“This was a drug-induced revenge killing for the theft of drugs from Ricky Kasso,” he told them. “There is no doubt that Jimmy Troiano was present when the killing took place, but there is great doubt that he was involved. I take issue that James Troiano is in any way a participant in the murder of Gary Lauwers. Being there is not the same thing as being guilty. Please keep that in mind. Your job, ladies and gentlemen, is not easy. Only you, as the supreme arbiters of the facts, will determine what is real and what is not—what should be believed and what should not. And, most important of all, only you will determine whether the guilt of that young man has been proven beyond a reasonable doubt. Your task is not going to be an easy one. No one is going to leap to his feet from the last row of the courtroom, admit his guilt, and relieve you of your struggle of mind and conscience. Whatever decision you finally make, you will have to live with for the rest of your lives.”
Once both men finished their opening statements, the first witness for the prosecution, Jean Wells, was brought into the wood-paneled room. Clad in a lacy white dress with her long, blond hair done up nicely, Jean sat in the witness box, ready to field questions from Keahon. The usual introductory matters were gone over: Jean’s name, age, and relationship to the accused. When the topic inevitably turned to Jean’s drug use, the sixteen-year-old said she had first used them about two years before, starting with marijuana before moving up to purple microdots and acid.
“You feel like you’re in another world,” Jean told the prosecutor. “I saw trees change colors, making them look purplish. Clouds would be in the shape of dragons and you could form them the way you’d like to see them.”
“How many times do you think you have taken LSD?” Keahon asked.
“Probably about seventy-five times,” Jean replied. “That’s why I had to go to reform school at Madonna Heights. It gave me mood swings.”
“And where did you get it?” Keahon pressed.
“Sometimes from Jimmy,” Jean replied.
“From the defendant?!” Keahon cried, hamming it up for the jury. “Mr. Troiano sold hard drugs to you when you were a junior high student?!”
Jean replied in the affirmative and described two incidents where she had dropped acid with Jimmy, once at the beach and another time in the woods. Jimmy sat silently as he watched his friend testify. Keahon then asked Jean to describe the day when Jimmy told her about the murder, which she did in detail before the prosecutor told Judge Copertino that he had no further questions. It was now Naiburg’s turn to cross-examine the witness—and he was mighty happy that Keahon had brought up Jean’s significant drug use. After all, he wasn’t there to make friends, and any hint of flawed credibility was worth pouncing on to save his client’s neck.
“Say you were high on drugs, Miss Wells,” Naiburg proposed. “If you saw a car, how would you know it really was a car?”
“Because I saw it,” Jean answered bluntly.
“Yes, but didn’t you also see a tree that was purple?” Naiburg replied. “Reality, for most of us, is constant, yet when you are on drugs, your reality changes. Is that correct, Miss Wells?”
Jean was becoming frustrated. Unfamiliar with courtroom tactics, she wondered why these two lawyers were so obsessed with the drugs she took. After all, Jimmy was the one on trial here—not her.
“Yeah, but you don’t see anything that isn’t there,” she insisted.
“No further questions, Your Honor,” Naiburg said confidently as he turned to Judge Copertino.
After Jean exited the witness box, Suffolk County Homicide Detective Kevin James McCready was brought into the courtroom to testify about the investigation that led to Jimmy’s and Ricky’s arrests. He described to Keahon the discovery of Gary’s remains inside Aztakea Woods along with responding to Bluff Point Road to arrest the two suspects. When it came time for Naiburg to cross-examine the detective regarding the two conflicting statements taken from Jimmy, he quickly became annoyed with McCready’s answers. Every time Naiburg asked a question, the sharply dressed detective would swivel in his seat to face the jury as he answered, obviously feigning sincerity. To Naiburg, McCready wasn’t taking this trial seriously.
“Mr. McCready, have you been trained to testify?” Naiburg asked, his voice seething with resentment. “Were you told to look at the jury to impress them?”
“Yes,” McCready replied arrogantly.
“Well, maybe you should pay attention to the questions and forget about looking at the jury!” Naiburg replied.
Keahon jumped from his seat. He knew a threat to his case when he saw it.
“Your Honor, I request a recess,” he said, straightening his tie.
Judge Copertino agreed, and the jury, along with all the spectators and journalists, were escorted out of the courtroom.
When he was confident the jury and visitors had all left, Keahon pointed toward the detective, who still sitting in the witness box, and yelled, “McCready, you’re a fucking asshole!”
Chapter 58
WHEN THE TRIAL RESUMED ON Monday, April 8, Dr. Stuart Dawson, Suffolk County’s deputy medical examiner, was called to the witness stand. Dawson had performed the autopsy on Gary’s remains after they were removed from the shallow grave in Aztakea. Reading from the report he wrote after the examination, Dawson described the body to the jurors as “markedly decomposed,” with nearly everything above Gary’s waist fully skeletonized. He then noted the numerous indentations left by Ricky’s knife in Gary’s fourth, sixth, and eleventh thoracic vertebrae, along with eight “stabbing or cutting” injuries to the left cheek area of Gary’s skull. The facial injuries were contained to a small area measuring only an inch and a half in diameter, and the wounds to Gary’s back were mostly in a row, as displayed by the twenty-two cuts in his jacket.
These details, according to Dawson, strongly suggested that Gary had been held down or paralyzed as he was murdered, and that it may have taken him “quite a few minutes to die” under these conditions—especially if he had merely bled to death.
As far as Keahon was concerned, this left more than enough time for Jimmy Troiano to assist Ricky.
Still, Naiburg wasn’t about to give Keahon an easy win thanks to this testimony.
“Dr. Dawson,” he said as he approached the witness box, “is it possible the knife could have penetrated the victim’s heart early on during the attack?”
“Yes,” Dawson replied. “That is possible.”
“And how long would the victim have had before dying if this had occurred?” Naiburg asked.
“He would have collapsed within approximately fifteen seconds,” Dawson said.
“So, which is it, Doctor?” Naiburg demanded. “If these stab wounds punctured his heart and—what is more probable—his lungs, would he have been able to jump up and run into the woods?”
“I don’t know,” Dawson replied frankly.
“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?!” Naiburg prodded. “You said there were eight verifiable wounds in and around the spinal column. You said that any one of them—any one—could have severed the nerves, causing immediate lower-body paralysis. How could the poor kid have gotten up and run away with those wounds, as well as the knife holes in his heart and lungs? How?”
“I can’t answer that,” Dr. Dawson replied meekly.
“You ‘can’t answer that’?!” Naiburg exclaimed. “You are an expert! An expert, Doctor! If any of those wounds pierced the heart, Gary would have been dead! Not just immobilized, but dead within fifteen seconds!”
“Mr. Naiburg,” Judge Copertino interjected, “might I please ask that you tone it down and allow the witness to answer.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Naiburg replied, relinquishing the floor to Dr. Dawson.
“I don’t know the answer to that question,” Dawson calmly repeated. “I don’t know how deeply the knife penetrated the body.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
The next morning, the prosecution’s ace-in-the-slee
ve, Albert Quinones, arrived in the courtroom, escorted by his attorney, Richard Librett. Jimmy had been dreading this moment, but both Keahon and Naiburg were equally pleased that this day had finally come. Keahon was convinced that Albert’s testimony would win over the jury.
Naiburg, however, had other plans. He may not have had the Breskin tapes, but the lawyer knew enough about the boy and his drug habits to prove him an unreliable witness.
After reminding Albert of his rights under the immunity deal, along with going over his background and connection to the crime, Keahon went straight to the elephant in the room—Albert’s drug use.
“Have you used drugs in the past, Mr. Quinones?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Albert replied.
“And what drugs have you used before?”
“LSD, coke, mescaline, and embalming fluid,” Albert said.
“Embalming fluid?” Keahon asked, perplexed by this notion.
“Yeah,” Albert replied. “You put it on wood chips and roll it up like a cigarette and smoke it.”
“And how did you afford these drugs?”
“I sold mescaline,” Albert replied.
“Were you high on the night of the murder, Mr. Quinones?” he asked.
“I was drunk,” Albert answered. “I had a few beers. Gary and Ricky made me take a hit of mescaline. They all took a bunch. Gary took three downtown and another three at Dunkin’ Donuts. They all were smoking dust and tripping on acid.”
“Do you think your memory is influenced by these drugs?” Keahon asked.
“No,” Albert replied. “I got a good memory.”
“When did you first have an idea that Kasso was going to kill Gary?” Keahon asked.
“I didn’t have an idea,” Albert insisted. “Gary did.”
This statement directly contradicted Jimmy’s first confession, which read, “We got donuts and cigarettes, and then walked up to Aztakea Woods. On the way, Albert said that Ricky was going to beat up Gary. After we got up there, Albert told me Ricky was going to kill Gary. I decided I didn’t care because Gary should not have taken the dust that belonged to Rick.”
“Gary told me when we were around the fire,” Albert continued. “He said, ‘Al, I think Jimmy’s gonna kill me.’ ”
“Jimmy?” Keahon asked, visibly confused. “Don’t you mean Ricky?”
“No,” Albert replied. “Gary thought Jimmy was after him, but Jimmy heard him say that and said, ‘Gary, why should I kill you? I don’t have any reason to kill you.’ Gary was still worried, though.”
“Was that before or after the sleeves were cut from Gary’s jacket?” Keahon asked.
“Before,” Albert replied.
“And who cut them?”
“I think Gary cut them off himself,” Albert said. “Either that or he cut one and Jimmy cut the other. Gary had taken off one of his socks and thrown it on the fire, but it didn’t help much to make it burn. They cut off some of Gary’s hair. It didn’t make much of a fire either.”
“Who cut off the hair?”
“I think Jimmy cut some off,” Albert replied, “and so did Ricky.”
“And then what?” Keahon asked.
“Gary got real nervous,” Albert said. “He kept looking at me as if I should do something. I was sitting away from the fire. I didn’t know what to do. Then Gary got up and tried to run into the woods. Jimmy tackled him, and Ricky ran over and grabbed him.”
“Then what?” Keahon pressed, sounding almost as eager to hear the lurid tale as the spectators and reporters in the rows behind him.
“Then, Gary got off the ground,” Albert continued, “and Ricky jumped on his back and bit him on his neck and his ear. Then, Ricky stabbed Gary in his side and Gary ran into the woods. Ricky ran after him and grabbed him by his jacket and brought him back to the campfire.”
Many wondered how Ricky, who was high on marijuana, purple microdots, PCP, and LSD, could have chased Gary down in the pitch-black woods and brought him back to the illumination of the small fire.
One person with an answer to offer is Grant Koerner, Ricky’s childhood friend and neighbor.
“The only way I can describe it is years of training,” Koerner says today. “This is going to seem odd, but we played tag in those woods our whole lives. I remember playing ‘Ghost in the Graveyard’ in those woods until I don’t even know what time—well past midnight. We had always been running around in those woods. Even if you ran off the path, you’d still have an idea of where things were. I hate to say it was training, but those woods were only blocks from the Kasso house. . . .”
“Did Gary say anything at that time?” Keahon asked.
“He said, ‘I love you, Mom,’ ” Albert replied. “Then Jimmy came over and kicked Gary after Ricky threw him on the ground. Then Jimmy picked up the knife and gave it to Ricky and told him to slice Gary’s throat.”
“Jimmy told Ricky to kill Gary?” Keahon asked, making sure to highlight this point to the jury.
“Yeah,” Albert replied. “He kept making signs to Ricky like this—”
Albert dragged his index finger across his throat.
“Then Ricky made Gary get on his knees and say, ‘I love Satan,’ ” he continued. “Gary said he loved Satan, and Ricky started stabbing him.”
Several spectators sitting in the rows behind Jimmy winced. Jimmy just sat in his chair, silently leering at Albert, who suddenly began to weep.
“Ricky started stabbing him some more,” Albert continued as tears streamed down his face. “He started stabbing him in the back, started stabbing him in the chest. Then, I guess he was dead. Ricky and Jimmy went over to the body and they started looking down on it, saying, ‘There is smoke coming out of his back,’ and they just started laughing. Then Ricky picked up Gary’s hands and Jimmy picked up a leg. I walked over there, and I picked up a leg, and we started dragging him into the woods.”
Albert then recounted how the three walked back to his house, where Ricky washed up and borrowed a shirt before leaving with Jimmy. After this, Judge Copertino dismissed everyone for a lunch recess—not that anyone had much of an appetite after hearing the boy’s tale.
When everyone returned from the lunch recess, Naiburg rose for his chance to grill Albert on the witness stand.
“Do you think your head has been messed up by drugs, Mr. Quinones?” he asked.
“No,” Albert replied.
Naiburg then asked Albert to describe the strange dreams he had been experiencing since the murder. He was particularly disturbed by what Albert had been quoted as saying in “Kids in the Dark”:
I had some really wicked nightmares, man. I had nightmares that I killed him. It was weird. And I had a dream that I killed another guy. [Author’s Note: Breskin’s editors at Rolling Stone had inexplicably removed Mark Florimonte’s name in the published version.] I just started stabbing him in the back of the head. And then a cop came in and scooped him up with this little pick or something and threw him in the garbage. It scared the hell out of me. . . .
Albert agreed to discuss the nightmares, telling Naiburg, “I was lying in my bed one night with the windows open and I heard Gary screaming outside. I got scared and went downstairs and turned on the TV. I stayed up all night. Another time I was just about to go to sleep when I looked and there was a skeleton floating over my dresser. I was sure it was Gary. It really freaked me out.”
“And what about the dreams you told Mr. Breskin about?” Naiburg pressed. “Did you also dream about having killed Gary yourself?”
“Yeah,” Albert replied.
Naiburg then had Albert again go over the sequence of events leading to Gary’s murder.
“A while later,” he said, “after we got to the place where they set the fire, Gary said that he had a funny feeling that Ricky was going to kill him. Jimmy started saying, ‘Ricky, I’m not going to kill you. I have no reason to kill you.’ ”
“Ricky?” Naiburg asked. Only a couple hours earlier, Albert had told Keahon that
Gary thought Jimmy was going to kill him. Now, it was back to Ricky.
“I meant Gary,” Albert replied, correcting only half of the perceived error. “ ‘Gary, I’m not going to kill you. I have no reason to kill you.’ Then both me and Jimmy said, ‘Don’t worry, Gary; he’s not going to kill you.’ Then, like a half hour or forty-five minutes later, Ricky started jumping on Gary and punching him in the face. They just started rolling around on the ground. I walked up to Gary and I kicked him in the face.”
The spectators gasped when they heard this revelation. Naiburg was also shocked, but no one was more disturbed than Keahon. Quinones had never once mentioned assaulting Gary that night, and neither had Ricky or Jimmy in any of their statements.
“Wait a minute,” Naiburg interrupted. “Will you repeat what you just said?”
“What did I say?” Albert asked, completely oblivious to the gravity of what he’d just casually admitted.
“The part about you kicking the victim in the face, Mr. Quinones,” Naiburg replied, astonished.
“Yeah,” Albert replied, still unaffected by what he had said. “While Ricky had Gary down on the ground, I went over and kicked Gary in the face.”
“Why?” Naiburg asked.
“I don’t know,” Albert replied. “I just did it.”
“But that’s not what you told the police in your statement,” Naiburg reminded him. “You told the police you had no part in this murder. You said all you did was watch.”
“I lied,” Albert said, shrugging as if this were no big deal.
“So, you did do something, then?” Naiburg asked.
“Yeah,” Albert replied. “What I told the police wasn’t the truth. They beat me up. They punched me in the ribs, they punched me in the mouth, and they kicked me in my private spot and told me Jimmy had said I kicked Gary. I told them I didn’t do anything like that. I wasn’t going to get involved in this. Anyway, it was Jimmy the cops wanted to nail—not me. So anyway, after I kicked Gary in the face, I walked back to where I was sitting, and Jimmy ran up to Gary and kicked him in the ribs. Gary started screaming, ‘You broke my ribs! You broke my ribs!’ He was screaming real loud. Gary then got up to his feet and Ricky grabbed his legs. Gary fell on the ground on his hands and knees and then Ricky held Gary down. Jimmy walked over and held Gary down, and Ricky started cutting his hair off with the knife. Then Jimmy started cutting his hair off and Gary started saying, ‘Al, stop them! Don’t let them kill me!’ He started saying that he had five hundred dollars at home and that he would give it to him—give it to Ricky and us. They kept cutting his hair off and then Gary got scared and ran into the woods. Then Ricky ran after him with the knife in his hand. Then I ran after Ricky, trying to stop him. I tried tripping him so he would fall, but Gary got tangled up in the vines. Ricky grabbed him by his jacket and brought him back to the campfire. That’s when Ricky started stabbing Gary.”
The Acid King Page 29
