My Honorable Brother

by Bob Weintraub

  But as this reporter detailed four days ago, there was a strong friendship between Sandy Tarantino and Doug Fiore during their years together at Princeton University and Columbia Law School. Fiore and a spokesman for the Tarantino family have denied any close relationship since that time, but a different look at Cardella’s death may prompt further investigation.

  The scenario as I see it is this: someone decided to kill Cardella once it became clear that he would defeat Fiore. A professional hit man was kept on call to get to Cardella in an unguarded moment and in a situation offering a planned getaway.

  Chi-Chi’s was considered a prime spot at which to perform the act because Cardella frequented it regularly and there was an escape route through the back door and down an alleyway.

  The person responsible for the crime knew the layout at Chi-Chi’s and was also aware that Al Niro always occupied the booth closest to the back door. When Cardella was seen entering Chi-Chi’s on Monday evening, the operation was put into effect. A car was sent to the alley behind the bar and the hit man was brought to the scene. He was familiar with both Cardella’s and Niro’s appearance, either from having known one or both of them or from having been shown pictures of them earlier.

  The killer was told that Cardella would be at the phone in the rear of the restaurant, but was instructed to shoot Niro first, saying the words, ‘We warned you’ just before doing so.

  Someone (from outside the bar, apparently) dialed the number of the pay phone at Chi-Chi’s and asked for Cardella. At the right moment the assassin entered the bar and did the rest. The words he spoke were deliberately intended to manipulate the police and defeat the investigation.

  This reporter is confident that the police will continue to explore all possible avenues in attempting to solve these murders, including, it is hoped, the one set forth in this space.”

  83

  AT 241 ATWELLS AVENUE, Sandy Tarantino sat in his father’s office along with another man who prided himself on being one of Sal’s closest friends for years.

  The man was awakened early that morning by a telephone call and alerted to Richardson’s story in the Herald. As soon as he read it, he got dressed and called in sick at work. He disguised himself with an expensive toupee, horn-rimmed glasses and a paste-on beard, all purchased much earlier and kept ready for occasions such as this. In his closet, he found an old raincoat and a white Cape Codder hat that he could pull down over his forehead, just above his eyes. Before leaving home and driving seventeen miles to a mall in East Providence, he removed the telephone receiver from its cradle as he would do if an illness kept him at home in bed. At the mall, a taxi picked him up outside a “Benny’s” department store and dropped him off in a small parking lot belonging to a building facing Atwells Avenue. He quickly made his way to the rear entrance of the building, punched the right combination of numbers into the coded lock next to the door, and entered. The stairway to the Tarantino offices was just as steep in back as it was in front.

  As soon as Joe Gaudette sat down in the chair in front of Sal Tarantino’s desk, he removed all parts of the disguise he put on earlier at home. He saw the light covering of white powder on the rash areas of the Mafia don’s face and watched in silence as he took out his handkerchief and softly patted his cheeks and chin. When he finished, Sal spoke sharply to his son and the police captain whose help and advice he so often relied upon. “I told you, Salvy, and you too, Joe, I was against letting that Richardson come in here. The broad’s poison, and she could cause us a lot of trouble, a lot of trouble.”

  “You’ve already said that a few times, Pop. Now that Joe’s here, let’s just figure out what we’re going to do.” Sandy was irritated with his father, but still spoke softly, with respect.

  Gaudette moved his chair so that he could easily turn his head from Sal to Sandy. “Alright,” he said, “maybe I can summarize where I think we’re at. We know someone did a job on Niro and Cardella. We didn’t know why and we didn’t care who it was. It was a big break for Fiore and the Family and that’s all we were concerned about. But now things have changed. Half of Rhode Island probably thinks that Cardella’s death sentence came out of this room because that’s what Richardson was saying between the lines. She made it sound like the Family is the only one that could have a motive. So we’ve got to move fast and try to get our hands on this guy real quick, before the election. I’ll do what I can to expand the investigation when I go back to work tomorrow, but your contacts on this are a lot better than ours.”

  “Richardson’s one smart reporter,” Sandy said.

  “I wish you’d figured that out before we let her in here,” Sal answered, shaking his head.

  A half hour later, a different taxicab pulled out of the parking lot behind Atwells Avenue with Joe Gaudette in the back seat. He was fairly certain that his close friend, Sal Tarantino, had nothing to do with Cardella’s death. Still, he wasn’t sure he would bet his life on it if it came to that.

  When Gaudette left, Sandy drafted a letter on his word processor and showed it to his father. Sal read it and handed it back. “All on account of that goddamn broad,” he said. “Without her, we wouldn’t have this headache and Fiore would win going away.”

  Sandy unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out a listing of names and telephone numbers. He went over to the fax machine and sent the letter out 14 times.

  84

  THE FIRST OF THE two scheduled televised debates between Singer and Fiore took place that night. It was sponsored by The League of Women Voters and held in Sayles Hall on the Brown University campus. Each side received 200 complimentary tickets to hand out to its supporters. A limited number of Brown students with ID cards were allowed to attend.

  All the questions were put to the candidates by three panelists. One of the two men was a senior editor at the Newport Record, the other a political reporter for the Pawtucket Evening Times. The third participant was the very popular female member of the WPRI-TV twin anchor team in Providence.

  None of the panelists referred specifically to Jenna Richardson’s front page story that day. A decision was reached earlier to refrain from questions that might cause the debate to deteriorate into charges and countercharges. As a result, no one interrogated Fiore directly about his relationship with the Tarantino family.

  However, the Evening Times reporter attempted to get at the issue in a different way. “Would you tell us, Mr. Fiore, why you’re opposed to casino style gaming under State auspices when that’s the same stand that the gambling interests in Rhode Island obviously favor.”

  Fiore’s reply was identical to what he was telling audiences around the State and to what he said in radio and newspaper interviews throughout the campaign. “That kind of gambling encourages decadence and would stifle Rhode Island’s economic growth in many ways,” he answered, enumerating the list of negatives, one by one. “It’s only happenstance,” he continued, “that what’s best for the hard-working citizens of this State turns out to be good business for those who cater to people with a need to gamble.”

  Fiore delivered the answer in the most emotional tone he could raise. He then added, gratuitously, that as far as he was concerned, the campaign stories that appeared in the Providence Herald that week were one reporter’s “flights of fantasy.” Despite the announcement before the debate began that applause for any candidate was prohibited, Fiore’s supporters registered strong approval of his remarks. The moderator again admonished the audience to refrain from such conduct.

  At the conclusion of the 90-minute program, Fiore walked across the stage to shake hands with Singer. Cyril Berman had informed him in their debate preparation that the viewers always gave a point or two to the candidate who appeared the more sociable. While Doug was still smiling and talking to Singer, Grace and their daughter joined him. He kissed and embraced both of them. That was part of Berman’s scenario also, as soon as he learned from Fiore that in all probability Carol Singer would not be present.

  The Fi
ore family broke away from Singer and moved to the other end of the stage to greet supporters. Soon after, Rachel and Bonnie Singer, both of whom came home from college for the event, reached their father’s side and offered their congratulations with kisses. But the single pool camera covering the post-debate proceedings stayed with the more photogenic Fiores for the better part of another minute before switching back to local programming at each of the three major channels. News anchors began soliciting various opinions from around the State as to which of the candidates came out on top. Thirty minutes later, consensus called it a draw and Cyril Berman was a happy man.

  85

  GERRY QUINN KNEW WHAT he was talking about when he told Richardson that her story about Richie Cardella being the prime victim at Chi-Chi’s might shake some things out of the trees. In his thirty-five years as a cop, he saw it happen time and time again. An investigation went nowhere for months—in some cases, years—and then one new clue, prominently publicized, or brought to the attention of various suspects, succeeded in prodding a key witness to let the cat out of the bag in an effort to save himself.

  On Friday afternoon, Jenna got a call in her office from Lester Karp. He started to remind her that he was treasurer of the Fiore campaign. She interrupted, saying that she remembered him well from having spent an entire day earlier in the month following his candidate around.

  “I want to know whether I can speak to you off the record, Miss Richardson. I wouldn’t want my name used if I gave you certain information. No, let me put it differently. I’ll consider talking to you only if you agree to attribute anything I say to “a source claiming to have ties to the Fiore organization.”

  Jenna’s gut told her that something good was on the way. “I can certainly do that,” she assured him, “but I’d have to be convinced I was talking to the right Lester Karp.”

  “Of course,” he replied. “I understand.” He gave her his home telephone number and suggested she call the following morning, before 10:00 a.m. “I still want to think it over,” he said, terminating the conversation.

  * * *

  Lester Karp’s stomach hadn’t stopped bothering him since he read Richardson’s story on Thursday morning. At first he tried taking some Tums, but when that didn’t give him relief, he switched to the stronger Gelusil tablets. Still, the nervous tension wouldn’t go away.

  Karp reached the same conclusion as Jenna as to what really happened at Chi-Chi’s, but he arrived at that point at least two weeks before she did. The idea suddenly entered his mind while he was lunching alone in a downtown Providence cafeteria, and rapidly escalated to a conviction he couldn’t dismiss. Now that the probable reason for the crime was out there for the public to read about, ponder, and in all likelihood accept, Karp was worried. The Herald’s finger was being pointed at the Tarantino family, at least by insinuation. If it did order the bloodbath that took place, there could be follow-up allegations that everyone holding a high position in the Fiore campaign was aware of the plan and assented to it.

  Karp knew how badly the Tarantinos wanted to see Fiore win the election. He never spoke to either Sal or Sandy directly, in person or otherwise, since he was enlisted to work in the campaign by Russell Walsh; but he was in Berman’s room at the Biltmore quite often while Cyril spoke to one or both of the Tarantinos on the telephone. There were ways Karp could tell the incoming call was from Sal or Sandy. For one thing, Berman never mentioned the other person’s name during the conversation. And he habitually held his other hand close to his ear, as if convinced that it was the best way to keep the sound of the voice on the other end from being heard by anyone else in the room.

  It wasn’t difficult for Karp to imagine the concern behind the message being communicated to Berman on those occasions. It was enough to hear Cyril say, “It’s risky, but I’ll look into it,” or, “I know how important this is for you.” And Berman’s reply was just above a whisper several times when he said, “I think you’re right on that one. Let’s win the election and afterwards we can worry about whether we should have done it.”

  Karp remembered the time Berman finished one of those conversations, turned to him and Russell Walsh and said, “If I ever tell you we’re going to do something that sounds unethical, illegal, or immoral, call me on it. We promised Fiore he could have his clean campaign and I’m not looking for ways to beat Singer if they’re dirty. Make me justify anything that smells to you like it has crossed the line. I may not change my mind if I disagree with both of you, and I may not even have the final say. That may come down to Fiore and the Tarantinos. But let’s all be aware that the people who want Fiore in the governor’s office talk as if they’re willing to do anything to get him there.”

  If Richie Cardella was murdered because he stood in Doug Fiore’s way, Karp wanted to be certain that everyone knew he wasn’t a part of that decision. He was a successful businessman all his life, and was tapped for fund-raising by the Republican Party in earlier political campaigns because he had a multitude of friends who contributed when he asked. His contacts resulted in large sums given to the Women & Infants Hospital, the Museum of Art, and the Rhode Island Philharmonic Orchestra, each of which he served as a trustee.

  Lester Karp was a respected name in the Providence community, and he didn’t want even a hint of scandal attaching to it, especially now, near the end of a distinguished career. But even more importantly, if this tragedy did come off on orders from Federal Hill, he realized how dangerous it could be for the people of Rhode Island to have Fiore in office. The State’s Governor would be beholden to killers.

  The only thing Karp knew was that he wasn’t involved in any conspiracy to end Cardella’s life, but he wasn’t certain about the others. He doubted that Walsh was brought in on something like that ahead of time. Walsh was more of a fringe player, like him. If he had to wager, he’d say that Berman wasn’t part of the plan either, but he couldn’t be sure. He recalled how shocked Berman seemed to be when news of what happened at Chi-Chi’s came over their car radio that night, but he supposed it could have been play acting, all part of the game. Karp asked himself a number of times whether he thought Doug Fiore would go along with such a scheme. It disturbed him that he couldn’t come up with an answer that allayed his fears.

  * * *

  Richardson called him at just after 9:30 in the morning. There was only one Lester Karp listed in the Providence directory, at the number he gave her. Still, she asked him a few questions that she knew no one but the real Lester Karp could answer. He understood the reason for what she was doing, and willingly responded. He told her the nickname he was given by Russell Walsh, the location of the window on his Lincoln that lost its power control and the name of the credit card she heard him say was the only card a person ever needed.

  “You’ve got some memory there,” he said, in a complimentary tone.

  When Jenna asked what he wanted to tell her, Karp first had her confirm that she wouldn’t use his name in any connection with the information he related. He explained that there were some things about the campaign only he and a handful of other people knew. Those things couldn’t be revealed directly without the others speculating that he was very possibly the source. But he could suggest that she do some more investigating in a particular area that ought to lead her to the same facts.

  “The only thing you’re absolutely right about, Miss Richardson, is the relationship between Sandy Tarantino and Fiore. Make no mistake about it, the Tarantinos want him to be governor so he can veto any legislation that would let the State open up the kinds of casinos operated by the Family. They know from everything that’s been said at the Statehouse that the vote on casino gambling would be very close either way. If it’s passed, there wouldn’t be enough votes to override a veto by the governor.

  “I suspect that Sandy Tarantino talked Fiore into running for office and coming out strong against casino gambling, but I can’t be sure of that. Fiore’s got a huge ego and maybe he figured he could do the job as well
as the three others who were already in the race before he announced. It’s possible he called Tarantino first, just to feel him out about financial support, and ended up hitting the jackpot. The bottom line is that the Family put up a lot of money to get the campaign off the ground and keep it moving.”

  Jenna interrupted. “I checked out their contributions to him, Mr. Karp, and they weren’t very large at all.”

  “Not the ones they knew the public would see,” he replied. “You were hitting the nail on the head. The problem is that you couldn’t bang it in far enough. I’ll tell you what to do. Go back to those lists of campaign contributors. We file a new one every month. I’m sure you’re aware that a person can give up to a thousand dollars to any candidate. Take a name, like Morgan for example—I’m making that one up—and go through all the lists. September’s is already on file, by the way, even though the Herald hasn’t published it yet. Count up the Morgans and see where they live. Maybe you’ll find five of them at the same address, each giving the maximum amount. That could be the husband, the wife and three children. A little unusual, wouldn’t you say? It would be interesting to see how recently the checking accounts for the children were opened.

  “Or perhaps you’ll see that the Morgan children are all married and that each of them and their spouses also sent in a thousand apiece. Another unusual giving pattern, you’d have to admit. It would be very revealing to know how many of those checking accounts started with cash that was hand delivered to the Morgans or others from a source on Federal Hill. Maybe you can’t check some of those things, Miss Richardson. You don’t have much time left anyhow. But people you speak to may give you some good information without realizing it. What do you think?”

  “You’re right, Mr. Karp, it’s going to be a time-consuming thing to try and pin down. I’m not even sure how much the average voter would care about that sort of thing anyway. But I’ll take a look at it. Maybe it will be a good post-election story, regardless of who wins. That still leaves me wondering why you called. It wasn’t just to tell me this, was it?”