PART 35
Page 27
Sandro began slowly. He started with her past, her schools, the names of the streets on which she lived in Puerto Rico, the place where she first lived when she came to New York, the date of her marriage. Her memory was average, and he made no great discoveries. Mrs. Santos had relaxed, however.
The judge called a short recess.
When the session resumed, Sandro questioned Mrs. Santos about the toilet closet and the way the door opened. Again she said it opened from the rear of the hallway toward the front. Sandro didn’t want the jury to think he was trying to trap the witness, perhaps take advantage of the language difficulty. He showed her a picture of the door; the hinges were on the left as one faced it, making it quite clear that the door could only open from the front of the hallway toward the rear. Judge Porta leaned over to see the picture. He asked Mrs. Santos to look at it carefully. She did, and still insisted the door opened from the rear toward the front.
Sandro looked at the judge. The judge looked back blankly.
“May I show this picture to the jury, Your Honor?”
The judge nodded.
One by one the jurors looked at the picture. Some nodded. They seemed to get the idea.
It was a very little stick, thought Sandro, but the little sticks counted, too.
Sandro continued. Mrs. Santos testified that it had been a short time after noon when she was on the stoop and saw the two men in the car.
Sandro introduced a picture of the front of the building, showing the stoop. Mrs. Santos said she had been bent over from the waist, looking toward the bodega, where she thought her friend might be. At that time, she saw the car double-parked in front of the store.
“May I see counsel for a moment,” asked the judge. They approached the bench. “How much longer will you be, Sandro? I understand that Mrs. Santos has a sick child at home. Is that right, David?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” said Ellis. “She’d like to get home as soon as we can finish. I think the baby has a fever.”
“We’ll be as brief as we can, Your Honor,” said Sam.
“How long do you think, Sandro? If you can finish now, let’s do it. Otherwise, if it’s going to take too long, we’ll take lunch recess now.”
“I still have to go through her testimony about seeing Hernandez in the hall and Alvarado on the fire escape. I’ll be a bit longer.”
“Members of the jury, at this time we will recess until two twenty. Do not discuss this case amongst yourselves or with anyone else.” The jurors filed out. Sam and Sandro walked out to the public corridor.
“You keep her up there as long as you want,” said Sam. “Let her get nervous and upset about the sick kid. That’s tough. She’s lying, and we’ve got to break her one way or another. This is Alvarado’s life.”
“Okay. I’ll give her my Chinese water-torture examination.”
When lunch ended, Mrs. Santos resumed the witness chair, eyeing Sandro like some startled, frightened deer.
Sandro walked toward the jury box carrying a pad and a police DD5 filed by a Patrolman Edward Dunleavy. It reported the canvass of all the tenants of 153 Stanton Street on the day of the shooting. The notation next to Mrs. Santos’s name was results negative.
“Your Honor, I would like to offer this DD5 supplied to me by the police department into evidence as a record kept in the regular course of police business,” said Sandro.
“The man who made this out should be on the stand when you introduce this, Mr. Luca,” said the judge. “If Mr. Ellis, however, does not produce the officer who made it out, I’ll reconsider my decision. Proceed.”
“When for the first time did you speak to the police on July third, 1967?” Sandro asked Mrs. Santos.
“I don’t know the exact time,” the interpreter translated.
“At the time you first saw them, did they write down anything that you said?”
“I didn’t see them writing anything.”
“Do you mean they had no paper and no pencil and they were not writing?” the interpreter asked her.
“They had it,” was the answer, “but I didn’t see them write anything.”
“Did they write your name?”
“Yes. Just my name. That is all.”
“Did you read it to see what they wrote?”
“No.”
“Did you tell them that you saw something in the street that day?”
“No.”
“Did you tell them that you had seen something in the hallway?”
“No.”
“Did you tell them you had seen something on the fire escape?”
“No. I was too nervous to tell them anything. They asked me. I wasn’t able to speak, I was so nervous.”
“Did you see the police the next day?”
“Yes. Many days.”
“Did you tell them when they came to your house on July fourth?”
“No.”
“On July fifth, when the police came, did you tell them what you had seen?”
“No, I don’t tell that to nobody.”
“You never told what you saw to any policeman?”
“No.”
“When for the first time did you know you were to be a witness here in court?”
“A couple of days ago. Detective Mullaly came to my house.”
“Detective Mullaly came to your new house? Not in the old place where the policeman was killed?”
“Yes.”
“And he told you that you were to testify in court?”
“Yes.”
“Did he help you with the answers you were to give in court?”
“No!” Her eyes darkened still more in anger.
“You mean, Detective Mullaly came to your new apartment and said he just wanted you to testify about things you had seen on July third?”
“Yeah, only the things I saw.”
“But you never told anyone what you saw, did you?” Sandro asked softly.
Ellis rose. “I object, Your Honor, as argumentative.”
“Sustained.”
But the jury had already heard it. Sandro walked to the end of the jury box and leaned against it. He wanted the doubt to sink in.
“This car you say you saw in the street, you identified as a Chevrolet?”
“Yes,” the interpreter said.
“And you said it was a ’61 or ’62 Chevrolet?”
“Yes.”
“Will you describe a 1961 Oldsmobile?”
“Oldsmobile?” the interpreter asked in turn.
“Yes.” said Sandro.
“That is a silly question,” the interpreter translated.
“I’m sorry it’s a silly question. But I would like an answer anyway.”
“No, I don’t know how to.”
“Will you describe a 1961 Cadillac?”
“You have me confused making all these questions.”
“I’m sorry I’m confusing you,” Sandro said softly, sincerely. “I will try to be more simple. Please describe a Cadillac of the same year as the Chevrolet you say you saw.”
“I know it was more or less that year, because the husband of my—”
“I’m going to object to this answer as far as it has gone, Your Honor. It is not responsive to my question.”
“Sustained. Strike it out.”
“Will you describe a 1961 Cadillac?”
“I can’t.”
Sandro watched Mrs. Santos silently. The courtroom was silent. Mrs. Santos took a sip of water. Sandro walked to people’s exhibit 1, Loughlin’s diagram of roofs and street, and asked that Mrs. Santos step off the witness stand. He had her mark the spot on the diagram where she thought the car was double-parked. She put her initials at a spot across the street from her house. She resumed the witness stand. Sandro walked back to the end of the jury box.
Siakos stood and walked to Sandro. “Yesterday she said it was on the same side as her house,” he whispered.
“I know. I’ll get that right now.” Sandro picked up the minutes of Mrs. Santos’s previ
ous testimony.
“Mrs. Santos, you recall being here and testifying yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to ask you if you remember certain questions and answers from yesterday. Don’t answer until I read both the question and answer.” Sandro thumbed through the transcript. “Page ninety-seven, Mr. Ellis,” Sandro announced. “This was the question: ‘Was the car across the street from you, or was it on the same side as your home?’ And you answered: ‘They was on the same side.’ Do you remember that?”
“He confused me.”
“Just answer the question,” said the judge, before Sandro had a chance to object.
“Do you remember making that answer?” Sandro asked.
“Yes.”
“And do you recall this next question: ‘Same side of you as your house, right?’ And your answer was: ‘Yes.’ Do you recall that?”
“Yes.” She was glaring at him.
“And do you also recall this question: ‘But it was in front of a building that lies on the same side as your house, right?’ And you answered: ‘Yes.’ Do you remember that question and that answer?”
“He had me confused.”
“I’m asking you whether you were asked those questions and whether you gave those answers?”
“Yes.” She spat the answer out.
“And when you gave those answers to those questions, were those answers true?” Sandro kept his tone calm.
“He had me confused.”
“Just answer the question,” the judge instructed. “Were they correct? Were they truthful?”
“No.”
“So that when you gave those answers yesterday, they were not true.”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot the facts in this case?”
The interpreter, standing by her side, put the question to her in Spanish. The witness said something to the interpreter. The interpreter, without interpreting Mrs. Santos’s statement, said something else in Spanish.
Siakos rose. “I object to this colloquy. I believe the interpreter should just tell the jury all that the witness says.”
“Yes, quite right. Do not have conversations,” the judge admonished. “Just answer the question, Mrs. Santos. Madame interpreter, just translate. Did you forget the facts in this case yesterday, Mrs. Santos?”
She stared at Sandro. “Si.”
“Yes,” said the interpreter.
Sandro walked over to Sam and bent close to his ear. “I just want her to dangle over there,” he said. “I’ll bet her eyes are cutting holes in my back.”
“You’re not just kidding,” Sam whispered.
Sandro turned and walked back.
“Can you estimate how far away from you this car was?”
“No.”
“Well, can you pick out in this courtroom and point to a distance similar to the distance this car was from you? Will you translate that for her please,” Sandro said to the interpreter.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m not asking you to be exact. I am asking merely if you can give us an approximation, more or less.”
“I can’t say, even approximately.”
Sandro measured the distance on the diagram between the stoop and the spot she had pointed out. “The diagram indicates the car was more than eighty feet away.”
“If you say so.”
“Can you tell me now far away from you I am?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you say you recognized this man,” Sandro pointed to Alvarado, “sitting in that car?”
“Yes.”
“Had you ever seen him before that day?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I don’t remember when.”
“Well, how many times had you seen him before July third?”
“I don’t know. I don’t go around counting how many times I see a person.”
“Members of the jury,” intoned the judge, “at this time we’ll have a recess for a few minutes. You may step into the jury room. Do not discuss this case.”
Sandro walked to the counsel table. “Well, what do you think?”
“She’s getting punchy,” replied Sam. “Her answers are getting sloppy.”
“Say, Sandro, how much longer are you going to be at this?” asked Ellis, walking over to the defense table.
“A few more minutes, David.”
Ellis turned and followed Mrs. Santos through the door to the witness room.
When recess ended, Mrs. Santos again sat in the witness chair, staring at Sandro.
“When you saw Mr. Alvarado, before July third, was he alone or with someone?”
“He was always with others.”
“With whom?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention.”
“Do you remember what he was wearing any other time?”
“Of course not.”
“How tall is Mr. Alvarado?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, is he taller than I am?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know how tall I am myself.”
“Well, look at me. Now, is he as tall as I am, or is he taller?”
“Something like that. I don’t know. I never set out to measure either.”
Sandro didn’t interrupt.
“Was it raining when you saw these men in the car?”
“Yes.”
“Were the windshield wipers going?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
“Did you see a moustache on the face of that Negro in the car?”
“You could see it.”
“Were the lights on inside the car?”
“Lights? Not that I remember.”
“Were the men in the car drinking?”
“I didn’t see them drinking.”
“Were they moving, or were they sitting still?”
“I don’t know. They were seated like talking.”
“Were they facing each other?”
“I don’t remember if they were facing each other.”
“Were they looking straight ahead?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Which way were their faces turned?”
“Fronting.” She indicated, by hand, straight ahead.
“You said a moment ago you didn’t know where they were looking. Now you say you do. Do you or don’t you know where they were looking?”
“I don’t know. I saw them looking, but I didn’t know whether they were looking at the building or where they were looking.”
“As you sit here now, you really don’t know where they were looking, do you?”
“Well, they were looking, but I don’t know where. They did not have their eyes closed.”
“You could see inside a car more than eighty feet away, in the rain, that their eyes were open?”
“Yes.”
“Could you see the whites of their eyes?”
Some of the courtroom spectators snickered.
“No, but I know they were open.”
“Could you see the pupils of their eyes, the black dots in the center.”
“Can you see mine?”
“Yes, very well.”
“Well, the pupils I couldn’t see, but I saw they had their eyes open.” She leaned back in her chair, then turned to the interpreter and said somethng in Spanish.
“The witness wishes to be excused, Your Honor,” said the interpreter.
The judge looked up at the clock in the rear of the court. “We’ll have a short recess. Don’t discuss this case.”
The jury filed out. The judge went into his chambers. The interpreter spoke to a court officer, and Mrs. Santos was led into a room to the side of the bench where the court officers had an office.
Shortly, the interpreter came out. “She’s vomiting,” the interpreter said, looking at Sandro and shaking her head.
“Lies are difficult to digest,” Sandro replied.
The interpreter
went to see the judge. The judge reconvened the court and said that the session was adjourned until the morning. After the jury had gone into the jury room and the judge left the bench, Mrs. Santos came out of the room. She was pale and angry. She looked at Sandro once as she walked, aided by a court officer, then continued out of the courtroom.
CHAPTER VI
Wednesday, April 3rd, 1968
After the jury was polled, the judge entered the courtroom. Mrs. Santos came in through the side entrance and resumed the witness stand.
Sandro rose, carrying Jerry Ball’s photograph of the hallway and the banister with Sam’s hand on the banister post. He put the picture on the jury-box shelf and looked through his notes.
In response to Sandro’s questions, Mrs. Santos testified that when the men were starting to get out of the car, she went back into the building to the toilet closet. She was just leaving when she heard a noise outside in the hallway. She opened the door, she said, and saw Hernandez on the second step of the stairs, going up. She placed an “X” on the photograph at the place where she said she had been standing when she saw Hernandez. The “X” was just outside the bathroom, right where Jerry Ball had stood to take the photo.
“Now, Mrs. Santos, will you tell me who the person is who is standing in that picture, whose hand appears on the banister post?”
“Your Honor, I object,” said Ellis, rising. “How can the witness possibly answer a question like that.”
“Exactly,” said Sandro.
“Sustained.”
“Do you see a hand in that picture?”
“I object to this line of questioning,” said Ellis.
“Sustained.”
“May I show this picture to the jury, Your Honor?” asked Sandro.
“You may, sir.”
“Your Honor,” said Sandro, “might it be germane if I pointed out the hand in the photograph?” He waited for Ellis’s objection.
“I object, Your Honor.”
“Sustained. Strike out counsel’s remark.”
A court officer handed the picture to the jurors. They passed it around. Each one looked at the hand on the post.
Mrs. Santos testified that she then went back to her apartment. Her son was asleep. She lifted the boy and put him to bed, returning to the living room to watch television. She soon heard a noise on the fire escape. She went to the window in her son’s bedroom and looked out. There, she said, she saw Alvarado on the fire escape.