Friends of the Family (15 page)

There are three types of evidence: physical evidence, meaning the smoking gun or, with the assistance of a good forensic lab, the smoke; circumstantial evidence, where facts and logic lead to an inescapable conclusion; and eyewitness testimony.

Tommy had already found the computer readout, but with a lot of luck, the task force might discover another little bit of physical evidence. Maybe a sheet of paper that might have been stuck in a file and forgotten or a note somebody wrote, or even evidence saved from one of the murders that could be connected to the cops, but it wasn’t going to be much.

There already was a lot of circumstantial evidence, but a good defense lawyer can create an alternate reality, poking holes in a prosecutor’s case, raising maybes to possibilities to doubts.

So almost from their first meeting, Vecchione, Dades, Joe Ponzi, everybody on the task force, knew their ability to convict the two cops would
probably depend on gaining the cooperation of Gaspipe Casso, Burt Kaplan, or maybe even a wiseguy named Tommy Galpine. Galpine was a younger guy who had worked for Kaplan. Among his many jobs, at times he served as the liaison between Casso and Kaplan, carrying cash from Casso to Kaplan to pay the cops. And while he was a minor player, apparently he knew all about Louis Eppolito and Steve Caracappa.

This little piece of information had appeared as easily as a magician’s rabbit. Apparently someone had interviewed Galpine’s girlfriend while working another case. Dades didn’t know how they found the girlfriend, just that they did and she told her story. According to this story, she was with Galpine in a popular Chinese restaurant in Brooklyn. During their meal Galpine looked up at a black and white photograph hanging on the wall above her head. It was a signed head shot, the kind of picture that covers the walls of every deli and Italian restaurant in New York. But this was a head shot of a burly Louie Eppolito. “See that guy?” Galpine bragged to his girlfriend. She turned to look and he explained, “That’s one of our cops.”

So it was known that Galpine knew. The task force decided to approach Casso first, mostly because he was already in New York, sitting in a cell in the Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn, waiting to testify in another case. He was right there, just down the block, easy to get to. More importantly, he was already talking. In another case he had agreed to speak to Suffolk County detectives investigating the source of a leak that had led directly to the killing of two courageous businessmen, Robert Kubecka and Donald Barstow, who were helping detectives infiltrate the mob-controlled trash collection industry. Vecchione was actually mildly optimistic that Gaspipe would cooperate with this investigation; he knew that Casso had absolutely nothing to lose—he had been sentenced to spend his next thirteen lives in prison—and perhaps his freedom to gain. He’d already spilled once; why not do it again? If he could prove he had been telling the truth seven years earlier he might be able to get his plea agreement reinstated.

Kaplan would be the second choice. Everybody knew the One-Eyed Jew would be a tough nut to crack. The hope was that he was growing older without any chance of getting out of prison and might want to see one more sunset without bars in front of it before he died. Nobody would have bet on it though.

They would approach Tommy Galpine only as the third resort. Galpine had been convicted of dealing drugs and was serving a sixteen-year sentence in federal prison. But Galpine had remained a true believer, totally loyal to Kaplan. Vecchione believed he wouldn’t talk unless Kaplan flipped. The only real hope for a prison cell conversion was that down the line he would remember he was a lot younger than his onetime boss. Kaplan was old enough to know he wasn’t going to live that many years in prison; Galpine wasn’t that lucky.

So that was it. While the task force was doing grunt work, Vecchione started to talk lawyer. “We agreed that I would pitch Casso first, Kaplan second, and only then Tommy Galpine,” Vecchione says. “Gaspipe Casso was represented by an attorney named John D. B. Lewis. I didn’t know him, but I’d learned that he shared office space down in Greenwich Village with O. J. Simpson defense lawyers Barry Scheck and Peter Neufeld. Lewis had filed Casso’s final appeal after the government canceled his plea agreement, claiming in his papers that the entire arrangement, as well as Casso’s role as an informer, had been compromised by the defense attorney selected by prosecutors to represent him. That attorney was a former prosecutor who apparently didn’t like certain elements of the plea deal. He had tried to withdraw from the case, but when he did, prosecutors threatened to bring ethical and disciplinary charges against him. That made it impossible for him to withdraw—resulting in a serious conflict of interest. I thought it was an interesting argument that had some legal merit—the U.S. Attorney had forced Casso to keep an attorney who didn’t want to be there—but the judge had tossed it out. After reading those papers it was obvious Lewis was a very good lawyer.”

D. B. Lewis was one of those rare New York lawyers who actually answered his own telephone. He picked it up on the second ring. Mike Vecchione introduced himself and explained briefly the purpose of his call: He was Casso’s last hope.

“We’re looking at prosecuting Louis Eppolito and Steve Caracappa,” Vecchione said simply. “And we could use your client’s help.” Secrecy certainly didn’t matter here. Besides, who was Gaspipe going to tell? “I’m going to get these guys,” Vecchione continued firmly, “and your guy potentially has a lot to gain by helping me. Let me tell you, I’ve read his 302s and I believe him. I think he was telling the truth back then. I just don’t see how he’s
got anything to lose by helping us and if he does I’ll make sure his cooperation gets in front of a judge.”

Lewis was noncommittal but open to the possibility that his client would cooperate with Vecchione. For Lewis, this was probably a little like seeing a tiny light suddenly and unexpectedly go on at the distant end of a collapsed tunnel. It was a sign of life. He told Vecchione he would speak with Casso and get back to him.

Lewis returned the call a few days later. His client would be interested in working with the Brooklyn DA’s office, he said, and he was very happy to know that they believed him. Then he added—Vecchione would never forget his exact words—“And he wanted me to tell you you’ve got the right guys.”

Vecchione knew that—he didn’t have even a wisp of a doubt—but still, when Lewis said that, he couldn’t help smiling.
Casso wants to talk about it,
he thought.
We’re gonna get them.

The two lawyers began negotiating the ground rules, working out exactly what Casso would get in return for his testimony. Vecchione had spent years making similar deals. Generally it was pretty straightforward: Here’s what I want in return for here’s what I can guarantee to deliver, and here’s what else I can try to do. Usually he promised as little as possible and never anything that he couldn’t produce. He had been doing lawyer business for a long time.

Mike Vecchione had graduated with the first class of Hofstra University’s law school still believing in the majesty of the law. He liked to tell people that everything he knew about the law he’d learned on TV, that he was a graduate of Perry Mason University. But that wasn’t true; in fact he learned from reading about the great men who shaped American jurisprudence—Cardozo and Brandeis and Learned Hand, Oliver Holmes and Charles Hughes—and studying the great cases that formed the spine of our democracy. He continued to believe all of it right up to his very first day in criminal court as a member of the bar. “I’ll never forget that day. I was so proud, standing right in front of the bench, wearing my brand-new suit. I was officially part of the great American tradition of jurisprudence. And then the judge, wearing the solemn robes of his office, cleared his throat, opened a top drawer in his desk, and spit right into it. And then closed the drawer.

“Well, so much for majesty.”

In the years since then Vecchione had learned that while the law was a lot more than spit in a drawer, most of the time it was less than the noble words of the great justices. In real life most lawyering—even in criminal law—took place in somebody’s office, reading voluminous files, conducting endless interviews, and making deals. It was a lot of negotiation—much of it aimed at staying out of the courtroom. Vecchione figured he would offer Casso some form of letter affirming that his cooperation had played a significant role in a very important case. Casso was in federal detention, so there wasn’t too much Vecchione could do for him. But he was surprised at Lewis’s first condition.

“Here’s what we need,” Lewis began. “The bottom line is you have to get the Feds to give him immunity for anything connected to the Hydell murder.”

“You’re kidding me,” Mike responded. That was an odd request. “That’s got to be covered by the pleas that he took.” Casso had pled guilty to fifteen killings when he made his agreement. His admissions didn’t disappear when the deal fell apart, and it was those crimes for which he had been sentenced to spend the next several hundred years in prison.

Lewis was agreeable. “Yeah, I think it is too. But do me a favor, go ahead and check to confirm that it is.”

Even if it wasn’t covered in his plea agreement, Vecchione continued, it didn’t seem like it would be much of a roadblock. “We can probably get that for you from Feldman. He’s with us on this.”

Vecchione could almost hear the laughter in Lewis’s response. “Boy, I got to tell you, Mike, I think you’re underestimating how tough they’re going to be. Even if they tell you they’re going to do it, they have to put it on paper, because I just don’t believe anything any of them say. Believe me, they have no interest in helping my guy.”

Vecchione tried to reassure him. “Feldman’s not going to let two crooked cops walk away over something minor like this. The U.S. Attorney is our partner in this investigation. Feldman’ll go along with it.”
He might not like it,
Mike thought,
but eventually he’ll understand the value of cooperating.

“Maybe you’re right,” Lewis said without conviction. “Maybe because of this case they’ll do it but, Mike, I got to tell you, I don’t have a lot of hope that this is going to work out. You haven’t spoken to Feldman about this yet. I believe everything you say and it’s probably good for my client. But I’m telling you, Feldman isn’t going to let this happen.”

Vecchione called Mark Feldman, who could easily find out precisely what crimes had been included in the agreement, and told him what he was trying to do. Feldman was incredulous. “Are you kidding me?” Feldman responded, his voice rising. “What do you want to use that scumbag for? Casso’s a lying piece of shit.”

Initially Vecchione assumed this was just Feldman letting off steam. There was no chance he hadn’t been aware that eventually the task force was going to need to talk to Casso. “I don’t know, Mark,” he said. “The guy’s right on the money. You know it as well as I do. Eventually we’re gonna need him to make the case.”

“Oh, come on, Mike. Nobody’s gonna believe this guy. Why do you want to use him?”

“He’s got the information we need, Mark,” Vecchione insisted. “And I know he’s telling the truth because we’ve already corroborated some of the things he said in his 302.”

Feldman was insistent. “The guy is a piece of shit and we have no use for him.”

“Bottom line, Mark, is that we do. And since it’s our case, I want to use him.” Vecchione explained that Casso’s lawyer wanted immunity from the Feds for the Jimmy Hydell murder. “We’re prepared to give it to him,” he said, “but he’s still gotta have it from you.”

Feldman sighed. It seemed obvious to Vecchione that he still thought the whole investigation was a waste of time. “All right,” he agreed, “let me see if it’s covered by his plea deal. If it is then you can satisfy his guy and go ahead and do whatever you want to do.”

They spoke again a few days later. “You know what, Mike?” Feldman told him, surprise in his voice. “It isn’t in there. He’s not covered for it.”

That was just a matter of doing the paperwork, Vecchione figured. This was a no-brainer; they had everything to gain and absolutely nothing to lose. He had believed Feldman would be jumping for joy at the opportunity to get these cops. “Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Let’s be realistic here. Casso’s looking at thirteen life sentences, he’s got four hundred and fifty-five years. Even if he gets some consideration, what difference is it gonna make? He’s not going to walk out tomorrow or next week. The greater good here is to get those two cops. So what difference does it make if you give Casso immunity on Hydell?”

Feldman said evenly, leaving no doubt about his intention, “I wouldn’t
give that motherfucker anything. He’s a piece of shit and I’m not giving him anything.”

Mike was stunned. “What are you talking about, Mark? You’re not giving Casso anything and look what you’re getting. How can you not make this deal?”

Feldman was adamant. He wasn’t going to give Casso one damn thing. Period.

“I don’t get it, Mark; what’s the big deal here?” Vecchione continued. “I don’t understand. How can you guys get hurt by this? Any cases you got that might be jeopardized by Casso have been done almost ten years. How can we let two New York City detectives who have killed people get away with it? This is horrendous.” It was unnecessary for him to add that John Gotti was dead. And no matter what Casso said or did, there was no appeal from the grave.

“Look, Mike, that’s our position. We’re not giving anything to Casso. That’s it.” Feldman’s attitude made no sense to Vecchione. This was the kind of deal any prosecutor would make. Trying to make sense of Feldman’s motives, he took another look at the segment
60 Minutes
had done with Casso. And as he watched the piece, he began to speculate on the source of Feldman’s absolute refusal to even consider negotiating.

In the middle of the piece Ed Bradley interviewed a bulldog prosecutor named Valerie Caproni, who at that time was the head of the Criminal Division of the U.S. Attorney’s Office, Eastern Division. Vecchione knew Caproni well. After the Brooklyn DA’s office had failed to convict Lemrick Nelson Jr. for the stabbing death of an Orthodox Jew named Yankel Rosenbaum during riots in Crown Heights, he and Hynes had gone to Washington and met with Attorney General Janet Reno to request a federal prosecution of Nelson. Caproni’s office had successfully prosecuted Nelson for violating Rosenbaum’s civil rights and he was sentenced to ten years in prison. The thing Vecchione remembered most about Caproni was how much she hated to lose—she didn’t yield an inch without a fierce battle. She appeared in the
60 Minutes
segment on Casso, telling Ed Bradley, “He [Casso] was involved in a conspiracy to murder a federal judge. He was involved in a conspiracy to murder a federal prosecutor. He murdered and authorized the murder of witnesses. These sorts of crimes are beyond the pale.”