Dirty Warren grinned as he peered up at Karp, his light blue eyes magnified like a cartoon character’s by the Coke-bottle lenses of his glasses. “Thought you’d never ask, but since you insist . . .” he said as he assumed a role. “Who am I? ‘You want to know what’s’ . . . fucking-a whoop . . . ‘wrong with our watefront? It’s the love of a lousy buck. It’s’ . . . oh boy ohhhhh boy . . . ‘making love of a buck—the cushy job—more important than the love of man!’ Whoop oh boy.”
“Actually, that’s not too bad a rendition of Karl Malden as Father Barry,” Karp admitted. “At least compared to your usual lame attempts and, I have to say, rather on point for this trial.”
Dirty Warren beamed at the backhanded compliment as he hopped from one foot to the next. “I been practicing,” he boasted, continuing to hop. “It’s about time you recognized real . . . ah fuck shit . . . talent.” He stopped hopping and looked around to make sure none of the passersby were listening before sidling closer and speaking in a low voice. “Actually, I was about to . . . whoooop . . . come find you. I think I got something for you . . . balls vagina whoop whoop . . . regarding the trial.”
Karp’s mind switched from movie trivia to paying attention to whatever his little friend was trying to tell him between profanities. He never knew what the vendor, with all of his contacts among the city’s street people, whose grapevine of information often astounded him, might have heard.
As sure as New York garbage workers always choose to strike during the hottest week of the summer, he knew that Vitteli was guilty of murder and believed that he had the evidence and witnesses to prove it beyond any doubt. But Vitteli’s lawyer, Syd Kowalski, was several cuts above Clooney when it came to trying a criminal case and, lacking any compunction regarding using whatever means he could to get his client off, a dangerous adversary.
Clooney was a joke who didn’t belong in a courtroom. Looking for major ink and airtime to further his ambitions, he’d taken on a high-profile case in which he believed he could out-finesse the prosecution.
When Jackie Corcione confessed to his role in the murder of Vince Carlotta, he also told Karp that Vitteli had paid Clooney’s legal bills for Bebnev, as well as the two lawyers assigned to DiMarzo. “Vitteli wanted to make sure he was in control of everything that happened from the defense standpoint and know everything the defendants were telling their lawyers,” Corcione said. That Clooney had been so incompetent and turned into such a laughingstock by Karp was not part of the white-shoe lawyer’s plan. He’d slunk away after the trial and, at least according to press accounts Karp had read, wasn’t returning telephone calls.
Karp would deal with Clooney and the other two lawyers later. However, Kowalski was no paper-pushing white-shoe attorney who didn’t know habeas corpus from a hole in the ground. Much like Guma, he was a courtroom brawler who reminded Karp of Edward G. Robinson in the film Illegal. He had a lot of experience and success defending union members, as well as organized-crime figures; and while he and Karp had never butted heads in court, he’d won acquittals against some of the five boroughs’ best prosecutors, as well as his share of dogfights in federal court.
Built like a bulldog, with a toughness to match, Kowalski was one of those savvy, articulate lawyers who, through the sheer force of his will, a compelling courtroom persona, and a con man’s understanding of human nature, was capable of manipulating the average, trusting juror. As such, he occasionally blew up so-called motion picture, can’t-lose cases—the ones that have confessions, eyewitnesses, and corroboration to choke a rhino—by persuading at least one juror that the prosecution’s motives and/or conclusions were suspect, potentially leading to at least a hung jury. But no case is a slam-dunk, airtight sure thing; it’s generally tempestuous drama dealing with real people, real fears, real misgivings, and at times compounded by faulty recollections, angst, and nervousness. And The People vs. Vitteli was no exception, especially with an amoral “win at all cost” defense attorney in the other corner.
In Part 30 Supreme Court New York County, the courtroom where the presiding judge arraigns defendants and entertains bail hearings on returned indictments handed up by the grand jury, Karp demanded Vitteli be held without bail. Laying out the case, he contended that Vitteli with “premeditation and malice ordered the execution of the deceased, Vince Carlotta, his rival in the union. The People are ready to try this case immediately.”
As a matter of principle, Karp believed in moving forward with trials as quickly as possible, and didn’t believe in pretrial detention per se. Generally, he had always been low-bail oriented; however, certain murder cases warranted that the defendant be held without bail. And although he intended to see Vitteli convicted and sentenced to the maximum, he believed that any man’s freedom was precious and shouldn’t be denied without due process, especially if the defendant was incarcerated in a hellhole like the Tombs. In fact, it was usually the defense attorneys who stalled and asked for continuances so that they could ostensibly conduct their own investigations and prepare for trial while, not coincidentally, increasing their billable hours.
Going in, Kowalski knew that he’d met his match in Karp. Infuriated after the bail hearing, he’d immediately gone on the attack, holding a press conference outside of the Criminal Courts Building after Vitteli’s bail hearing conducted at the time of his arraignment on the indictment—a fiction based on the word of thieves and murderers, as well as politically motivated. Then he dropped his bombshell.
In front of the media, who were delighted by the dramatics, Kowalski began:
“My client recently uncovered evidence that the government’s star witness, Jackie Corcione, the estranged son of our founder and the union’s chief financial officer, has over the course of several years siphoned millions of dollars out of the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores pension accounts.
“It is our belief that Vince Carlotta may have also discovered the theft by Mr. Corcione, who then arranged Vince’s murder to cover his tracks. When confronted by Mr. Vitteli approximately two weeks ago, Mr. Corcione decided that the jig was up and that he’d better make a preemptive move to downplay his role while serving up a prize he knew the district attorney coveted. So he ran to the DAO with his wild, self-serving tale. It is obvious to us that Corcione wants a deal and thinks he can get one from the DA by pointing a finger at Charles Vitteli and saying the murder of Vince Carlotta was all my client’s doing.”
When one member of the press pointed out that, according to the indictment, Corcione had implicated himself in the murder to the grand jury, Kowalski shrugged. “So what? He knew it was coming. Mr. Vitteli was preparing to go to the authorities himself regarding Corcione, but considering his past treatment by District Attorney Karp, he first contacted the U.S. Department of Labor with his concerns.”
When asked to explain the connection, Kowalski described the well-publicized death of Joey Barros as resulting from “a falling-out among confederates in that we believe Barros was also involved with Mr. Corcione in the murder of Vince Carlotta, and some of the testimony of the State’s own witnesses will bear that out.” He called it a “convenient fiction” that the police determined that Barros had been the aggressor and that his death at the hands of Greg Lusk, a former Navy SEAL and “Corcione’s homosexual lover,” had been self-defense. He hinted that homosexuality was connected to the “personal reason” that Corcione wanted Carlotta and Vitteli to be “eliminated.”
Kowalski had gone on to paint Karp as an anti-union conservative “who sees this tragedy as an opportunity to drive a wedge between the members of the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores, as well as cast doubt among our friends in the labor movement.” Then, having provided ample sound bites for the evening news and in the morning papers, the attorney had declined to comment further, saying that he didn’t want to “try this case in the media.
“Suffice it to say that my client looks forward to the opportunity to clear his name and restore his reputation that the District A
ttorney of New York County has unfairly and unconscionably besmirched since attacking him on the witness stand during the trial of the men who actually participated with Mr. Corcione and Mr. Barros in the murder of Vince Carlotta.”
Of course, Karp did not respond when the media came calling for return fire other than the usual bland statement issued by his office that there would be no comment outside of the courtroom. He recognized Kowalski’s attempt to influence the jury pool through the media, but there wasn’t much he could do about it other than prepare for all eventualities.
Nor did he let Vitteli bait him into answering when the union boss granted an interview at the Tombs to a local television muckraker who’d promised him carte blanche to say whatever he wanted. “I’m ready; let’s go, Mr. District Attorney,” Vitteli had snarled for the camera. “You put me in this stinkin’ hole without bail to make yourself look good while destroying the hard work of honest, hardworking union men like Leo Corcione, Vince Carlotta, myself, and thousands of members of the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores. The sooner we go to trial, the sooner I get out of here and return to serving the men and women who honored me with their votes in the past election.”
Sitting on the couch with Marlene at home in the loft when he saw the newscast, Karp looked at his wife and rolled his eyes. “I guess I’ve been personally called out,” he said.
“It would seem that the gauntlet has been thrown down,” she responded. “Hasn’t he heard the expression ‘Let sleeping dogs lie’?”
“Wouldn’t matter,” Karp growled. “This dog is already wide awake. As the man said, let’s get it on; the sooner, the better.”
Karp could tell by Kowalski’s demeanor at the hearing to set the trial date that while the defense attorney was playing the good soldier and going along with his client’s demands to speed things up, he wasn’t too happy about it. Delay, particularly in Vitteli’s case, usually worked in favor of the defense: witnesses “disappeared” or “grew forgetful.” But Vitteli’s ego and carefully disguised lack of self-confidence that Gorman had told Karp about forced Kowalski to go along with demanding a speedy trial.
While taking note of Vitteli’s weaknesses, Karp didn’t count on Kowalski allowing his client to make too many other strategic mistakes in the lead-up to the trial. Nor did Karp believe that the defense attorney would make missteps at trial the same way Clooney had with his miserable failure at trying to claim a government frame job without any evidence. For all his bluster when in front of the cameras, Kowalski was too subtle for such amateurism but could still be expected to insinuate what he wouldn’t dare say and leave himself open to being shot down by Karp and the judge.
Because of the high-profile nature of the case, the talking-head TV experts and intense media coverage, jury selection took two and a half weeks. But at last they had a jury of twelve men and women, plus four alternates, and that morning they’d been sworn in by New York State Supreme Court Justice Robert See, who’d also taken this trial so that a new judge wouldn’t have to be brought up to speed or wade through repetitive motions from the first trial.
As always, Karp in his opening statement carefully laid out the road map of the People’s case. Then it was Kowalski’s turn to go to work.
With an accent straight out of his native Newark, the pugnacious defense attorney fired off a passionate opening statement, sticking with the theme he’d thrown out four months earlier to the press that Corcione was the guilty party trying to place the blame on Vitteli after being confronted by his boss, “who testimony will show contacted the U.S. Department of Labor with his concerns prior to Corcione’s confession.” The evidence would also demonstrate, he said, that Corcione set up the slush fund accounts and that only he and Joey Barros had ever signed paperwork transferring funds among those accounts.
Kowalski cautioned the jury that after the prosecution had presented its case, “and you’ve seen what passes for evidence and heard the testimony of the government’s witnesses, as they are led down the primrose path by the prosecution, you will be ready to convict my client.” However, he urged, if they would keep an open mind until hearing the defense case, “which will include plausible alternate explanations for the State’s so-called evidence, I’m sure you will agree that there is more than reasonable doubt and will vote to acquit Mr. Vitteli and end this witch hunt.”
The opening statements had taken them right up to the lunch hour. When court resumed, Karp planned to call the civil engineer Jack Farrell and the NYPD crime scene photographer who had testified at the trial of Bebnev and DiMarzo. This time, however, they would only lay out the crime scene in Hell’s Kitchen, which would probably take up to the afternoon break. Then he’d call Jackie Corcione.
A knish and a celery soda had sounded like just the ticket before battle, until he stepped outside the 100 Centre Street courthouse into an oven and was met by Dirty Warren. Playing along with the news vendor’s furtive glances, Karp looked around and then asked quietly, “So, my friend, what do you have?”
Squinting through his smudged glasses, Dirty Warren wiped a droplet of sweat off the end of his long, pointed nose. “I talked to David Grale last night. He said to tell you . . . oh boy fuck me . . . that those rumors about there being another witness were correct. Apparently . . . whoop whoop . . . three women were in the alley when it all went down.”
Karp’s ears pricked up. Randy McMahon had testified about seeing three bag women near the alley, and Jackie Corcione said that Vitteli had seen three women, though he and Barros didn’t.
“Anyway, these women have been getting out of the cold in one of David’s enclaves beneath the . . . piss shit balls whoop . . . city. The one you want to talk to is named Anne and . . . hey . . . whoop whoop . . . where are you going? I’ve got another trivia question.”
Karp didn’t wait to hear Warren’s complaint. He was already back in the building, heading for the eleventh-floor courtroom. He turned the corner into the hallway and was disappointed not to see anyone standing outside of the locked courtroom. Or at least he thought it was locked.
Then he heard the sound of several voices coming from behind the doors. Listening for a moment, he then pulled open the doors and was surprised to see the three shabby women he’d spoken to briefly at the previous trial; one of them stood near the defense table and the other two were at the railing between her and the gallery. He had not noticed them at the morning session, but he’d been preoccupied with his opening statement.
“Excuse me?” he said.
The three women jumped and turned at the sound of his voice. The black one made some sort of sign in his direction. “Oh, we were just leaving,” the one standing near the defense table said.
“Not so fast,” Karp said, walking slowly toward them. “How did you get in here? I know the door was locked.”
The women looked at one another; then the pale-skinned woman who’d been standing with the black one spoke up. “It was me, sir.”
“You?” Karp asked.
“She can pick any lock, quick as magic,” the woman next to the defense table said.
“Are you going to arrest me?” the lock picker asked in a frightened voice.
“Depends,” Karp replied. “What are you doing here? Why did you pick the lock?”
The two women standing in the gallery glanced at their third compatriot next to the defense table, who looked down at the floor. That’s when Karp noticed a bag containing some object lying on the table. “That wasn’t there,” he said. “I think you better explain.”
“I don’t want to get involved,” the woman cried. “I’m scared!”
Realizing the woman truly was frightened, Karp softened his tone. “I think you already are involved. And I think maybe you know something that I need to hear. It has to do with what’s right and just.”
“He’s right, Anne,” said the other white woman.
“It’s time,” added the black woman.
The one they called Anne wiped a grungy sleeve acros
s her face, then nodded. She reached over to the defense table and picked up the plastic bag. He could now see that it contained a piece of cloth with a dark stain on part of it.
“My name is Anne Devulder and I want to give you this and tell you how I got it,” she said, her voice trembling. “It contains the blood of a martyr.”
Karp nodded. “Let’s go to the prosecution witness room, where we can talk privately,” he said, indicating they should go out the side door of the courtroom. As they walked, he dialed Guma on his cell phone. “Hey, I need you and Clay and a stenographer up to the witness waiting room as soon as you can get there.”
As they entered the waiting room, Karp asked the women to sit down. “It was very brave of you to come here,” he said. “But why were you going to place the bag on the defense table and leave?”
“I wanted that evil man to know that even if he got off for killing Vince Carlotta, the blood of that good man would follow him the rest of his life,” she said. “I didn’t think you needed me . . . or would believe me. I’m sorry it took so long, but I didn’t think anybody would care about what I had to say . . . but Mr. Carlotta cared, and I’ve been watching you, and I know you care, too.”
Just then, there was a knock, followed by the appearance of Guma, Fulton, and a stenographer. “Ladies, I’d like you to meet Special Assistant District Attorney Ray Guma, Detective Clay Fulton, and stenographer Bob Johnson,” he said. “And gentlemen, I’m pleased to introduce Anne Devulder, and her two friends. . . .”
“I’m Rosie LaMontagne, and she’s Cindy Lange,” the black woman volunteered.
Karp continued. “Ray, Mrs. Devulder has come forward to give a statement regarding the murder of Vince Carlotta. After which, Clay, would you arrange for their protection and safekeeping as material witnesses? Oh, and maybe talk to Mrs. Milquetost about getting them some, um, clean clothes so that they can change if they’d like. I’ll see you all in about an hour and a half when we take our afternoon break.” He turned to the women. “Is that agreeable with you, ladies?”
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