PART 35

by John Nicholas Iannuzzi

  Mrs. Hernandez went to a pad on the windowsill. Something was scribbled on the top sheet. Mike read it. “Abdul Safi, One sixty-two Rivington Street.”

  Sandro looked at his watch. It was 8:30. “Let’s try it.”

  “There’s probably nobody left in the factory now,” Mike suggested.

  “Then we’ll have to see this guy first thing tomorrow after court.”

  “I’m ready,” said Mike.

  “Tell her everything is going great. Tell her we’re doing fine. Tell her anything you want.”

  Mike spoke to her. She looked at Sandro and tried to smile. It turned sour, as the tears started down her cheeks again. Sandro walked out into the hall. Mike followed, and shut the door behind them. They could hear her sobbing as they went down the stairs.

  “That shoots a hole in the great Mullaly-Snider conspiracy,” Sandro said as they descended.

  “What do you mean? How does that change anything?”

  “You figured Mullaly was protecting a cop—Snider. Well, it turns out he was protecting a cop, but the cop he was protecting was himself. It explains what he was doing here all the time, why he seemed to be working overtime on this case.”

  “What about all the other things that are suspicious, that haven’t been cleared up?” asked Mike. “How about Salerno—feeding us that story through Soto that Salerno was involved? How about putting a stop on the pawnshop stuff?”

  “Well, the pawnshop stuff stayed where it was. He didn’t take it out and destroy it. He could have. But he left it there, and it ultimately ended up in court, didn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Mike agreed reluctantly.

  “So, what else did he do?”

  “What about the Salerno bit? Doesn’t it seem to you he was trying too hard to get Hernandez convicted?”

  “That’s like saying there’s something wrong if we work hard doing our job. Even if he was screwing Hernandez’s wife, he was still doing his job, and he wasn’t anxious to help us acquit Alvarado and Hernandez. He wasn’t about to let two cop-killers go just for a piece of tail, but he wasn’t letting a good piece get away either. Neither of those things has anything to do with covering up his own involvement in the murder. Or Snider’s involvement for that matter.”

  “That whole story of Snider’s stinks. And you know it. Tell me it doesn’t.”

  “I still can’t explain the time discrepancy, but your ideas about Mullaly don’t seem to hold so much water anymore.”

  “Hold on a minute! There’s still Snider, and Mullaly knows it. And is covering for him. That’s what he’s been doing. He’s been protecting his piece of ass and Snider at the same time. That makes sense—doesn’t it?”

  “I can’t say it’s not possible.”

  “You bet your ass.”

  CHAPTER XXXI

  Tuesday, April 23rd, 1968

  “Call your first witness, Mr. Bemer. Bring in the jury,” said the judge. The jury was brought in and polled by the clerk.

  “I’d like to recall Detective Mullaly for a moment, if Your Honor please,” said Sam.

  “If he’s still here. Mr. Ellis, is Detective Mullaly still here?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Ellis replied.

  “Very well. Ask Detective Mullaly to step in here from the witness room.”

  A court officer opened the side door and called. Mullaly walked into the courtroom, looking at Ellis. He sat on the witness chair.

  “All right, Detective, you are still under oath,” said the judge. “Proceed.”

  “Detective Mullaly, you were with the defendant Alvarado when he was in the station house, isn’t that so?” asked Sam.

  “Everyone knows he was, Mr. Bemer. Get to the point,” said the judge.

  “Did the defendant speak to anyone other than police personnel and the district attorney while he was in the station house?”

  “No, sir. No one.”

  “After he left the station house to go to headquarters, did he speak to anyone other than officials?”

  “No, sir.”

  “When was the first time that he spoke to anyone other than officials, if you can remember?”

  “I imagine when he left headquarters on his way to court for arraignment. Reporters were able to get near when they were being loaded into the van.”

  “Those were the first civilians he spoke to after being arrested?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No further questions.”

  Siakos stood. “And, Detective, the same is true for the defendant Hernandez?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No further questions.”

  Ellis, looking mystified, said, “No questions.”

  “Now bring in your news photos and newsreels,” Sam whispered, as he again sat at the counsel table.

  “Your next witness, please.”

  “Richard Sanford,” said Sandro. He looked to the back of the courtroom. Sanford was in the public corridor, peering in through the glass panels in the courtroom door. Sandro motioned for him to enter. He swung the door open and took the witness chair to be sworn.

  Sanford testified that he was employed by television station WABC-TV as a film editor in the news department. He indicated that he had been doing such work for the last fifteen years. He testified that on July 4th, 1967, certain film was brought to the studio from police headquarters by motorcycle. The film contained footage taken at the Seventh Precinct in the early morning and at police headquarters later that same morning. This film related to the investigation of the death of Patrolman Fortune Lauria. Ron Roman was the interviewer and had been in charge of the assignment.

  Sanford testified that, at Sandro’s direction, he had taken two frames from the motion-picture film and had eight-by-ten blow-up stills made from them. Other than that, he said the films were intact, just as they had been taken from the film containers and developed.

  “I am going to show these to you and ask you if you recognize them,” Sandro said, showing the two eight-by-ten still pictures.

  “Yes, I blew these up from the motion-picture film.”

  “And in developing these, did you in any fashion change, alter, or modify the negative or the positive print?”

  “No, sir. That’s just the way it came from the negative.”

  “I offer these into evidence.”

  “Show them to the district attorney,” the judge instructed.

  Ellis looked at the still pictures of Alvarado taken in the station house early on July 4th, 1967. He saw the neatly trimmed sideburns and the neat are up and over the ears. He saw the neat, trim, pencil-line moustache. “I have no objection,” he said calmly.

  “Received in evidence.”

  Sandro had no further questions.

  Siakos had no questions.

  Ellis had no questions.

  “Thank you, sir,” said the judge. “Your next witness.”

  “Your Honor, in connection with the next witness, I’ll need the assistance of Mr. Sanford, the last witness. May he stay in the courtroom now that he has completed his testimony?”

  “He may.”

  “I call Ron Roman,” said Sandro. The familiar face of the newscaster came in through the rear door of the courtroom. “Your Honor, while Mr. Sanford sets up the screen and the projector for the next witness, may I show these still pictures of the defendant Alvarado taken the early morning of July fourth in the Seventh Precinct station house to the jury?”

  “I object, Your Honor. He doesn’t have to make a speech every time he stands up. If he wants to testify, let Mr. Luca take the stand.”

  “Is there any question that that’s where these pictures were taken, Mr. Ellis?” Sandro asked quickly.

  “Gentlemen, please. Let me make the speeches. Let me run my own courtroom. Show the pictures to the jury.”

  Sandro handed the photos to the court officer, who handed them to the jury. The jurors scrutinized the photos, two at a time. Some of them pointed to Alvarado’s sideburns, some to his moustache.


  “Perhaps,” Sam said, rising, “the clerk can provide the jurors with his magnifying glass.”

  “If any of the jurors can’t see these pictures without a magnifying glass, he should be disqualified from duty and given a Seeing Eye dog,” the judge said. The jurors laughed. “However, the magnifying glass is available for anyone who wants it.”

  All during this, Sanford was setting up a projector and screen. Roman sat in the witness chair. When the jurors had finished with the pictures, Sandro began.

  Roman gave his background with the WABC-TV news department, and his experience with filming and taping stories. He testified that nothing had been done to the film, and no technique had been used to make the events they recorded appear any different from the way they had happened. He said that the film of the Alvarado investigation had been made at his direction and under his supervision. He described the scene at police headquarters, the throng of reporters and cameramen. When Alvarado and Hernandez came out to get into the police van, he asked them questions.

  “Were you the first reporter to speak to him, do you know?” asked Sandro.

  “There were a lot of men, but I think I was first. There were a couple of the people from other networks right there with me at the time. No one was before us.”

  “Did you ask Alvarado if he had killed the officer?”

  “I did.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he didn’t.”

  “Did you ask him anything else?”

  “I think I asked him if he knew who did do it.”

  “What did he answer?”

  “He said he didn’t know, he didn’t do it.”

  “Your Honor, I would like to have this film Mr. Sanford has set up screened for the jury as Mr. Roman explains what is taking place.”

  “Very well.”

  The film rolled. There, depicted for the jury, was the scene as the men came out of police headquarters. Hernandez was first. Then came Alvarado. Mullaly and Johnson had Alvarado, one at each elbow. Roman asked him questions. Alvarado, appearing dazed, answered. The questions and answers were those Roman had just testified to. Sanford stopped the projector.

  “Your Honor,” said Sandro, “there is another section of this film which I would like to have the jury see, which is most germane to this trial.”

  “Very well, I accept your representation. Proceed.”

  Sandro went over and spoke to Sanford. He nodded, then let the film run on the projector without turning on the light so that no image appeared on the screen. He nodded again to Sandro.

  “Mr. Roman, did you take films of other events related to this investigation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you take films at the station house, the morning of July fourth before you went to headquarters?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “As a matter of fact, wasn’t it from some of that film at the Seventh Precinct station house that the still photos of Alvarado were taken?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Is this next segment of film exactly what occurred that morning?” Sandro nodded to Sanford, who snapped on the projector light. On the screen, Mrs. Hernandez suddenly emerged through the doors of the station house, accompanied by policemen, down the steps and into a patrol car. Sanford stopped the projector.

  “Yes, sir, that occurred there.”

  “What time of day was that film taken?”

  “I’d say about nine A.M., maybe nine thirty on July fourth, 1967.”

  “Your witness, Mr. Ellis.”

  Ellis had no questions.

  The judge indicated that the jury should now take a lunch recess. Everyone filed out of court.

  After the lunch recess, Sandro saw that Roosevelt Jackson had finally arrived. He was sitting on the radiator outside the courtroom next to Mike Rivera. Sandro called him as his first witness. Jackson walked with his slow gait to the stand. He was sworn and sat in the witness chair.

  He testified that he was the superintendent for the buildings 155 to 161 Stanton Street, had been for more than five years. He testified that on July 3rd, 1967, there had been no fences separating the yards behind his buildings from one another or, for that mater, from a free, unhindered passage all the way to Suffolk Street. In fact, he testified, there had been none such for more than five years. Age and the kids had destroyed whatever fences there had been years before.

  His stolid manner made it impossible to think that his mind could conceive of lying about his fences.

  Sandro had no further questions.

  Ellis stood to cross-examine. Jackson was too slow to be caught in a trap of cross-examination. Ellis asked him if he had not, in fact, told the detective who had spoken to him just a short time before the beginning of the trial that there had been a fence but that it was taken down about “watermelon time.” Jackson replied he told a detective who questioned him at his home only one week ago that that fence was not behind the buildings, but rather at Suffolk Street. There was no fence behind the buildings which would have frustrated an attempt to walk down the alley behind the buildings all the way to Suffolk Street.

  “So they knew there was no fence, too, but they just kept it to themselves,” said Sam. “Ellis must know that this case of his doesn’t add up to a row of beans. I can’t believe that he doesn’t.”

  “So what’s he going to do, throw it all up in the air and go home?” said Sandro. Sam studied him and smiled as he looked down to his notes.

  Ellis was finished with the superintendent.

  Sandro called Luis Alvarado. Alvarado walked to the stand, followed by his guard. He sat, folded his hands in his lap, and looked out to Sandro.

  Alvarado testified that in the very early morning of July 3rd, 1967, he went to sleep in his room on South Ninth Street. It was about 2:30 A.M. He awakened around 1 o’clock the next afternoon, dressed, and went out. It was raining lightly. On the corner of Broadway and Roebling Street, he met a friend, Eugene, and stopped for about five minutes for conversation. He and Eugene then went to the Associated Five & Ten to cash a hundred-dollar bill. There he saw Annie Mae Cooper. He left the five-and-ten about 1:30 P.M. Then he went to the Velez Restaurant and had something to eat. Eugene declined to join him and waited outside. He testified he was in the restaurant about 2 P.M. From there they went to the Del Gato Haberdashery, where he bought a belt for $1.25. Still with Eugene, he went to the Imperial Barber Shop on Roebling Street at about 2:15.

  Alvarado testified that one man was “taking” a haircut and another was waiting. He testified that he gave the man waiting a dollar to let him go next. After leaving the barber shop at about ten minutes to three, he returned to his room on South Ninth Street, bathed, dressed, and went back downstairs, where he met Jorge the superintendent.

  Alvarado told the jury he was in his room for twenty or twenty-five minutes before meeting Jorge. Alvarado had a bottle of whiskey, which he sold to Jorge for two dollars. He asked Jorge to credit the two dollars to his week’s rent. Alvarado left the house and took a subway to Manhattan. It was 3:40 P.M. He said he was wearing a green shirt, gray pants with stripes, and a blue cardigan sweater.

  Alvarado said he took the BMT to Times Square. Once at Times Square he walked around 42nd Street, looking into the shop windows. He bought a cigarette lighter. Finally, he entered a movie theater. He saw two pictures, It Happened at the World’s Fair with Elvis Presley and The Son of Spartacus with Steve Reeves. He fell asleep for a while in the theater, left sometime around midnight, bought a newspaper, and went home.

  Alvarado testified that when he walked home, he saw Jorge’s lights on. He stopped at Jorge’s apartment, and Jorge told him about the three detectives waiting upstairs. He said that when arrested he had had $141 in his pocket, what remained from the two hundred-dollar bills he had changed within a week. Sandro had Alvarado explain to the jury how he had obtained three hundred-dollar bills, two of which he had changed.

  Alvarado was asked about and denied ea
ch and every statement that Mullaly had attributed to him. He not only denied having said these things, but he also flatly denied having done any of them. He swore that he had had nothing to do with the crime and that he had not been on Stanton Street on July 3rd, 1967.

  He said that, although he had been arrested for narcotics, he had never been arrested for a crime of violence in his life, nor had he ever committed any. For a last question, Sandro asked Alvarado if he had shot Fortune Lauria. With emotion almost spilling over, Alvarado shook his head.

  “No, sir.”

  The jury was motionless.

  Ellis stood to cross-examine. His first question was whether Alvarado was aware of the charge against him and the possible attendant consequences. Alvarado said he was. Ellis asked him, as Siakos and Sam had asked the police, whether, if he had committed the crime, he would admit it.

  Alvarado answered that he would be truthful.

  “Is that answer as true as all the answers you gave to Mr. Luca when he questioned you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ellis questioned Alvarado’s ability to remember the specific times he had been in each place he said he had visited on July 3rd. Alvarado answered that he had had a long time and nothing else to think about since he was arrested.

  Ellis asked if Alvarado’s memory was as good on July 3rd, 1967, and, if so, why hadn’t he told anyone in the station house of all these places to which he had been. Alvarado said no one had asked him about where he had been; they only told him where he had been, that he had killed the officer.

  “Well, did you try to tell somebody where you had been?”

  “No, sir. They don’t give me a chance to talk to nobody.”

  “Did anybody put any adhesive tape over your mouth to keep you from talking?”

  “They put punches in my stomach.”

  Alvarado testified he had never said anything to the police in the station house about where he had been.

  “Good thing he didn’t,” Sandro whispered to Sam, “or our alibi would have disappeared a long time ago.”

  Sam nodded.

  Ellis questioned Alvarado about his friend Eugene. What did he look like? What was his last name? Where did he live? Sandro could almost hear the point of the spotter’s pencil touching the paper in the back of the courtroom. Alvarado said he didn’t know anything about him except that his first name was Eugene. He couldn’t tell where he lived or where he hung out. He could say, however, that Eugene had a dark complexion similar to his own.