Tragic (36 page)

Walking over to the prosecution table, Karp picked up a magazine and a clear plastic envelope and then returned to the witness stand. He first handed the magazine to Corcione.

“Would you please identify People’s Exhibit Twenty-Seven for identification, the magazine I just handed you, along with the date of the publication?” Karp asked.

“Yes. This is last year’s winter edition of the
Dock.
”

“How often is the magazine published?”

“Quarterly.”

“And to whom is it distributed?”

“It’s sent to the 250,000 union members and it’s also available in union offices across North America,” Corcione replied.

“And who has final say regarding the magazine’s content?”

“The president of the union . . . Charlie Vitteli.”

“Would you please open the magazine to page fifteen—there is a marker, I believe, taped to the page—and describe what you see?”

“It’s a copy of the photograph I was describing.”

“Is it the same photograph?”

“Oh no, it’s the same photograph that appeared in all editions of this magazine, but it’s not the one given to Bebnev that Vitteli wrote on.”

“When and where was the photograph taken?”

“It was taken in August of last year at the annual union management convention in Atlantic City.”

“In the photograph, there are four men standing on what appears to be the Atlantic City boardwalk. Who are they?”

“Left to right that’s Barros, Vitteli, me, and standing a little apart from us with his arms crossed is Vince Carlotta.”

Karp next handed the plastic envelope to Corcione. “Can you identify the contents of People’s Exhibit Twenty-Eight for identification, this envelope?”

“Yes, now this is the same photograph that Vitteli wrote on and that Barros gave to Bebnev.”

Karp reached up and retrieved the photograph. However, he did not yet offer it into evidence.

“Were you aware that Bebnev was going to hire other accomplices to help him murder Vince Carlotta?”

“Not at this meeting,” Corcione said. “We only heard there were two more men with him after the first attempt failed.”

“First attempt?”

“Yes,” Corcione explained. “Originally the plan was that Bebnev would shoot Vince at his home in New Rochelle on December second. That way the police would think it was a home invasion or even a mob hit—Vince was pretty adamant about keeping organized crime off the docks and made enemies of some pretty dangerous people.”

“Were you told why the first attempt failed?”

“Just that Vince’s wife showed up with their kid, and Bebnev decided not to go through with it.”

“What happened next?”

“Charlie was upset,” Corcione recalled. “But then he came up with another plan to lure Vince to Hell’s Kitchen. Bebnev and his guys were supposed to make it look like a botched robbery. Vitteli thought it would give us all a good alibi to be there.”

Under Karp’s guidance, Corcione described the meeting at the restaurant, from the initial confrontation in which Carlotta threw the note with the license plate number of the car at Vitteli, to his nearly coming to blows with Barros, to Vitteli’s offer to step down from the union presidency. “It ended with everybody acting like old friends,” Corcione said. “And I played along with the whole thing, even though I knew Bebnev was waiting outside to kill Vince.”

“Besides the four you have mentioned, were there two other men in the bar who were part of the group?” As he asked his question, Karp turned to look at Vitteli as if to say, “Now do you understand why I came after you at the first trial?” hoping the defendant would rise to the bait.

“Yes, Carlotta’s driver, Randy McMahon, and Vitteli’s bodyguard, Sal Amaya,” Corcione said.

“Did they leave the bar with you?”

“Yes, but Carlotta told McMahon to go get the car, and Vitteli sent Sal with him.”

“In the ordinary course, how would you describe Sal Amaya’s role in respect to his boss, Vitteli?”

“Whenever Vitteli left the office, Amaya stuck to him like glue.”

“Yet you just testified that the defendant sent Sal Amaya away with Vince Carlotta’s driver, Randy McMahon, and it was after midnight, when the defendant would be following down a dark alley? Can you explain the discrepancy?”

“Objection,” Kowalski stated. “He’s not a psychiatrist and he can’t give testimony to the state of mind of Mr. Vitteli as to the reasons he may have had for directing his bodyguard to accompany Mr. Carlotta’s driver.”

“Your Honor, permit me to have the witness be more precise as to why he is able to describe the defendant’s state of mind during their relationship,” Karp said. “That way I can lay the predicate with respect to this issue.”

The judge narrowed his eyes and thought about it. “Okay, but be very brief, Mr. Karp, we’re in some tenuous territory. Let’s hear it and see how we can proceed.”

Karp turned back to the witness stand. “Mr. Corcione, based upon your long-standing relationship with the defendant, what were the reasons for Mr. Vitteli to have a bodyguard?”

“I’ve known the defendant since I was a kid hanging out at my dad’s office and around the docks,” Corcione recalled, now staring at Vitteli. “He’s always played the role of the big shot. He talks real tough and likes to call names, but he’s a scared man, paranoid about people coming after him. Basically, he’s a bully and a coward.”

“You mean Charlie Vitteli is, in the vernacular, a chicken?”

“Exactly,” Corcione retorted.

With a guttural shout, Vitteli shot to his feet and pointed a thick finger at Corcione. “We’ll see who’s chicken, you faggot!” he screamed as the vein in his forehead pulsed and his face turned purple with rage.

Judge See banged the gavel. “That will be quite enough, gentlemen,” he said calmly but firmly, without raising his voice. He
kept his eyes on Vitteli, who continued to glare at Corcione as he straightened his suit jacket, but he sat back down. “Good. Now, Mr. Karp, return to what happened in the alley. Please ask your question again so we can get back on track.”

Pointing at Vitteli, Karp asked Corcione, “So, again, why would that man over there, send his bodyguard—a man who shadows him even during daylight hours when he’s out in public—away on a dark night in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Because Charlie knew what was going to happen and that he was safe,” Corcione replied. “But also he couldn’t take a chance that Amaya might see or hear something; like I said, Vitteli doesn’t trust anybody. And unless he told Amaya what was going to happen, which he didn’t do for the same reason, Sal might have tried to intervene and messed everything up.”

As it was, Corcione went on, the plan was nearly foiled by Vince Carlotta when the two “robbers” jumped out of the alley. “Vince had a gun in his coat pocket and pulled it out. The other guy, Bebnev, was kind of slow, and Vince probably would have got him, but Vitteli saw what was happening and grabbed Vince’s arm and sort of pulled down on him so he couldn’t aim.”

“You said the other guy was Bebnev; how did you know that?” Karp asked. “I thought the killers were wearing ski masks?”

“They were,” Corcione said. “But Bebnev had these really odd, pale blue eyes and a round head, like a pumpkin sitting on his neck, and he was easy to pick out. He also spoke with an accent.”

“Do you know what sort of an accent?”

Corcione shrugged. “I would assume Russian. He was from that community in Brighton Beach and was an associate of Lvov who said he was from Russia. I guess he could have been something else, but that makes the most sense.”

“So Vitteli has his hands up in the air like this?” Karp said as he demonstrated. “Then you’re saying he saw Carlotta pull a gun, so Vitteli reached and grabbed Carlotta’s arm to stop him?”

“Yes,” Corcione said, raising his own hands. “I was standing on
Vitteli’s right and Vince was on his left. Vitteli is left-handed, so he reached down like this.” The young man simulated dropping his left hand and grabbing someone’s arm.

“What, if anything, did Vince do when Vitteli grabbed his arm?”

“He called Vitteli a ‘son of a bitch!’ Those were his words.”

“What happened then?”

“Vitteli shouted at Bebnev, ‘Do it!’ ”

“Did the defendant say anything to Bebnev after he shot the deceased twice?” Karp asked.

“Yeah, I remember Vitteli told him to take our wallets and watches so that it would look like a robbery,” Corcione replied. “We handed our stuff over and then Bebnev and the other guy ran across the street, got into a car, and raced off.”

“What did Vitteli do after the killers left?”

“He made a big show of pretending to help Vince, like trying to give him CPR, though it was pretty clear that Vince was beyond help,” Corcione recalled. “Vitteli’s hands were covered with blood.”

As Corcione spoke, Karp walked over to the prosecution table and picked up the front page of that day’s
Times
he’d cut out in his office with the photograph from the night of the murder. “Mr. Corcione, I am handing you the front page of today’s
New York Times
, marked People’s Exhibit Twenty-Nine for identification,” he said as he walked back up to the witness stand. “Please describe it and tell us if it fairly and accurately depicts the scene as you observed it?”

“Yes, it does,” Corcione answered after glancing at the page. “It shows Vitteli leaning against a wall of a building next to an alley; Barros and I are on either side of him. Charlie’s got blood on his shirt, and you can see it on his hands and sleeves.”

“What, if anything, is the defendant holding in his hands?”

Corcione looked back at the photograph. “I believe that’s a handkerchief he used to try to wipe the blood off his hands.”

“Have you ever known the defendant to carry a handkerchief?”

“Pretty much anytime he’s in a suit. He even gets them monogrammed with his initials.”

“Thank you, Mr. Corcione,” Karp said, holding up his hand to retrieve the front page of the newspaper. “Your Honor, I’m offering People’s Exhibit Twenty-Nine for identification in evidence.”

As Judge See accepted the new evidence, Karp turned to gauge what was going on over at the defense table. Kowalski looked confused and worried. Vitteli’s eyes registered doubt, fear, and anger. The two of them looked like cornered vermin thinking about fighting their way out of impending disaster, which was just what Karp wanted.

“Mr. Corcione, do you recall the defendant indicating that he thought he saw other individuals besides the four of you and the two robbers at the scene when Vince Carlotta was shot?”

“Charlie said he saw some old bag ladies hanging out in the alley. He kind of freaked out. Apparently, he’d had some kind of run-in with them before that night.”

“Did you see them yourself?”

“No, Barros and I both looked but we didn’t see anybody. We thought Charlie imagined them.”

Karp moved closer to Corcione until he was at the front of the jury rail nearest to the witness box so that the jurors would get a good look at his face when he asked the next question. “What if I were to accuse you of working with Joey Barros, but not Charles Vitteli, to steal union money and then murder Vince Carlotta?”

“That’s not true,” Corcione said angrily. “Vitteli called the shots; we worked for him.”

“Were you in fact afraid of Joey Barros?”

“Very.”

“Did Joey Barros ever threaten you prior to the day you called my office to confess?”

“Frequently,” Corcione said. “He was very homophobic and liked tormenting me with the crap he’d say. But it was more than just words. I knew that if Vitteli let him, he would have killed me just for the fun of it.”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Kowalski said. “This is highly speculative.”

Judge See held up his hand to stop Karp from responding. “Gentlemen, please approach the bench and let’s have a sidebar on this.”

When the attorneys were assembled to the side of his dais away from the jury box, he continued. “Mr. Kowalski, we’ve already had an evidentiary hearing on your pretrial motion regarding the events that happened inside the Corcione apartment that led to the death of Joey Barros and the injuries to Greg Lusk and Jackie Corcione. I granted your motion
in limine
to prohibit Mr. Karp from bringing up those violent details as matters collateral and highly prejudicial since they were not charged in the indictment. But if you persist in your objection and thereby attempt to mislead this jury, you may very well be opening the door and permit this information to come into evidence and be heard before this jury. Do you really want to do that, Mr. Kowalski?”

“No, Your Honor, I withdraw my objection.”

“Very well, return to your places and let’s proceed.”

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
S
YD
K
OWALSKI
rose from his chair to cross-examine Jackie Corcione with the expression on his face of a man who’d been given an unpleasant task to perform with someone who couldn’t be trusted to do his part. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his silk suit as he walked out from behind the defense table and shook his head.

“There’s been a lot of dramatics, alligator tears, and pointing the finger at everyone else here, Mr. Corcione,” he growled, “but I’d like to cut to the chase and get some of this straight in my mind, as well as the minds of these good people on the jury. Let’s start by clarifying exactly who has admitted to stealing money that belonged to the members, and their families, of the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores.”

“I did.”

“At the time you started stealing, were you being paid a salary by the union as its chief financial officer and as legal adviser to union chief Charles Vitteli?”

“I was.”

“Was it a decent salary?”

“Yes, it was.”

“But apparently not enough for your lifestyle?”

“I wanted more than what I could afford, that’s true.”

“What did this stolen money go toward?”

Corcione shrugged. “My loft. Clothes. A car. Entertainment.”

“Entertainment? Theater tickets and extravagant vacations with your homosexual friends?”

At his seat, Karp noted the disdain in Kowalski’s voice when he said “homosexual.” Such undisguised virulence might not sit well with most of the jurors, but he knew that the defense attorney was fishing for that one juror who didn’t like gays. He’d tried to guard against homophobia during voir dire in jury selection, but it was the sort of aversion a potential juror might not be willing to admit to in a public forum but secretly harbored.