A commission led by Chief Detective Robert A. Wilson, presented, after completion of all investigations, a thousand-page report, which would be later called the Wilson Report. In it, it said that Marvin Copeland, born 1968 in New York, was admitted on September 3, 1997, into the Landsteiner Clinic near Quebec under the pseudonym Marvin Bruce with moderate symptoms of heroin withdrawal and was treated for heroin addiction. The use of assumed names was described to investigators as a common practice by the clinic to ensure the anonymity of members of well-known families often treated there. The fact that Copeland was sought by French police at this time was not known to the hospital staff according to their statements.
Copeland’s disappearance seemed to be in connection with the death of the former Italian assistant DA, Constantina Volpe, who died from an overdose of heroin on August 31 in a hotel room in Paris. Copeland was arrested after other hotel guests heard screams coming from Copeland’s room prompting them to call the police. Copeland could not be questioned upon his arrest due to heroin intoxication, and was taken to the clinic of the detention center of the 19th Arrondissement. It was still unclear how he managed to disappear from the clinic later that same night.
It was also unclear how Copeland managed to get to Canada. Upon his arrival at the drug clinic he had been accompanied by a middle-aged man who said his name was Brian Smith. The clinic’s bills were paid monthly by bank transfer from an account in the First Pacific Bank of Vancouver, which belonged to one Ron Butler. This account had been opened with a large sum of money on September 2, 1997. The only movements of monies from this account were those to the clinic. It was not possible to find said Ron Butler; all documents that were submitted to the bank upon opening of the account were falsified, a fact that had gone unnoticed until police investigations brought this fact to a bank employee’s attention.
Copeland spent nine months in the clinic, undergoing the standard treatment for heroin addiction: detoxification, physical regeneration, and psychotherapy. According to the medical staff of the clinic, Copeland escaped three weeks before his planned discharge. Since the clinic had extensive measures to prevent escape, it is highly likely that he received outside help. His disappearance was noticed four hours after he was allowed out for his daily walk, upon which the clinic immediately started a manhunt with dogs and the clinic’s own helicopter. Tracks were found leading through the forest and ending at a parking lot on the clinic’s access road. It is likely that Copeland continued his escape by motorized vehicle, underlining the presumption that he had received outside help.
In the afternoon of June 11, Copeland rented a room in a motel called Wooden Grizzly, situated on Highway 113, where he stayed until June 14. The motel’s records said that he was driving a gray Mitsubishi Colt, which was found to have been stolen in Toronto. According to the motel employees Copeland bought food at the motel’s little shop, and ate it in his room, which he otherwise did not leave. He made two lengthy long-distance phone calls, the first on the day of his arrival — June 11, and the second the following day. After checking with the phone company, the first call was made to the London residence of John Salvatore Fontanelli, and the second to Fontanelli’s private mobile phone. Copeland received a visitor in the evening hours of June 13, by a man driving a black sports car, thought to have been a Corvette. He stayed for three hours. Copeland left the motel the following day.
The route he took from the motel to the crime scene cannot be reconstructed with certainty at this point. There is evidence that he bought a conspicuously large amount of fruit, mainly melons, in La Dore near Lac St. Jean. Witnesses at Lac Le Barrois, a small lake off of Highway 167, report to have observed a man practicing shooting there. Remains of fruit found at the site later could easily have been destroyed by gunshots.
Statements made by friends and relatives of Copeland indicate that he had never possessed or fired a weapon, further, he had no military training. It remains unclear where he crossed the US-Canadian border. One border guard thought he remembered noticing a nervous young man in a gray Mitsubishi who would fit the description. He searched him and his vehicle for drugs, but found neither narcotics nor firearms.
Copeland arrived in New York on June 22, 1998. His car was found in a no-parking zone and identified by Officer Warren Martin as being stolen. Copeland, however, did not return to the vehicle. It was not possible to determine where he stayed the week before the shooting. None of his acquaintances had taken him in, they insisted. It was assumed that he may have been given shelter by one of his former girlfriends.
That the official opening of the legislature for the election of the world speaker — the Global Plebiscite Opening Ceremony — was to be held at the United Nations on Saturday was generally known due to ample coverage by the media. It was also easily possible to find out when the rehearsal was scheduled, for example by a simple call to the facility management. The entire UN compound was closed to visitors on that day. For this reason the otherwise standard security checks (metal detectors, screening of baggage) had not been performed; however, several of Mr. Fontanelli’s bodyguards present were cooperating with the UN's own security force, so that it was assumed adequate safety precautions were in place.
Special mention should be made of the remarkable circumstance that led to the presence of Lino Fontanelli, the elder brother of John Fontanelli, among the UN security forces that day. Lino Fontanelli, a former fighter pilot in the US Air Force, had become known in connection with the so-called "Bleeker Affair" in May 1995. He had been demoted and taken from active flight status because of mental health issues and multiple alcohol-related infractions. He had been sent to a weather station in Shaktoolik on Norton Sound, Alaska, and later finally discharged from the Air Force. From there he came back to New York and found employment as a security guard at the UN through an acquaintance.
Lino Fontanelli was placed on duty with the UN security detail at the General Assembly Hall’s entryway. His duty began at 1 p.m. and was to end at 11 p.m., including one break between 5 p.m. and 6:30 p.m. He was armed with a Smith & Wesson .41 Magnum revolver.
John Fontanelli arrived outside the General Assembly Hall about ten minutes before 2 p.m. After he got out of his vehicle, an armored Lincoln, he was surprised to see his brother Lino as a member of the UN security detail. They had a conversation together, and at about 1400 hours John Fontanelli entered the assembly hall while Lino Fontanelli went back to his post at the entrance. The main rehearsal lasted one and a half hours and ended at 3:30 p.m.
One of Mr. Fontanelli’s personal bodyguards, Marco Benetti, born in 1971 in Rome, married, residing in London, England, made the statement that he was approached by a UN security guard by the name of George Brown, born 1976 in Alliance, Ohio. Mr. Brown asked Mr. Benetti if he knew of a guest Mr. Fontanelli was supposed to be expecting, whereby Mr. Benetti responded by saying he knew of no such visitor. Mr. Benetti then accompanied Mr. Brown after Mr. Brown asked if he might do so, but not without Mr. Benetti first notifying another of Mr. Fontanelli’s bodyguards, Mr. O’Hanlon. Both of Mr. Fontanelli’s bodyguards were in touch by radio and had agreed that Mr. O’Hanlon would notify Mr. Benetti immediately when the rehearsals came to an end.
Guards protecting the premises had apprehended a person who had attempted to enter the cordoned-off UN compound. This person, as Benetti found out upon his arrival, was Marvin Copeland, whom Benetti personally knew. Copeland claimed to have phoned John Fontanelli, and claimed that the latter had asked him for a meeting after the end of the main rehearsal. When Benetti expressed his skepticism about Copeland’s story, the latter displayed a note with a number on it that Mr. Benetti recognized as Mr. Fontanelli’s mobile phone number. At this point, Mr. Benetti assumed that the call had actually taken place, and offered to take Copeland into the building. Although Mr. Benetti assumed that Copeland had already been checked by UN security personnel, he personally checked him once more for weapons. Copeland agreed and understood the reasons for tight security.
Mr. Benetti was called by Mr. O’Hanlon shortly before 3:30 p.m. and told that the main rehearsals were ending. Copeland got excited and asked Mr. Benetti where the washrooms were, Mr. Benetti told him. When Copeland returned Mr. Fontanelli had just left the assembly hall and was in the foyer. Copeland and Mr. Benetti hurried to get to Mr. Fontanelli. However, on their way there, Mr. Benetti and Copeland got separated when each went around a buffet table that two florists were preparing with flower arrangements. This was how Copeland ended up approaching Mr. Fontanelli from behind. At that moment as Mr. Benetti attracted Mr. Fontanelli’s attention to his visitor, Copeland, to Mr. Benetti’s total surprise, drew a firearm, a SIG-Sauer 9 mm semi-automatic pistol, and fired at Mr. Fontanelli several times in quick succession.
It is highly likely that Copeland may have hidden the weapon in the washroom during one of the usual tours for sightseers earlier in the week. He managed to so cleverly hide the weapon (hung on a blackened thread in a downward-leading ventilation shaft) that the hiding place not only escaped the checks carried out previously, but might even have remained undetected after the assassination.
Overall Copeland fired five shots, four of them hitting Mr. Fontanelli; two in the stomach, one in the upper right lung and one was a grazing shot to the neck. Then Copeland was hit by one of several shots fired by Lino Fontanelli from seventy feet away, taking a significant risk, given the number of other people present. The first round from Lino Fontanelli’s weapon hit Copeland in the head and killed him on the spot. A number of witnesses reported that Lino Fontanelli was screaming continuously while he fired, until he was himself overwhelmed and given a strong sedative.
$50,000,000,000,000
HE AWOKE BUT found it difficult to open his eyes. It felt as if lead weights had been placed over his eyelids. He felt separated from his body, which ached terribly. But luckily the medication flowing through his veins prevented him from experiencing the full force of the pain. He blinked eyelids that felt as if they were made of the same material used to protect nuclear bunkers. He could hear a steady beeping sound coming from one of them.
Oh, no, that was coming from above him. It was some gadget in a dark-blue metal case that looked like those he’d seen in one of the doctor shows. This image rolled around inside his head for a while, dully, lethargically, until he started to think more clearly. Could it be that he was lying in a hospital bed?
Uh-oh.
What happened again? His mind saw fuzzy pictures of blood oozing between his fingers — people screaming and running around madly, and how everything began to grow faint and his field of vision narrowed as a black shadow crept in from all sides.
A gunshot — was that possible? Had he been shot? Was it always so damn terrible? You never feel the pain when you see somebody get shot on TV.
His mind went fuzzy and he floated between consciousness and sleep, floated between stars and a golden ocean until he heard voices that brought him back. This time it was easier to get those heavy lids open, but it took a few moments before he could focus. He saw a spot of light, which materialized into a face, a woman’s face with almond eyes.
“He’s awake,” she told someone and disappeared.
Another face appeared and said, “Hello, John.”
He knew her, Yes, clickety-click, it was all coming back now, all the memories, his life. Ursula. If only his mouth were not so dry, and his tongue not so thick and sticky … and, was there something stuck in his throat? And in his nose? Every thought took so much effort.
“You don’t have to say anything if it’s too difficult,” she said with a sad smile. Her eyes were red, as if she had a cold or just stepped off a long, long flight. There was another reason people got red eyes, but he could not remember what it was. He only knew that eyes could turn red from the dry, thin air in airplanes.
“I …,” he finally got out.
She smiled and touched his arm, it felt so far away.
He made another, greater effort. “I tried … to call …”
“Yes, I know.”
“You weren’t there?”
“I was in Florence the whole time,” she explained with a sad smile, “in the archive … you know. I buried myself in my work.”
He tried to nod, but he couldn’t. “But … now you’re … here.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt happy. He looked at her again and thought about their time together. “Do you know?” he said. “Everything will … be different from now on … believe me. I have to pay … inheritance tax. Can you imagine …? You probably heard … I think I’ll give the rest away too … well, except a few million maybe. If you … if you … well, if you could imagine … I don’t know how to … say it …”
Odd, she didn’t seem to be listening to him. “John?” she called out and her eyes wandered to the gadgets above him in panic. “John — what’s the matter?”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nurse!” She ran out. He wanted to look after her, but all he saw were the double doors swinging with a soft squeak.
But he was not alone … there was someone else in the room.
It was the Padrone.
He stood there as casually as John always will remember him and he said, “Hello, John.”
“Hello,” John said hesitantly. He was surprised to see him. There was a reason why he should not be here, but at the moment John could not remember what it was. “I messed up, didn’t I?”
“Why do think that?”
“I was supposed to fulfill the prophecy … to give back the people’s lost future.” He felt so sad all of a sudden. “But I couldn’t do it. Now I’m dying, and McCaine will get the fortune. God only knows what he’ll do with it.”
“Why do you think that McCaine will inherit the fortune?”
“I forgot to write a new will and testament,” John admitted feeling ashamed. “I couldn’t even do that right.” He looked away, up at the ceiling and its dark patterns started to fall apart. “I was the wrong heir, right?”
The Padrone stepped close to the bed and looked down at John. “All McCaine has is a piece of paper. What is that worth?”
“A valid testament,” John said frustrated.
“No. Something is only valid if it is accepted as such.” The Padrone placed a hand on John’s forehead, cool and soothing. “Have you forgotten that the vote had begun? You prompted the people to decide. Now, after your assassination they know the truth: if they opt for the status quo, they decide for McCaine. Then he will inherit the fortune and be master of the world. But that isn’t the way it has to be. There will be a vote, a single referendum, nothing more — just a few marks on paper — yet still mightier than all the weapons of the world, because it will be a vote of all people. They may vote to have things change. It is only one step, but all things begin this way.” He looked at him; it was a gracious looking face, almost transparent. “And it was you who made this possible. You opened the door to the future. It is now up to all the rest to go through that door or choose another way — this is no longer your responsibility. Right now and over the next few days the people of the world have a future, and it is because you gave it to them.”
John looked at him and felt tears welling up. “Is this true?”
“You know it is.”
He knew it was, but it was still disquieting.
“And me? What’s going to happen to me?”
The Padr
one stretched out his hand. “Come.”
John hesitated. “But what if it was a mistake? What if I should have done something differently? Maybe I should have tried … at least tried to change the tax system. There is so much I haven’t even tried yet …”
The silence seemed to last forever. Yet the longer it lasted the more his frustration faded away, like water soaked up by a sponge. His tears stopped, and it got quiet.
“Tell me one thing,” the Padrone said. “Have you done what you could?”
“I don’t know. I…”
“Not what someone else may or may not have done, but what you could do?”
John thought about his life, the many twists and turns it had taken. “Yes,” he said. “I have not always done everything well, but I did my best.”
The Padrone nodded gently. “More,” he said, “cannot be expected.”
John sat up and let the Padrone help him to his feet. The floor was smooth and cold beneath his naked feet, but there were no shoes or slippers there, nothing.
“Come,” the Padrone said.
John looked around, he saw a sick man in the bed he had just arisen from, looking awful, awful with all the hoses and cables attached to him, all those gadgets with blinking lights around him. He did not feel good about leaving him behind.
But the Padrone was standing by the door beckoning him. “You don’t have to worry, John, you have fulfilled your task.”
Suddenly, John found himself overwhelmed by it all, the endless argument about the meaning of life and what one was supposed to achieve. “Do you know what, Padrone?” he said. “I’ve got to the point where I don’t care anymore.”
Finally the swinging doors opened before them and they stepped into a warm, heavenly light.
END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS & CREDITS
BEFORE ANYONE ELSE I want to thank my wife, Marianne, who gave me courage again and again and helped me maintain the enthusiasm for this work. Without her support this book would not exist.
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