Tragic

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  Looking from one juror to the next, he continued. “When all is said and done, what you have just witnessed from the People was a solemn and sacred search for the truth. And during my summation, I ask you to permit me to be your guide in this search. Given the drama and the passion you’ve observed over the course of this trial, after you’ve rendered your verdict of guilty and leave this courtroom to resume your everyday activities, you’ll be asked by family, loved ones, friends, and business associates what caused you to vote guilty. And so to answer that question with precision and righteousness, let us count the ways we know that the defendant in this case is guilty not beyond a reasonable doubt but beyond any and all doubt.”

  Karp then launched into an hour and a half of unrelenting evidentiary analysis, devoid of any speculation or unfounded inferences, which he noted had characterized the defense summation, before looking over at Vitteli. The defendant sat with his head down, staring at the table in front of him, reminding Karp of his adversary’s expressions of diminishing hopes when, after the defense rested its case, he’d announced that he would be calling three rebuttal witnesses. With each witness, Vitteli increasingly had taken on the look of a hunted man with nowhere to turn.

  The first witness was Bill Clark, the supervisor of Martin Bryant at the U.S. Department of Labor, who testified about the department’s protocol for dealing with complaints. “Which apparently were ignored in regard to Mr. Carlotta, and—if it ever occurred—Mr. Vitteli,” Clark said. “Nor was I ever verbally informed about the alleged complaints, as is required.” He wrapped up his testimony by stating that Bryant was under investigation for engaging in corrupt practices and had been suspended from the department. He then turned over department telephone logs that indicated nearly a dozen telephone calls were made between Bryant’s office and Vitteli’s beginning a month prior to Carlotta’s murder and continuing up to Vitteli’s arrest. The best Kowalski could do on cross was get Clark to concede that it was possible that Bryant had simply not followed department rules.

  The second rebuttal witness was Jack Swanburg, who took the stand to testify regarding DNA and blood-testing conducted on a silk handkerchief sent to him by Detective Clay Fulton. He told the jury that the blood on the handkerchief “to an absolute scientific certainty” belonged to the deceased, Vince Carlotta, and that DNA testing also revealed the presence of skin cells and several hairs belonging to Charles Vitteli and even a few skin cells belonging to Joey Barros.

  “There was also a minor amount of soot, as would be explained by the circumstances in which it’s my understanding the item was found—that is, a fifty-gallon barrel used to contain fires,” Swanburg testified. “However, the soot was only on one side and only on a few contact points, which indicates to me that it was only in the barrel for a short time and had not been disturbed prior to its being retrieved.”

  As if there was any doubt about who the handkerchief had belonged to, Karp asked the scientist if it was monogrammed. “Yes.” The old man nodded. “With the letters ‘C.E.V.’ ”

  With each rebuttal witness, Vitteli seemed to sink farther into his seat. But Karp had saved the best for last and was pleased to watch the defendant’s face when he called Anne Devulder to the stand. It had taken Vitteli a moment to recognize the name and put it together, seeing the nicely dressed woman standing in the doorway leading to the prosecution witness room. Then the color drained from his face as he leaned over and spoke urgently to his attorney.

  “Your Honor, we object to this woman’s testimony,” Kowalski complained. “We have no idea what she’s going to say, and it’s obvious the prosecution has been sandbagging so that we’d have no opportunity to question her, or review her possible testimony, in order to prepare.”

  Karp listened to Kowalski and then turned to the judge. “Your Honor, may we approach the bench?”

  “By all means, Mr. Karp,” Judge See had said, looking somewhat bemused.

  When they’d assembled at the sidebar, Karp explained the circumstances and chronology of Devulder’s appearance as a witness. “She did not come forward until the last witness for the People’s case was on the stand. However, we needed to await testing to be conducted on the handkerchief, in order to corroborate her potential testimony. If we had tried to ‘spring’ her on the defense during the People’s case in chief, they might have an argument to at least delay the proceedings until they could examine her statements to Mr. Guma. However, her testimony now is completely appropriate in rebuttal.”

  “I agree that the witness’s appearance is proper rebuttal, particularly given the defendant’s testimony, and I’ll allow it,” Judge See determined. “Your objection is overruled.”

  When Kowalski returned to his seat, he broke the news to Vitteli, who slammed his fist on the table and glared at Anne Devulder as she approached the gate between the gallery and the well of the court. However, instead of cowing her, his obvious displeasure seemed to galvanize Devulder. She met his glare with her own as she picked up her head and straightened her shoulders as she walked between the defense and prosecution tables toward the witness stand.

  Karp smiled as she was sworn in. He’d seen an amazing transformation from a street person in tattered rags and weeks’ worth of filth on her weary face to an attractive middle-aged woman with short, bobbed hair and wearing a dress. The transformation wasn’t just external—Marlene informed him that Devulder had quit drinking after the Carlotta murder and was attending AA meetings at the East Village Women’s Shelter—nor was she alone in her quest to change her life. As she stepped up into the witness stand and settled in a chair, Devulder glanced out to the gallery where her two friends, Rosie and Cindy, cleaned up and smiling encouragement, were seated.

  “How do you know Charlie Vitteli?” Karp asked early in the questioning.

  “My husband, Sean, belonged to the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores.”

  “And was Sean killed in an accident on the docks?”

  Devulder looked at Vitteli when she replied. “It wasn’t no accident,” she said. “But yes, he was killed when the crane he was operating collapsed.”

  “Is it fair to say that you blame Charlie Vitteli for Sean’s death?”

  “My Sean told him that the new cranes weren’t safe in high winds. Charlie was the president. It was his job to keep the men safe.”

  “Do you feel differently toward Vince Carlotta?”

  “Yes, everybody did—except maybe some of the old crowd who keep their jobs by kowtowing to Vitteli. But we knew, the men that is, that Vince worked for them. If he’d been president, he would have looked into the crane operators’ complaints and shut those cranes down if there was a problem. In fact, I think he blamed himself for not being more forceful about investigating the complaints before the accident.”

  “So we’ve established that you blame Charlie Vitteli for your husband’s death but you and your husband liked Vince Carlotta and felt he worked for the union membership?”

  “Yes, that’s fair to say.”

  “However, you’ve sworn to tell the truth here today, regardless of your feelings for either man, correct?”

  Devulder’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve been called many things, Mr. Karp, but a liar isn’t one of them.”

  Having taken one of the defense’s possible points of attack away, Karp had moved on to the essence of Devulder’s testimony. “Did you see Charlie Vitteli in Hell’s Kitchen near Marlon’s Restaurant prior to the night when Vince Carlotta was murdered?”

  “Yes,” Devulder said. “Me and my two friends, Rosie and Cindy, were hanging out near the alley, trying to stay warm with a barrel fire.”

  “Did you recognize him?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “And did he know you?”

  “Not at first. I had to remind him that I was Sean’s wife. Then he knew who I was.”

  “Did the two of you exchange words?”

  “Yeah, things got a little heated,” Devulder recalled. “I called him King Vit
teli. He didn’t like that and told me to get the hell out of his way. When I told him I was Sean’s widow, he said he was sorry for my loss and tried to give me twenty bucks. I wouldn’t take it. I said I didn’t want his blood money, but my friend Cindy grabbed it from him.”

  “And did you know Vince Carlotta by sight?”

  “Yes, he came to Sean’s funeral, but Charlie didn’t,” Devulder said, then choked up. “I saw him again going toward Marlon’s the night he was murdered. He gave me and my friends all the money he had in his pockets—thirty bucks, I think—and told me to come down to the union offices the next day and he’d see if he could do more for me. I was a little on the down and out, you see.”

  Devulder shook her head sadly. “I told him not to go to that meeting with Charlie Vitteli. I told him to go home to his wife and child. I had a bad feeling in my bones. But Vince said he had to go; that it was for Sean and the other guys.”

  Recalling her warning, Devulder began to cry lightly. Karp stepped forward and handed her the box of tissues that was on the witness-box ledge. He waited patiently for her until she’d calmed and sat dabbing at her eyes and nose with the tissue. Then, gently, he led her through a series of questions, beginning with getting her to describe the events of the night of the murder.

  “My friends and me were Dumpster diving in the back of the alley when two guys jumped out of an older car and walked into the entrance of the alley,” she recalled. “They were dressed in black, and it was obvious they was up to no good. We were afraid they’d find us, so we hid real good, way back in the shadows, and we were ready to slip out our secret way between the buildings if we had to.”

  However, the men had remained at the mouth of the alley, one of them smoking cigarette after cigarette, until they apparently received some signal from the car across the street. “They pulled stocking masks over their faces. It was pretty dark, but there was a little bit of light from a streetlamp and I could see that one of them had a gun. I don’t know why I did it—I was scared to death—but for some reason, I crept toward them. And when they jumped out, and I heard voices, I went all the way to the front and looked out.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I saw four men sort of facing toward me—Mr. Carlotta, Vitteli, that creepy guy Joey Barros who’s always with him, and some younger guy I didn’t recognize. The two guys in the ski masks had their backs to me. One was behind the other, and the guy in front had a gun pointed at Mr. Carlotta.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Mr. Carlotta put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a gun,” Devulder said, then nodded at the defense table, “but he grabbed Vince’s arm and pulled it down.”

  “What, if anything, did anybody say?”

  “Mr. Carlotta called Vitteli a son of a bitch.”

  “You sure he wasn’t speaking to the gunman?”

  “I’m positive,” Devulder said. “He looked down at his arm and then right at Vitteli and said it.”

  “How far from these men were you?” Karp asked.

  The woman thought about it for a moment, then nodded toward the courtroom doors. “About from here to the back of this room,” she said.

  “And how’s your eyesight?”

  Devulder chuckled. “Not so good close up,” she said. “But eyes like an eagle for anything over ten feet. I can see that guy in the back row has an American flag pin on his lapel.” She pointed and all eyes turned to look in that direction at an older man whose hand now self-consciously went to the pin she’d described.

  “Now, returning to the confrontation,” Karp continued, “what, if anything, did the defendant, Charlie Vitteli, say?”

  “He looked at the guy with the gun and yelled, ‘Do it!’ ”

  “He yelled, ‘Do it’? You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure he didn’t say, ‘Don’t do it’?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Plain as day I heard him yell, ‘Do it!’ And that’s when the guy shot Vince.” Devulder sniffled and wiped at her nose with the tissue. “Then he shot him again.”

  “What, if anything, did Charlie Vitteli say after that?”

  “He told the two guys in the ski masks to take their wallets and watches. That’s what they did. Then he told ’em ‘get the fuck out of here,’ pardon my language but that’s what he said, and then they ran back across the street to the car.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “People were starting to come out of Marlon’s. So Charlie ran over to Vince and started acting like he was trying to save him. He yelled for help. That younger guy was yelling for help, too.”

  Karp walked over to the prosecution table and picked up the plastic bag containing the bloodstained handkerchief. Returning to the witness stand, he held it up. “Mrs. Devulder, do you recognize this handkerchief?”

  Devulder shuddered as she nodded. “Yes. It’s the handkerchief I picked up out of the fire barrel in front of the alley the night Vince was murdered.”

  “Can you tell us how it came to be there?”

  “Joey Barros threw it in.”

  “Do you know where Joey Barros got it from?”

  “Not really,” she replied with a shrug. “When they heard the shots, my friends came to get me—I was sort of frozen in place, I was so frightened. We stayed in the shadows when the cops and ambulance arrived, and the folks with the media. But we poked our heads out a bit to see what was going on and Vitteli saw us. He was standing with Barros and that younger guy. Scared us to death. We ducked and ran to the back of the alley and hid behind the Dumpster. We were going to run for the secret path when I seen Barros’s silhouette at the mouth of the alley looking in, but he didn’t see us in the dark. Then he tossed something in the barrel.”

  “Were you still in the alley when the police arrived?”

  Devulder nodded. “Yeah, but we squeezed into a little crack between the buildings. We saw their flashlights and heard some footsteps, but you have to come right up to the crack or you wouldn’t know it’s there. So no one saw us.”

  “As best as you can recall, when did you retrieve the handkerchief?”

  Heaving a sigh, Devulder said, “It was a couple of hours later and we were cold as hell, so we, real quiet-like, tiptoed forward. Everybody was gone. My sister, Rosie—and I think of her as my sister—was going to make a fire, but I looked in the barrel and saw that.” She pointed at the handkerchief. “I picked it out and put it in a paper bag for safekeeping.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Because I wanted something, I wanted proof of what Vitteli did. He spilled the blood of a good man, just like he did with Sean.”

  Returning the handkerchief to the prosecution table, Karp asked, “Mrs. Devulder, did we have occasion to meet after this trial began?”

  “Yes.”

  “Had we ever met before that?”

  “Well, I seen you in court during the trial of them two boys.”

  “Alexei Bebnev and Frank DiMarzo?”

  “That’s them,” she agreed. “You were real nice and polite. You said, ‘Good morning, ladies.’ ”

  “Did we have any other conversation at that time?”

  “No, that was it.”

  “Did we eventually have a longer conversation?”

  Devulder nodded. “Yes. You caught me and my friends sneaking into the courtroom during lunch.”

  “What were you doing in here?”

  “I was going to leave that handkerchief where Charlie sits.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted him to know that the blood of Vince Carlotta wasn’t going to be so easy to get rid of . . . that someone out here knew what he’d done, even if he got off.”

  “Why not turn it in to the police?” Karp asked. “Or bring it to me?”

  Devulder bit her lip. “I was scared. Charlie Vitteli gets away with everything. He killed my Sean and a couple of other good men because of that so-called accident, and nothing happened. And he helped kill Vince
Carlotta, and it didn’t seem like anybody was doing anything about it. I thought he would find a way to kill me, too, if he knew I seen what he done and that I had the handkerchief.”

  “After I discovered you and your friends in the courtroom, did you agree to give a statement to Assistant District Attorney Ray Guma, who is sitting at the prosecution table over there?”

  “Yeah,” Devulder said with a small wave to Guma. “I told him what I just told you, and he asked me a lot of questions.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Devulder,” Karp said. “I have no more questions.”

  On cross-examination, Kowalski noted that Devulder and her friends had attended both the earlier trial and the current trial. “So you knew what was being said by other prosecution witnesses, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t have to hear what they said,” Devulder replied. “I was there, and I know what I saw and I know what I heard. That handkerchief proves I was there.”

  “It proves that you were in possession of it when you met with Mr. Karp,” Kowalski retorted.

  Devulder frowned and her eyes flashed. “I already said this, I don’t lie.”

  Moving on, Kowalski hammered away at Devulder’s reasons for not coming forward sooner, hinting that it was part of a prosecution plan to spring her on the defense—without going too far with his conspiracy theory and raising the judge’s ire. But she held firm to her story, as she did when he noted again that she blamed Vitteli for her husband’s death.

  “I did, and I do,” Devulder said. “But that’s not why I’m here.” Now infuriated, she partly rose out of her seat as she fixed Vitteli with her glittering eyes and pointed at him. “I’m here because that man . . . that evil man . . . grabbed Vince Carlotta’s arm so that he couldn’t defend himself and then told the man with the gun to shoot him. I heard it and I saw it, and there’s nothing that anybody can say otherwise.”

  With that, Kowalski suddenly must have decided that he was only digging a deeper hole and said he had no further questions. Dismissed from the witness stand, Devulder kept her eyes on Vitteli as she stepped down and passed him. Reaching the gate, she turned her head and walked down the aisle, where she was met by her two companions. The three then left the courtroom with their heads held high.