PART 35

by John Nicholas Iannuzzi

  “The evidence will show that Patrolman Lauria’s gun was found at about ten to four that same afternoon, where Alvarado had dropped it.

  “On the morning of July fourth, an autopsy was performed on the body of Patrolman Lauria, and you will hear the assistant medical examiner who performed the autopsy disclose that Patrolman Lauria died as a result of five bullet wounds that entered his back.

  “The defendants were booked on the morning of July fourth, and were subsequently indicted for murder in the first degree and burglary in the third degree. The defendants have pleaded not guilty, thereby creating an issue for you, as judges of the facts, to decide.

  “Now, before I conclude my statement, there is one thing I want to make crystal clear, and that is the theory of the people’s case. These two defendants, while perpetrating a burglary, while in possession of stolen goods, by the actions of Alvarado, shot and killed Patrolman Lauria. This is what is known as felony murder. The people contend this murder took place during the perpetration of a burglary and that both defendants are equally guilty, regardless of which of them fired the fatal shots. I ask you only to listen to the judge when he lays down the law on this point at the proper time.

  “I ask you, in the interests of justice, to keep your minds open until you have heard all the evidence in the case and have had the law explained to you by the court. After that, and in the interests of justice again, I will ask you to find both of these defendants guilty of murder in the first degree and burglary in the third degree. I thank you.”

  Ellis turned, wrinkled his face toward the judge, and sat at his table. He stared at the papers in front of him.

  “The defendant Hernandez,” announced Siakos, standing to face the judge, “waives his right to make an opening statement, Your Honor.”

  “Very well. Counselor?” The judge looked toward Sam Bemer.

  Sam nodded, rose, and walked toward the jury box. He turned toward the judge. “May it please Your Honor, Mr. Ellis, Mr. foreman, gentlemen and ladies. The opening, this preview, as you have been informed by Mr. Ellis, is in no way evidence. It is merely a synopsis of what is to come, and it is our task to show that the people’s proof is wanting in many respects, even as outlined by Mr. Ellis.

  “We are going to show you that at the time this alleged burglary on Stanton Street was committed, neither Ramon Hernandez nor Luis Alvarado was on those premises or even near them.

  “We will show that Luis Alvarado, the man Mr. Luca and I have been assigned by the State of New York to defend, was a very considerable distance away from Stanton Street at the time the burglary and shooting were perpetrated.

  “We are going to prove that any admissions Luis Alvarado allegedly made were coerced out of him by the police, that he was supplied and fed certain details by the police, who, in their haste to solve this crime, put a patch-quilt story together and fastened the blame on the wrong men.

  “All we ask is that you pay strict attention to the evidence. We ask you to keep your eyes and ears and minds open. When the case is finally submitted to you, we shall have an opportunity to speak to you again.”

  Sam turned and walked back to the counsel table. “Okay?” he whispered to Sandro as he sat.

  “Sure.”

  “Your first witness, please,” requested the judge, looking down toward Ellis. He was facing forward now, impassive, stolid, ready for action. There was no sign of a twinkle in his eyes.

  Sam Bemer rose again. The judge looked at him. “Your Honor, I respectfully move that any and all persons who shall be witnesses for either side during this trial be excluded from the courtroom during the entire trial.”

  “I have no objection, Your Honor,” said Ellis, half-rising.

  The judge nodded. “Very well. I direct the clerk of the court to enter an order of exclusion of all witnesses,” said the judge. “Post a notice on the door.”

  “The people’s first witness is James Loughlin,” said Ellis. A court officer opened a door in the side of the courtroom near where the spectators sat. It led to the witness room. The witness room is used exclusively for the people’s witnesses. It has chairs and a table, and even an extension of the district attorney’s telephone. Defense witnesses are relegated to the public corridors outside the courtroom, where they huddle on windowsills or against the walls. Sometimes they wait in other courtrooms, spectators at other trials. Ellis moved two large diagrams from beneath his table, careful to keep them facing away from the jurors.

  Loughlin, a tall man with glasses, walked onto the witness stand, raised his right hand, and was sworn. He testified that he was a civil engineer employed by the district attorney’s office. He went to the scenes of crime to measure and thereafter draw scale-model diagrams of the physical layout to aid the jury. He said he had gone to 153 Stanton Street and took measurements there. Ellis showed Loughlin the two diagrams. Loughlin identified them as diagrams of the scene as he saw it on July 10th, 1967. One diagram depicted the rooftop of 153 and several adjoining rooftops, as well as the street in front. The other showed the hallway where Lauria’s gun was found and the backyards. Ellis introduced the diagrams into evidence without objection from defense counsel. They were marked people’s exhibits I and 2. Loughlin described the scene on the diagrams and his markings. They were drawn on a scale of one-quarter inch to the foot. Ellis turned the witness over to the defense.

  Siakos rose and said he had no questions.

  “We don’t want anything from this witness, do we?” Sam whispered, leaning toward Sandro.

  “Why not get the exact dimensions for the roofs and yards instead of making the jury figure one foot to a quarter inch. Distance is important for the identification,” Sandro replied.

  “That’s good. You take him; he’s an easy witness. And while you have him up there, get him to identify your pictures of the scene. The more he identifies, the less trouble we’ll have getting them in later.”

  “Mr. Bemer?” Judge Porta looked to Sam.

  “Mr. Luca will question the witness,” Sam announced, half-rising.

  “Very well.” The judge swiveled toward the witness and jury.

  Sandro walked to the far end of the jury box. He asked Loughlin to give the measurements of the roofs in feet, and to indicate the physical features of the roof of 153. Ninety-nine feet, Loughlin said, separated the eastern edge of the roof of 153 from the stairway of 161, the building in which Ellis had said the gun was found. Loughlin described how the roof of 153 was separated from the adjoining roof—the brick wall at the front, seven feet high, the airshaft at the center, creating a space nine feet wide, and the four-foot wall stretching back from there.

  Sandro walked to the counsel table and zipped open a large leather portfolio in which he had Jerry Ball’s photographs. One by one, he handed Loughlin seven photographs of the roof, the rear of the building, the front of the building. Loughlin studied his notes and acknowledged each to be a fair representation of the buildings he had inspected.

  “Will you be much longer, Mr. Luca?” the judge inquired.

  “I have several more photographs, Your Honor.”

  “I think, then, that we’ll recess for lunch. Members of the jury, do not discuss this case amongst yourselves or with anyone else.” The judge rose and retired to the robing chambers. The jury filed out. The defendants were accompanied by court officers back to the bullpen.

  “And so it begins,” said Sam, as he and Sandro gathered their papers.

  “Sam, you have your notes. Didn’t Ellis say that Alvarado hid in the rear yard? Then went back through the building and got lost in the crowd on Stanton Street?”

  “That’s what he said, all right,” said Sam. “Here it is, right here.” He pointed to his notes.

  “Look at this picture, Sam. One of the ones I introduced through Loughlin.” Sam took the picture in his hands. He sat on the edge of the counsel table.

  “I’m glad you told me about putting the pictures in through Loughlin. Look, from this angle you can
see straight through from behind One fifty-three to Suffolk Street. No fences, no obstructions, nothing.”

  “That’s right. A straight alley right behind the buildings.” Sam nodded. “Why would anybody hide when he could walk out the back way?” He smiled, slapping Sandro’s back. “Now let’s eat. My treat today. Tomorrow, we’ll eat fancy. It’s your treat.”

  After lunch, the clerk polled the jury, saw that all lawyers were present, and sent word to the judge. The judge entered and assumed his bench.

  “Have you any further questions?” the judge inquired, looking steadily down at Sandro. He was barely tolerant of the length of the cross-examination. Usually lawyers accepted Loughlin’s diagrams and measurements without question.

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Sandro rose and walked up to people’s exhibit 2.

  “Mr. Loughlin, when looking across these yards, does this space behind the buildings extend unobstructed all the way to Suffolk Street?” Sandro pointed to the diagram.

  “I don’t know.”

  Sandro handed Loughlin defendant’s exhibit C in evidence.

  “Now, Mr. Loughlin, you identified defendant’s exhibit C as a fair representation of the back of the building, including the rear yards, did you not? And that was as of July tenth, 1967. Approximately one week after the shooting?”

  “Yes.” Loughlin was obviously uncomfortable testifying about things not drawn to a scale of a quarter of an inch.

  “Now, sir, I ask you to look at defendant’s exhibit C. From behind building number One fifty-three, which you see there, is there any structure or obstruction all the way through to where you see cars parked, in the background of that picture?”

  “No.”

  “And, sir, do you know what street or thoroughfare that is where the cars are parked?”

  “That’s west.” He consulted his notes. “That should be Suffolk Street.”

  “So that there is no obstruction from the rear of One fifty-three Stanton Street to Suffolk Street?”

  “Well, I don’t know when the picture was taken. I have nothing in my notes to show that when I was there I could see to Suffolk Street.” Loughlin was easing away from the answers Sandro wanted.

  “Is there anything in your notes indicating there were any obstructions when you were there on July tenth, 1967, seven days after this event?”

  “I have nothing in my notes. I don’t recollect any obstruction there.”

  “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

  Ellis looked at Sandro, then Loughlin. “I have no further questions.”

  Ellis next called for Henry Thomas. Thomas was with the police department’s photographic unit. He testified that he visited 153 Stanton Street on the very afternoon of the crime, about four o’clock. He testified that he had photographed the Soto apartment in its ransacked condition; the roof with the stolen articles still on the wall where they had been found by Patrolman Snider; the street with the double-parked car still in place; and the interior of 161 Stanton Street. Ellis offered the photos into evidence.

  “Show them to counsel,” said the judge.

  The defense attorneys studied Ellis’s eight-by-ten pictures and asked permission to approach the bench so the jury couldn’t hear. Sam objected to a picture of a revolver under a stairway on the grounds that no evidence relating to a revolver had yet been offered, nor to whom it had belonged, nor when it had been found or by whom or under what circumstances. The judge nodded and excluded that photo.

  “Off,” the judge said to the stenographer, who was recording even these “sidebar” proceedings. The stenographer’s fingers lifted from the keys of the machine. “Sam, you know I usually don’t interfere,” said Judge Porta. “But are you going to let in that picture of the body?”

  Sam surprised, took the photos again quickly and studied them. He studied them all again. A mischievous twinkle danced in the judge’s eyes. “Just want to see if you’re alert, Sam,” he whispered. “All right, any other questions of this witness, Mr. Ellis?” he said aloud.

  “None, Your Honor.”

  “Any cross questions?” The judge looked about. “None? Step down. Thank you, sir. Your next witness.”

  “Rafaela Santos,” Ellis called.

  Sandro turned to watch the door to the witness room.

  “Who the hell is Rafaela Santos?” Sam whispered.

  “I wish I knew,” replied Sandro. They masked their surprise from the jury.

  A thin, young Pueno Rican woman with a pimply, olive complexion entered the courtroom.

  “What is she going to testify to?” Sam whispered.

  “I never saw her before,” said Sandro. He took out his pen.

  Rafaela Santos testified that at the time of the shooting she lived in Apartment 1B of 153 Stanton Street, although she had since moved. She testified that she had been five months pregnant on the afternoon of the shooting. She said she had walked out of her apartment to the front door, looking for a friend in the street. It was raining. While standing in the doorway, she said she saw a 1961 Chevrolet double-parked across the street.

  “Was anyone in that car?” Ellis asked.

  “I saw him in the car.” She pointed at Hernandez.

  The jurors’ eyes swiveled in unison to Hernandez.

  “I think you’d better stand up, Mrs. Santos, and come down and show us,” Ellis suggested.

  She stepped down from the witness chair and walked to within four feet of Hernandez. She pointed right at his nose, then returned to the witness chair.

  “May the record show she pointed out the defendant Hernandez,” said Ellis.

  “It shall be so noted,” the judge replied.

  “Was he alone or with someone else?” Ellis continued.

  “He was with another man.”

  “Now, this other man, do you see him in this courtroom?”

  “Yes.” She aimed her finger at Alvarado.

  Sam continued looking down at his notebook, writing nonchalantly. Sandro watched in silence.

  “Step down, please,” said the judge. Mrs. Santos walked over to Alvarado and pointed directly at him. Alvarado’s eyes were glazed with a kind of wonder and terror. The witness started back to her witness chair.

  Alvarado leaned over and whispered to Sandro, “She a goddamn liar.”

  “Shh. Don’t get excited. Let’s hear what else she has to say.”

  Mrs. Santos continued to tell how the two men she saw were just sitting in the car, conversing. As she was turning to go back to her apartment, she noticed the men start to alight from the car. She walked to the rear of the hallway and entered the toilet closet just outside her apartment. Shortly, as she was opening the door to leave, she heard a noise.

  “And when you came out of that toilet, did you see anybody?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who did you see?”

  “He was going up the stairs.” She pointed at Hernandez again.

  They weren’t following Soto’s story, Sandro thought, and then wondered at himself for even thinking they would.

  “What part of the stairs was he on when you saw him?”

  “He was on the second step going up.”

  Mrs. Santos testified she then returned to her apartment. Her son, whom she had left watching television, had fallen asleep on the couch. She put the boy in his bed and returned to the living room, where she began to watch television. She said she heard a noise from the fire escape outside her son’s window.

  “Did you look out the window in your son’s room?”

  “Yes.”

  “And when you looked out the window of your son’s room, did you see anybody?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who did you see?”

  “He was going up.” She pointed across at Alvarado.

  “May the record show, Your Honor, that she pointed to Alvarado,” said Ellis.

  “Do you acknowledge that?” the judge asked.

  “Yes, she pointed to Alvarado,” Sam affirmed.

 
; Ellis continued. Occasionally, Mrs. Santos hesitated, seeming to have difficulty understanding the questions. The judge ordered the woman who had been assigned as interpreter for Hernandez and was sitting next to him to come up to assist the witness.

  “Before we continue,” said the judge, “let’s have a short recess.” He walked to his robing chambers.

  “What do you make of her?” Sam asked after the jury had retired.

  “She’s a liar,” Sandro retorted. “I’ve been in that hallway many times, and from where she said she was standing, she couldn’t see anyone on the stairs. And standing on that stoop, on a rainy day, if she could see the faces of two men sitting inside a car eighty or ninety feet away, especially a dark Negro, she’s got X-ray vision.”

  “I think you should cross-examine her,” Sam suggested. “I’ll take the cops.” They walked outside so Sam could light his cigar.

  “You got a tough one this time, Counselor,” said an old woman with glasses and close-cropped gray hair. She was one of the courtroom buffs, the professional jurors on pensions or disability who hang around the courts to listen to the more sensational criminal trials.

  “It’s too early to tell much,” replied Sam.

  “I want Siakos to question her long enough to take us through the end of the day,” Sandro said as they paced the corridor. “If I’m to examine her, I want to go to Stanton Street and get some more pictures this evening. Nick, Nick,” Sandro called to Siakos. “Can you carry Mrs. Santos until the end of the day? Do you have enough cross-examination to do that?”

  “Sure, okay,” Siakos said, nodding slowly. “This woman has a motive for coming here, you know? There must be a reason for her coming here and lying for the D.A.”

  “Case on trial,” called the court officer from the door to the courtroom. The lawyers and spectators filed back.

  Through the interpreter now, the witness resumed testifying that she saw Alvarado on the fire escape.

  “Where was he in relation to your apartment?” asked Ellis.

  “He was facing to my window.”

  “And in what position was he when you saw him facing your window?”