“I’ll be a son of a bitch.”
“All that worrying, working, for nothing, Mike? You even have to give up on Mullaly with this. Mullaly couldn’t very well be protecting Snider, if the only thing Snider did was to goof again.”
“We can still use it,” Mike exclaimed. “Mullaly’s been around making it with Mrs. Hernandez, Snider doesn’t even know where he ran the day of the murder. Why can’t we put this guy and Mrs. Hernandez up to testify about these things? Okay, so it’s not because Mullaly and Snider are involved in the killing, but because they’re liars and fuck-ups. We can undermine the whole case, shake their credibility with the proof we have about them. The jury’ll have to buy that.”
Sandro shook his head as they reached the front entrance and walked out to the street. “No, Mike. I agree, you’ve finally come up with the way to use this evidence against Mullaly and Snider. And we could still put it into the rebuttal. But I’m not going to use that evidence or these witnesses.”
“Why not? We’ve got them cold.”
“Mike, we’re representing Alvarado, and whatever we do has to function around Alvarado.”
“Right, and this’ll undermine Ellis’s main witness, Mullaly, and also Snider.”
“It’ll destroy them, all right, in their jobs, with their families. What will it do for Alvarado? What does the fact that—in addition to other things—Mullaly’s been fooling around with Mrs. Hernandez do for our defense? What does the fact that Snider is dumb do for our defense? Snider hasn’t even testified to anything that hurts Alvarado.”
“That’s true, but it’s one of those straws Sam is always talking about. Add it to the load, maybe it’ll help.”
“If we haven’t already done it with our alibi, our destruction of their eyewitnesses, the inconsistencies, then character assassination isn’t going to help us. Why bother destroying two men, no better, no worse than the average, just for the sake of destroying them? One is dumb, the other’s horny. Isn’t everybody?”
“You think Mullay’d let up on you if he had you in his sights the way you’ve got him?” Mike asked.
“I don’t base my decisions on what Mullaly might do, Mike. I’m doing what I think is right.”
“Couldn’t we bang just Mullaly’s ass around then, and leave Snider out?”
“Mike, Alvarado’s life is on the line, not our pride. Or whether we look good or Mullaly looks bad on any given day.”
“Ah, you’re a pain in the ass,” said Mike, as they walked to the car.
CHAPTER XXXIII
Wednesday, April 24th, 1968
Ellis started his rebuttal with Francis Connors, the stenotypist who recorded the statements taken by D.A. Brennan on July 4th, 1967. Tall, blond, and pockmarked, he sat on the witness chair watching Ellis shuffle through his notes. Connors described the persons present and their relative positions at the time the defendants’ statements were taken. He testified that he had accurately transcribed the questions of the district attorney and the answers.
Sandro questioned Connors about what had taken place in the room when Alvarado said to the D.A., “See my hands from having cuffs.” Did Alvarado, he asked, display his hands? What, if anything, appeared on the wrists? Connors said there was nothing in the record. He didn’t know.
Sandro asked Connors about the point where Alvarado referred to his chest and said that he couldn’t hold it any longer. Connors was unable to say whether Alvarado had been holding his chest in pain. He admitted that it would appear in the transcript only if the D.A. had told him to record it. Sandro had no further questions.
Ellis next recalled Assistant D.A. Brennan to the stand. Brennan testified in answer to Ellis’s questions that there had been no off-the-record conversations with either defendant before or while the statements were taken. Brennan said that Alvarado had shown him his wrists, but he had not seen any cuts or bruises. During the statement, he said, Alvarado had watery eyes, and he was sniffling. He also kept his arms crossed over his chest, and every once in a while would bend forward, then sit back. Ellis asked Brennan if, in his official capacity, he had ever had occasion to observe drug addicts in the throes of withdrawal. Sam objected to Brennan’s expertise in diagnosing a medical symptom. The judge sustained the objection, but Ellis had already conveyed the idea to the jury.
“You know, Sam,” said Sandro, “I was just looking at these nude pictures of Alvarado taken at police headquarters, to see if we could actually get a look at the cut wrist.”
“We know his wrist was cut. We saw it the first time we talked to Alvarado in the Tombs,” said Sam. “Do you have any pictures that show it?”
“No. But, you know, when Siakos was examining Hernandez, about two weeks ago—must have been on his voir dire—I saw Ellis with some color pictures in his hand. He looked at them and put them back in his file.”
“You saw pictures that Ellis didn’t give us?” asked Sam.
Sandro nodded. “I didn’t even think of them until now. I’m going to ask about them.”
Siakos rose to cross-examine Brennan. Brennan said that the police had outlined to him the alleged confessions before he had taken the statements. He said, however, that he did not speak to the prisoners off the record at any time. Siakos asked Brennan if he had taken any notes while he spoke to the police. He said he had. Siakos was given the notes. He read them, and showed them to Sam and Sandro. The notes indicated that Brennan had been told that Hernandez had been interrogated intermittently by Mullaly, Tracy, Johnson, Jablonsky, Garcia, and others. No one had told Brennan, however, that pawnshop tickets had been taken from Hernandez, or that any goods had been found in the trunk of his car. Siakos had no further questions.
Sandro approached Brennan.
“Now, Mr. Brennan, you mentioned that Alvarado’s eyes were watery and he was sniffling and holding his arms across his chest. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever see anyone cry?”
“Yes.”
“And when you say his eyes were watery, were they similar to those of someone who had been crying?”
“No!”
Sandro hadn’t really expected Brennan to cooperate.
“When you indicate they were different, in what way were his eyes different?”
“Well, he was sniffling and watery …”
“I am asking you about the eyes.”
“His eyes were watery, but the water was not running down. It wasn’t running down his cheek.”
“No, but we are talking about the eyes. Were they watery in the same way they might have been had someone been crying, other than the fact that tears were not rolling down his cheeks?”
“Yes.” Brennan was angry.
“And, sir, at those times when you have observed people crying, have you ever observed any of them also sniffling?”
“Yes.”
“And have you ever observed simultaneous sniffling and crying?”
“Yes.”
“Very fine. Now, the arms folded across the chest, where were they folded? Do you recall?”
“Right here.” Brennan demonstrated.
“Around the middle of the chest?” Sandro asked.
“Yes.”
“Also called the epigastrium?”
Reluctantly he said, “Yes.”
Sandro just nodded.
“At this time, Your Honor, I am going to call upon the district attorney to turn over to defense counsel all photographs of these defendants, in color as well as in black and white. I have reason to believe that there are photographs available which have not as yet been shown to counsel.”
Ellis looked at Sandro, then at the judge.
“Do you have any photographs, black and white, or color, which you have not yet shown to counsel, Mr. Ellis?”
Ellis rose. He began to untie a string on his cardboard file portfolio. He reached inside and removed an envelope. There were color photos!
“I am turning five color photographs over to counsel,
” said Ellis. He handed the pictures to Sandro.
“May we have a few moments to look at these, Your Honor?” asked Sandro.
“Yes. We’ll take a short recess now while you look at those photographs. Do not discuss this case, members of the jury.”
“Look at these, Sam,” said Sandro. “Here’s one of Alvarado that we can use.” It was a side view. Alvarado was naked, shown from just above the knee to the top of his head. “Look at his wrist. There’s the laceration on it in living color.”
“And Ellis didn’t even give us these before,” said Sam.
“He’s just protecting his case. Part of the game, right, Sam?”
Sam grunted.
When court resumed, Brennan was still on the witness chair. Sandro offered the color photo of Alvarado into evidence. It was received without objection from Ellis, except that a small square of white paper was stapled to the picture to cover Alvarado’s genitalia.
“Now, Mr. Brennan, I show you this exhibit, defendant’s exhibit triple B, which the district attorney failed to turn over to counsel before, and—”
“Mr. Luca,” Judge Porta admonished, “no more speeches, please.”
“Very well, Your Honor,” Sandro returned his attention to the witness. “Do you recognize what this is a picture of?”
“Yes, of course. It’s the defendant Alvarado.”
“What is that mark that appears on the right wrist, on the underside.”
Brennan studied the picture.
“Do you want the magnifying glass?” asked Sandro.
“No, that’s not necessary. It looks like a scrape of some sort.”
“It looks more like a laceration, doesn’t it, Mr. Brennan?”
“I’m not an expert on medical things, as you know.”
“Very well. May we show this photograph to the jury, Your Honor?”
“You may.”
“One further question. Do you recall seeing this mark now that you see the picture?”
“No.”
“I have no further questions.”
No one had further questions of Brennan. The court officer handed the photograph to the jury as Brennan walked toward the witness room.
Ellis next called William John Cesar, the Puerto Rican police buff who had interpreted for Hernandez and the district attorney when Hernandez made his formal statement to Brennan. Cesar testified to his education, his ability to speak Spanish, and the correctness of his translation. Ellis had no further questions.
Siakos stood to cross-examine. He gave Cesar a whole string of words from Hernandez’s statement for translation into Spanish. Cesar responded, although not a juror, nor the judge, nor the other counsel knew what he was talking about. He was shaking his head, talking to himself in Spanish as he wrote.
After this Spanish lesson, the court was recessed for lunch.
Sandro brought the defendants two pastrami sandwiches on rye and two pieces of chocolate cake. They smiled happily as they unwrapped their delicacies.
In the afternoon, Ellis called Detective Lawrence Reilly, who testified that he had interviewed Mrs. Hernandez on July 3rd, 1967, in the Seventh Precinct station house. He testified that she had spoken English to him and had said to him that she last saw Hernandez when she had left him at home at 8:30 A.M.
On cross-examination, Reilly told Siakos that he had used no interpreter, since Mrs. Hernandez spoke English clearly.
“Now that’s a lie, out and out,” Sandro whispered to Sam. “I’ve been with that woman plenty of times, and she couldn’t communicate with me. I always had to have Mike as an interpreter, even for the simplest thing.”
Siakos had no further questions. There was nothing to question. It was only Reilly’s oath of truth against Mrs. Hernandez’s.
Ellis now called the name Angel Belmonte. The courtroom stirred. Hernandez watched Belmonte every step of the way up to the witness chair. Belmonte did not look at Hernandez. Ellis immediately started to develop Belmonte’s criminal record, which was extensive.
Belmonte testified that he had not seen Hernandez at any time on July 3rd, 1967. He also testified that sometime after the shooting, in September, 1967, he had been arrested and, while detained in the Tombs, he met Hernandez, who then suggested that Belmonte be a favorable alibi witness for him in this trial. Belmonte said that he refused Hernandez because he didn’t want to get caught in perjury and get five years. He said that Hernandez asked him to say that he, Hernandez, had been at Belmonte’s home on July 3rd, at about 3 P.M.
Ellis went on to establish that Belmonte, at the moment, did not have any cases or charges pending against him. Belmonte testified he had been picked up by the police and brought to the D.A.’s office a few days ago, but he did not know the D.A., nor had the D.A. offered him any benefit for testifying. Ellis had no further questions.
Siakos launched an offensive of questions against Belmonte.
“Mr. Belmonte, are you married?”
“Yes.”
“Legally married?”
“No.”
“Where does your wife live?”
“I don’t know. In New York somewheres.”
“Does she live on welfare?”
“I don’t know.”
“How is she supported?”
“She’s living with some guy, okay?”
“How about your children, Mr. Belmonte?”
“He supports them, too.”
These were questions Sam or Sandro might never have asked; they were subjects too accusatory for proper cross-examination. But Siakos knew people like Belmonte and how they lived, and to them this was not accusation but. a way of life.
Siakos inquired about Belmonte’s criminal record. It ran from petty larceny at seventeen, to indecent exposure, narcotics on seven different occasions, and assault. He had been a junky for approximately seven years. Siakos badgered him, intentionally angered him.
“Have you ever worked with the police, helped them with information?”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Do you work with the police, help them in court?” Siakos insisted.
“You think I’m a stool pigeon?” Belmonte raged.
“I only want to know if you work with the police, so you can get consideration on your own record?”
“I ain’t got no charges. I ain’t no stoolie.”
“I see that even with a record like this, you’ve received three suspended sentences, one quite recently. Was that because you’re more valuable to the police out in the street?”
“I made no deals with nobody—nobody.” Belmonte looked at Hernandez now.
Belmonte testified that he had worked honestly for four out of the twelve years since he had been in New York. He indicated that his narcotics habit, at its worst, cost him twenty dollars a day, or one hundred and forty dollars a week. He admitted that he had stolen to support the habit.
Siakos asked Belmonte if it weren’t true that when he met Hernandez in prison, Hernandez had simply reminded him of their meeting on July 3rd.
“No.”
“And isn’t it true you refused to tell what happened on July third because you didn’t want the D.A. to put you in prison for ten years as a narcotics pusher?”
“No.”
Siakos asked him if he were aware that Hernandez had testified that he had bought heroin from Belmonte on July 3rd. Belmonte said it was a lie. He insisted he had told Hernandez that he would not perjure himself.
“And now you want this jury to believe that after you told Hernandez that you would not come to court to testify because you didn’t want to commit perjury, Hernandez still came here, where he is on trial for his life, and told a false story despite the fact that you had warned him you wouldn’t back him up?”
Ellis objected. The judge sustained the objection. It was improper surely, but it had its effect. Siakos had no further questions.
Belmonte walked off the stand. Hernandez glared at him. Belmonte did not look at Hernandez.
The next name Ellis called was Julio Maldonado. Sam looked at Sandro. Sandro shrugged. From the witness room came a Puerto Rican in his thirties. He looked around unfamiliarly. The court officer showed him to the witness chair.
“That’s the barber’s friend,” Sandro exclaimed.
“That’s great,” replied Sam. “Let’s hope he hasn’t suddenly remembered too much.”
Julio testified that he worked for the Board of Education of the City of New York. He was a cook in the lunchroom at Public School 17, and during the summer he took care of the kids whose mothers went to work. It was the neighborhood day-care center, and the kids spent their time in the school playground. He testified that he had been so employed by the city for eleven years. His working hours were 7:30 A.M. to 3:30P.M. He testified that he knew the barber Francisco Moreno, and dropped into his shop very often to talk and kid around. He said he usually got there about 4 P.M.
Julio testified that July 3rd, 1967, was a workday like any other, and he didn’t leave his job until 3:30 P.M. He said he did go to the barber shop, and he arrived there the usual time, about 4 P.M. He got a haircut that day.
“He remembers too much, all right,” said Sam.
Sandro didn’t turn or speak.
Julio testified, after Ellis had Alvarado stand up, that he didn’t recognize Alvarado. He said Alvarado might have been in the barber shop, but he didn’t remember him. He said no one gave him any money, nor did he let anyone take his turn to get a haircut.
Julio said that there was no doubt in his mind that he had left work at 3:30P.M. on July 3rd, 1967.
Ellis had no further questions.
Sandro rose and walked to the jury box. Julio testified that he signed a time card every day when he started and when he finished work. He said he signed out on July 3rd at 3:30P.M. He testified that he signed the card by hand, that there was no time clock to punch or superior to sign him in or out. He said that at the end of each week, the school superintendent had to sign the completed card so he could be paid.
“Mr. Maldonado, if you did leave your job early on a particular day, say around two P.M., you could still write three thirty P.M. down on your time card, couldn’t you?”
“But I don’t do this.”
PART 35 Page 52
