“If I said, ‘trial by,’ you might say ‘trial by fire,’ or ‘trial by jury.’ But what is happening here, what best describes the entire investigation, what you are a part of, is something that I call, ‘trial by family.’
“Joey Desimone stands before you today because he is the son of Carmine Desimone, who I know most, if not all, of you are familiar with. But Joey has never been a part of what is said to be the family business, and there will be no evidence to show that he has.
“Joey Desimone has led an exemplary life, no matter who his father is, and that is a fact. But his last name made him an easy target, and once you have an easy target, why bother to look for a hard one?
“Mr. Campbell is right about one thing, and that is that Joey had an affair with Richard Solarno’s wife. It’s not something he is proud of, but it does not make him a murderer.
“Nothing could make Joey Desimone a murderer.”
“She was afraid of him. She said he might kill her.”
Dylan’s first witness, Lisa Holland, is reprising her testimony from the first trial, albeit a bit earlier. I think Dylan moved her up in the order because she is testifying to a threat Joey allegedly made, which could counter my opening statement about the threat from Montana.
Holland was a neighbor and friend of Karen Solarno, and represented herself in the first trial as an intimate confidante.
“When did she say that?” Dylan asks.
“We were having coffee at her house; she asked me to come over because she wanted to talk.”
“What was the status of her relationship with Mr. Desimone at that point?”
“They were having an affair, but she had just told him it was over.”
“How did he respond to that, according to her?”
These questions would ordinarily be disallowed as hearsay, since Holland wasn’t actually there to see Joey’s reaction, but because Karen Solarno is deceased, Holland’s answers are admissible.
“She said he became furious, and said that no one rejects a Desimone. He said that he would have her or no one would.”
“So she feared for her life?” Dylan asks.
“Definitely.”
“Why was she breaking it off with him?”
“She wanted to make it work with Richard. She said she still loved Richard, but that she had treated him badly. She wanted to make it right, and she wanted them to have a child.”
“Did she say that to Mr. Desimone?”
Holland nods. “Yes. She said that made it worse. That Joey said he would put Richard in the ground. Those were his words. And she was afraid he could do it, because of his family.”
Dylan turns the witness over to me, and I start with a pleasant “good afternoon,” and she responds in kind.
“It’s nice to see you again,” I say, “it’s been a while. Do you remember that we’ve spoken before?”
“Yes.”
“Actually, I was questioning you, and you were under oath, as you are now. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“And you were answering truthfully then, as required by law, just as you’re doing now. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
I hand her a page from the transcript of the last trial, and ask her to read it. She does so; it’s a series of questions as to whether she intended to try and profit from the trial or her experience. She absolutely denied any such intention. “I only want justice for Karen,” she had finally concluded.
“Did you profit from it?” I ask.
“I did not.”
“Did you attempt to?”
She hesitates for a moment, afraid of where I might be going, and says, “No.”
“Never tried to sell your story?”
“No.”
I introduce into evidence a document that Laurie had uncovered in the investigation, and I ask Holland if she recognizes it. “Yes.”
“Is it a proposal for a book?”
“Yes.”
“Can you read the title, please?”
She doesn’t want to do so, but can’t seem to figure a way out. “Deadly Affair: The Karen Solarno Story.”
“And what words come right after that?”
“By Lisa Holland.”
“Which, coincidentally, is your name.”
Dylan objects to my sarcasm, and Hatchet sustains. Before I can ask another question, Holland says, “My husband did that.”
“Did what?”
“Tried to sell it as a book,” she says.
“Without your knowledge?”
“That’s correct.”
“If it sold, were you going to write it without your knowledge?”
“I wasn’t going to write it.”
I read from the proposal. “‘The story that shook America, as told by the best friend she confided in.’” I put the proposal down. “That wasn’t you? This is a different best friend we’re talking about?”
“It’s referring to me,” she says. “But my husband prepared that proposal. I told him I didn’t want to be involved.”
“Because you swore under oath that you wouldn’t do so?”
“That’s correct.”
“But he went ahead anyway? Without your involvement?”
“Yes.”
“Are you still married to this guy?”
Hatchet sustains another Dylan objection, so I move on to even more fertile ground. “OK, so forgetting whether or not you told the truth the last time you testified, this time you’re telling the truth, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“And everything you’ve said today is equally true? All your statements have had the same level of truthfulness?”
I can see in her face that she’s scared of where I might be going, and she has good reason to be. “Yes.”
“Does the name Nancy Ellman mean anything to you?”
She hesitates, as the import of what I just said sinks in. “Not that I can recall.”
“Maybe I can refresh your memory. She’s a senior editor at Prescott Publishing. They publish mostly nonfiction, current events kind of books. Actually much like the proposal that your husband wrote, without your knowledge.”
“I can’t recall.”
“Well, that memory refresher obviously didn’t do the trick, so let’s try another.” I hand three copies of a letter to Hatchet, Dylan, and Holland, and say, “Here’s a letter from you to Ms. Ellman, thanking her for meeting with you and considering the book proposal.”
She doesn’t say anything, so I continue with, “I sure hope that worked, because I only have a couple of memory refreshers left.”
Finally, she says, “I did it as a favor to my husband. He asked me to.”
“Did he ask you to lie about it today?”
I torture her a little more, and then let her off the stand. This was a case where the passage of time worked to my advantage. During the first trial, I suspected she was lying when she said she wouldn’t try to sell her story, but I couldn’t demonstrate it. Now I could, so I was able to nail her with it.
The rest of the witnesses won’t be so easy.
Carmine Desimone always loved The Godfather.
Unlike many of his colleagues, who thought it painted them in a negative light, he didn’t think so at all. He thought Vito, Sonny, and Michael Corleone were heroic figures. He liked Godfather II a little less, and walked out of Godfather III after twenty minutes, but the original, in his mind, was a classic.
He identified more with Michael than with Vito, probably because he was born in the United States, and he also “inherited” the mantle of family leader from his father. But it wasn’t that it seemed autobiographical, because there were many differences.
Like Michael, Carmine had to deal with changing times, in ways that his father never did. It had become a new and very different world, much more so than Michael ever faced, and it had proved very difficult for Carmine to deal with.
Carmine had lately been thinking of his father often. He
felt that his father would have been very disappointed in him, and how he had presided over the disintegration of the family business, of the family itself.
And he thought of Nicky. He had never bought Iurato’s explanation of what happened; it was laughable on its face. He had no idea why Nicky was killed, or what possible threat the old man had presented. And even though he was just a shell of the old Nicky, he would be avenged.
He would be avenged that night. Because that night Carmine felt most like Michael Corleone, the night he went to the restaurant and shot Sollozzo and the police captain.
Gino Bruni picked him up at seven that evening for the fifteen-minute drive to Spumoni’s restaurant in downtown Elizabeth. It was a favorite of Carmine’s from the old days, though no business was ever discussed there. Law enforcement was all over the place, and it was probably the only restaurant in the New York metropolitan area with more “bugs” than cockroaches.
But that was then, and as Carmine and his colleagues stopped going there, the appeal to the cops faded as well. Now it was just a struggling restaurant with great food and a private room in the back. A private room reserved that night for Carmine Desimone, party of four.
Carmine and Gino arrived at seven twenty, ten minutes before the scheduled dinner. As Gino shut off the car, Carmine said, “Your people are here?”
“Yes. One is posing as a waiter, one as a busboy, and one is having dinner at a small table near the kitchen. He’s with his wife.”
“Good. I want to be warned if they come in with extra people. I don’t want this to be a trap.”
“It’s a trap, but we’re setting it,” said Gino. “Why would they be trapping you? You called the meeting.”
They went inside, and were greeted by the owner and led into the back room. Gino had earlier told Carmine that the owner had been paid more for that night than the restaurant would earn in a year, and he could be counted on to be quiet.
At exactly seven thirty, Gino looked out the window and saw a dark sedan pull up. Iurato and Ryerson got out of the backseat, and started walking toward the restaurant entrance. He said, “They’re here.”
“Alone?” asked Carmine.
“There’s a driver with them, but he stayed in the car.”
“Good.”
When Ryerson and Iurato came in, Ryerson immediately went over to Carmine, even before he took off his coat. “Hello, Carmine, you’re looking well,” he said, extending his hand.
Carmine did not shake his hand, simply saying, “What are you drinking?”
“Gin and tonic.”
Carmine did not ask the same of Iurato, but merely signaled to Gino, who mixed the drink at the bar, and handed it to Ryerson. “So, you wanted to see me?” Ryerson asked.
“I want you out,” Carmine said.
“I thought you had something new to tell me.”
“I’m prepared to buy you out.”
Ryerson laughed at the thought of it. “I represent money that can buy and sell you, Carmine. In fact, I’ve already bought you, or at least your company.” He never referred to Carmine’s operation as a family, always as a company. Ryerson then pointed toward Gino. “With the apparent exception of Mr. Bruni, here.”
“One way or the other, you’re out, Ryerson. So name a price.”
“You disappoint me, Carmine. I knew you were old, and basically a piece of shit, but I thought you were brighter than this.”
Carmine looked over at Gino, who walked over to the door and knocked on it. Moments later it opened, and two men walked in, carrying handguns. The other door to the room opened as well, revealing a third armed man.
“You should have named a price,” Carmine said, then turned to Gino and said, “Kill them.” He then indicated Iurato. “Take your time with him.”
But nobody moved or said anything. Not Gino, nor Ryerson, nor Iurato, nor the three gunmen. “Do it now,” Carmine said, and when everyone remained still, the truth of the matter dawned on him.
“You son of a bitch,” he said to Gino. “Where is your loyalty?”
Ryerson laughed. “You’re living in the dark ages, Carmine. He’s an employee; employees go where the money is. That’s the way the world works. A guy works for IBM, and Apple offers him twice as much money, you think he’s going to stay at IBM because he’s loyal?
“This was the company you built, but I run it now. You could have stayed on as chairman emeritus.” He paused and chuckled at the thought. “And now you’re about to be very emeritus.”
Just before he walked out the door, Ryerson said to Iurato, “The most important thing is to make sure he is never found.”
I hate cross-examining Pete Stanton.
I’ve probably had to do it seven or eight times, and I think I’ve more than held my own, but I hate the process. We’re always adversaries, and it’s my job to make him look bad. I obviously don’t like it, because he’s my friend.
I do it though, and friendship has to take a backseat, because of what his job is. His job is to put my clients in prison, very often for the rest of their lives.
Dylan takes Pete through pretty much the same testimony he gave during the first trial. It’s basically a scene setter, describing Pete’s arrival at the Solarno house, and the actions he took while there. Most of the specific evidentiary factors that led to Joey’s being arrested will be told through other witnesses, so in that sense, there’s nothing for me to attack.
He does bring up the fact that Joey’s fingerprints were on the scene, and more importantly on the gun, which was found on the scene. It’s the gun that killed Karen Solarno, and which belonged to her. The weapon that killed Richard has never been found. In any event, the print evidence is certainly an area I can’t let go unchallenged when I start my cross-examination.
Pete also reads from a statement Joey made to police before I was brought into the case. There is no way Joey’s previous attorney should have allowed him to be interviewed; it’s virtually legal malpractice to have done so.
In the interview, Joey had said that he did not own a gun, and couldn’t remember the last time he had fired one. It’s a statement that came back to haunt him, and will do so again.
“Lieutenant Stanton, what was your rank when the murder took place?” is how I start.
“I was a detective.”
“How many promotions have you had since then?”
“Two.”
“Congratulations.” I asked these questions to further demonstrate to the jury how long ago the crime took place, and to tell them that I consider Pete a good officer. This is because I’ll have very little to criticize about the actions he took; I’ll be going after the actions he didn’t take.
He doesn’t thank me for my congratulatory remark, but I won’t hold a grudge. “You said you found Mr. Desimone’s prints in the house and on the gun that killed Karen Solarno. You ran them against a database?”
“Yes.”
“Since not everyone’s prints are in those databases, how was it that Mr. Desimone’s happened to be there?”
“From his time in the Marines.”
“So he had never committed a prior crime?”
“Not that we know of.”
“Is your knowledge in this area somewhat incomplete?”
“Somewhat.”
“Had he ever been charged with a crime?”
“No.”
“That you’re sure of?”
“Yes.”
“Ever been arrested?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.” Pete is getting annoyed, but he’s too experienced a witness to show it to the jury.
“You said you found Mr. Desimone’s fingerprints in the house.”
“Yes.”
“Where in the house, specifically?”
“In the front foyer, the den, the living room, the kitchen, two bathrooms, and the bedroom.”
“Wow … that’s a lot of places. You’ve testified that the murder of Richard Solarno took p
lace at the front door, and that of Karen Solarno in her bedroom. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“So is your theory of the case that he murdered the Solarnos, and then ran around the house touching as many things as he could?”
“No.”
“Your report says that his fingerprints were on the microwave in the kitchen. Does your theory include his making some popcorn between murders?”
Dylan objects, and Hatchet sustains, admonishing me to be less argumentative. Good luck with that, Hatchet.
“His prints were also found on the gun, is that correct?” I ask, knowing that it is.
“Yes.”
“Who owned the gun?”
“It was registered to Karen Solarno.”
“And this is the same Karen Solarno that was having a relationship with Mr. Desimone?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“How long had she owned it?”
“Two months.”
“Let me offer a hypothetical,” I say. “Suppose she had shown Mr. Desimone the gun and he held it. Or suppose as a Marine marksman, she had asked him to take her out and teach her how to shoot it. Could his fingerprints have gotten on the gun that way?”
“There is no evidence that happened.”
I fake surprise. “There is no evidence that she ever handed him the gun to show it to him? Never said, ‘Look what I just got?’ or even asked him to help her buy it?”
“No.”
“I see. I hadn’t realized your investigation was that complete. Why don’t you show me a list of things she handed to him during their relationship, and if the gun’s not on it, we’ll know you’re right.”
Dylan objects and I withdraw the question. I’ve gotten other explanations in front of the jury, but the fingerprints on the gun is still the elephant in the already crowded room.
I point out to Pete that his report says that Joey and Karen Solarno were having an affair, which had lasted months. “Isn’t that a more logical explanation for how his prints got in the house? Or do you find that most people conducting extramarital affairs wear gloves?”
Dylan asks that we approach the bench, which gives Hatchet another chance to admonish me, and warn me to “be very careful.” He also tells me to move on, which I’m happy to do.
Leader of the Pack (Andy Carpenter) Page 14
