The Good Lawyer: A Novel (38 page)

That the Spiderman had taken the panties of each victim was intentionally kept secret from the press and the public by the Bronx detectives working the case. It was a secret they shared only with the serial rapist. When they found the undergarments, or got a confession that included their mention, they’d know they had their man.

Soon after the grim discovery the Bronx DA’s office was forced to reopen the case and provide a sample from the dead baby’s fingernail of the black unknown substance Paul Ventura had told me about. The cream found in Guevara’s dresser drawer proved a perfect match.

The case of the Spiderman rapist and murderer was then, finally, and rightfully, closed.

Every newspaper, news and TV talk show ran the story. But only Vinny Repolla, in the magazine section of
Newsday’s Sunday Edition
, wrote of the tragedy of Oscar Jefferson.

Toward finding the killer(s) of the Spiderman, a/k/a Peter Guevara, there was but one solid lead: an elderly cantankerous black woman, who said she got a good look at “three white guys” leaving the building shortly after a shot rang out. This lead quickly fizzled, however, with the memory of the lone witness.

So ended the less than enthusiastic investigation into the shooting death of the killer of a city cop’s ex-wife and infant baby girl.

War never broke out amid the reigning
capos
in New York after Capezzi’s death. Rocco, as expected, was passed over at Capezzi’s dying command in favor of the Staten Island Mafioso businessman and cousin of Capezzi. This new leader, though, would not last long. A younger faction of the mob led by a protégé of Rocco’s would see to that—soon after Rocco was gone.

One month before Eleanor and I were to be married Rocco Alonzo suffered a massive heart attack, and died in the emergency room of Brooklyn’s Kings County Hospital. I arrived just in time to look him in the eyes, squeeze his hand gently and kiss him good-bye. Sallie was there too, and cried when Rocco died like I had never seen another man do before, or since. I stayed close to Mom at the wake as she too wept profusely at the beginning and end of each service.

Brooklyn’s infamous underboss—my loving uncle, was finally laid to rest in a mausoleum at Saint John’s Cemetery in Middle Village, Queens. Eleanor was in Atlanta at the time and wanted to attend the funeral. Fearing media coverage that never came, she reluctantly complied when I asked her not to.

In a will that professed a love for me as he would have only for a son, I was bequeathed eighteen mortgage-free apartment buildings. All owned by Rocco. All scattered throughout Brooklyn. And so, in the final break of a heartbeat, I was laden with an annual net income of over $1.2 million and a net worth in excess of nine.

On a Saturday in mid-December, 1982, Eleanor and I were married at Curé of Ars Church in Merrick. My mother’s choice. Over three hundred people attended a reception held at The Garden City Hotel, two thirds of whom flew in from Georgia and every state in the union it seemed. All the guestrooms were filled. Even former President Jimmy Carter, a close personal friend of Eleanor’s father, attended with his wife Rosalynn. But despite the presence of the rich, the famous, and the politically connected, the night was ours—Eleanor’s and mine.

Joey came with a date, Vinny Repolla with his fiancée, and Mom, who never stopped dancing, was even caught on film doing the
tarantella
with our former President who, without warning, was swept away by Mom’s abounding energy.

Joey was my best man and when the time came offered up a brief, but poignant toast. I responded with one of my own, professing my undying love for my bride, tearfully thanking Mom for the wonder of life, and asking for a moment of silence for the late John Mannino.

I closed with a prayer to a chair left empty at table two in memory of Rocco Alonzo.

* * *

On the morning of my wedding day, alone in my kitchen, I stared out onto the empty baseball fields off in the distance, behind the backyard, the cold hardened grass glistening with frost and the pretense of new life in the December sun.

I thought long and hard—about Rocco’s life, my mother’s and mine, about the infinite possibilities and how the succession of real events brought me to that day.

And I could make no sense of it.

But now, after so many years with Eleanor, the message is an easy read.

I just have to look into our own children’s wide eyes for that special place where hearts turn, swell joyously, and beat on, long after….

About the Author

Thomas Benigno is a practicing attorney on Long Island, N. Y. As an actor, he has appeared in many regional productions. As investor he was involved in bringing to the Broadway and London stages
Hairspray
,
American Idiot
,
Sweeney Todd
,
Company
,
The Fantastiks
,
Porgy and Bess
, and others. He was producer of the Broadway show,
Burn the Floor
, and its U.S. tour. As a young lawyer with Bronx Legal Aid, Thomas Benigno never lost a trial.
THE GOOD LAWYER
is a novel inspired by real events while working there.

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www.facebook.com/TheGoodLawyer
and become a Fan or just post your thoughts. You may also contact the author at [email protected] for book club talks in-person or via skype or google video and discover the true story behind The Good Lawyer (in as much as can be revealed without violating attorney/client privilege) or to just to share your thoughts about The Good Lawyer with the author. All communications are welcome.

Second printing of The Good Lawyer.