, and Jackie. That’s sort of what finally broke the ice. After that, we was good and mostly tied one on talking about old times.”

  Kowalski returned the photograph to the prosecution table, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Karp. “Can you explain how this photograph came to be in the possession of Frank DiMarzo?”

  Vitteli turned to the jurors. “Sure,” he told them, “that’s easy. It was in my wallet those guys took after they shot Vince. I don’t know why that DiMarzo guy kept it. Pretty stupid to tie himself to a murder like that.”

  And you, Karp thought as he glanced at the jurors to see how they were taking the explanation. He noticed that a couple of jurors were taking notes and knew it was something he would need to address. Looking down at the photograph, he suddenly knew just how he’d do it.

  After returning the photograph, Kowalski moved on to several questions regarding the slush fund accounts. “Were you aware of the accounts created by Jackie Corcione?”

  “Yes,” Vitteli admitted. “I received a report from Jackie every month.”

  “What was your understanding regarding the purpose of these accounts?”

  “I was told that they were created to account for union investments using the pension funds,” Vitteli said. “I asked about them once and Jackie explained that income and losses from the investments had to be kept separate from the pension accounts for tax purposes.”

  “Did this make sense to you?”

  Vitteli shrugged. “Let me put it this way, I’m not much of a numbers guy with respect to this intricate accounting. I relied on Jackie, as our chief financial officer, to handle that part of union business and just keep me in the loop as far as general numbers regarding the big picture. Like, I needed to know how much we had in the bank and whether we were able to pay our bills on time.”

  “So Jackie Corcione’s description that these investments and outright theft of monies ended up in a slush fund, or, as he put it, ‘retirement account,’ for you, him, and Barros is a lie?”

  “I can’t say for the other two,” Vitteli answered. “I mean, it looks bad, like they was involved in some nefarious stuff. But I never touched a dime of union money outside of my salary.”

  “But your name is on the accounts, and your signature on file as one of two needed to access the accounts?”

  “I signed a lot of stuff,” Vitteli said. “Maybe I should have been more careful, but whatever Jackie shoved in front of me, I put my John Hancock on it. But I know I never signed nothing that shows I took a cent. Like I said, Jackie handled the money side; I was up to my eyeballs trying to do what was right by my guys on the docks.”

  “Like steal our money,” T. J. Martindale yelled from the gallery.

  Judge See banged his gavel, staring at Martindale. He said quietly but firmly, “I’ll tolerate no more outbursts. Everyone here will act like an adult. Failure to respect these proceedings will result in removal from this courtroom.” He turned to the jury. “Please disregard that statement. I’m sure you are aware that it does not in any way constitute evidence for you to consider in your future deliberations. You may proceed, Mr. Kowalski.”

  Kowalski turned back to the witness. “Mr. Vitteli, are there some members of the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores who don’t like you and would like to see you convicted?”

  Vitteli’s head dropped, as if the question troubled him. “Yeah, afraid so,” he said.

  “What are their motives?”

  “Hard to say for all of them,” Vitteli answered slowly. “But I know some of the young turks have been agitated thinking they’d get a better deal if we merged with the International Association. And . . .” He stopped talking for a moment.

  “And?”

  “I hate to say this, but some of ’em hear stuff about the mob wanting to buy in and get dollar signs in their eyes.”

  A low grumble began in the gallery, but Judge See stopped it with a look.

  “Have you ever heard of an organized crime gang called the Malcheks?” Kowalski asked.

  “I never heard of those guys until this trial,” Vitteli said. “To be honest, it sounds like a bad B movie. But I do know that some Russian gangs have made it pretty clear that they’d like access to our docks. But we’ve also made it pretty clear that the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores will not let that happen.”

  “I know this has been said before, but let’s make it clear. Were you at the meeting at Marlon’s in which Jackie Corcione and Joey Barros met with Marat Lvov, an associate of the Malchek gang, and Alexei Bebnev, a convicted murderer?”

  “No, I wasn’t. I never even heard of this meeting until I read about it in the newspapers during Bebnev’s trial.”

  Kowalski moved on to the election and Carlotta’s attempts to have it overturned, before turning to Vitteli’s role in the union investigation into the allegations. “I, of course, accepted the grievance as the representative of the union management board,” the defendant explained.

  “Were you in charge of the investigation?”

  Vitteli scrunched up his face. “I guess as union president I am responsible for everything that goes on,” he said. “But because of the conflict of interest, I put Jackie in charge of the investigation. Like I said, some of the guys unfortunately don’t like me, but they knew that Vince and Jackie got along swell . . . or so I thought . . . so I thought they’d accept that he’d be fair. I wasn’t worried; I figured that Vince was just having sour grapes or he was getting bad advice.”

  “Did something change your mind about these allegations about election improprieties?”

  “Yeah, after Vince got killed, guys like Al Rubio were telling me that they were hearing rumors that maybe what Vince said wasn’t all wrong . . . that maybe there’d been a cover-up by Jackie and Barros. I started asking questions myself and thought Vince was maybe onto something—not just the election, but maybe whatever those two were up to with the pension funds.”

  “What did you do from there?”

  “That’s when I contacted the Labor Department. I knew Vince had talked to somebody there, who sent him back to the union with his grievance. So I asked to speak to that guy.”

  “Martin Bryant?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you know Mr. Bryant before this?”

  “Never met him.”

  Kowalski half smiled when he asked, “Mr. Vitteli, are you an expert in how the Labor Department conducts its business?”

  “No,” Vitteli replied with a shake of his head. “A lot of it is Greek to me.”

  “Do you have any knowledge of whether Mr. Bryant filed a report regarding Mr. Carlotta’s alleged complaint with his superior?”

  “No idea.”

  “Do you have any knowledge of whether Mr. Bryant filed a report with his superior regarding your concerns?”

  “I saw him taking notes, but I don’t know what he did with any of it. The only thing I got from him was that because of the federal law, I had to take my concerns up with the union grievance policy first.”

  “Would you have any idea why he would or wouldn’t follow his department’s rules?”

  “Just another lazy bureaucrat, I guess,” Vitteli said with a shrug. “Or maybe somebody paid him off.”

  “Were you that someone, Mr. Vitteli?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “And were you able to bring up your concerns to the union?”

  Vitteli shook his head and stared hard at Karp. “No, the district attorney saw fit to charge me with a crime I didn’t commit before I could.”

  “Are you aware of any reasons why the district attorney would do that?”

  “Objection,” Karp said, rising to his feet. “Your Honor, defense counsel has throughout these proceedings attempted to insinuate that I had some sort of person
al vendetta against the defendant, and that my office and the NYPD somehow concocted this plot to unfairly convict him of murder. I have repeatedly requested that if counsel has any evidence to substantiate these outrageous statements to present it forthwith, and Your Honor has concurred. But defense counsel has given the jury nothing but a lot of hot air and continued efforts to obfuscate the facts. The reasons why Mr. Vitteli was indicted and sits here today on trial for murder are the facts, not some personal vendetta.”

  With equanimity, Judge See sighed. “Mr. Kowalski, we’ve been through this a few times already, haven’t we? Yet you keep persisting by making these charges while offering no evidentiary support. Please think about my admonitions so that you won’t repeat this conduct. The objection is sustained.”

  Red-faced and angry, Kowalski turned again to the witness. “All right, let’s turn to the night Vince Carlotta was murdered by the man who met with Jackie Corcione and Joey Barros at Marlon’s,” he snarled. “First, would you please explain to the jurors about Sal Amaya.”

  “Sure, what do you want to know?” Vitteli said.

  “Well, what about the testimony that he ‘never’ left your side if you were out in public?”

  Vitteli snorted. “That’s a laugh,” he said. “To be honest, Sal’s a big dumb guy who’s more of an errands runner and driver than he is a bodyguard. I mean, it don’t hurt to have a big body around sometimes; there’s plenty of guys who don’t like me and it’s smart to have someone watching my back. But that night, I didn’t need him watching nothin’.”

  “And why is that? As the district attorney pointed out, it was after midnight in Hell’s Kitchen when you left Marlon’s.”

  Vitteli shook his head and laughed. “With all due respect,” he sneered, “the DA’s been watching too many movies. Hell’s Kitchen ain’t the rough, tough place it used to be. Like every other neighborhood in Manhattan with buildings that can be turned into lofts, art galleries, and restaurants, it’s been gentrified.”

  “Were there any other reasons you felt safe sending Mr. Amaya to get your car?”