Tragic (41 page)

But DiMarzo shook his head. “Don’t bother, I’m going to plead guilty,” he said. “I’ve lived with this long enough.” Karp insisted that he confer with his newly assigned counsel before proceeding to a final disposition of his case.

Thereafter, Karp agreed to let DiMarzo plead guilty to manslaughter in the first degree, carrying a maximum of twenty-five years with a mandatory minimum of eight years, four months. The deal was in part due to DiMarzo’s willingness to accept responsibility and testify. But Karp also believed that justice required it; there was a difference between Miller as a wheelman, DiMarzo as the lookout, and the shooter Bebnev. The only other person in the whole tragedy whose debt equaled that of the triggerman—besides Barros, who’d already paid his bill—was the man who caused it all to happen, Charlie Vitteli.

“So you could have gone to trial again with a different attorney?” Karp asked.

“Yes, I could have had another trial,” DiMarzo answered.

“Then why not take your chances that another jury might not convict you?”

DiMarzo looked out into the gallery at his family as he answered. “Because I was guilty, and I needed to come clean.”

“But aren’t you still afraid of prison?”

“I was, but I’m not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because I walk with Jesus now, and I’m not afraid,” DiMarzo replied. “I’ve asked God for forgiveness, and I know that if something happens to me in prison, I’ll go to heaven and wait for my family.”

“But how about your family? Weren’t you worried about disappointing them and how your admitting the truth might affect your mother’s health?”

“Of course,” DiMarzo said. “But it was harder on her—knowing I was guilty, even if she didn’t want to admit it, and terrified that I couldn’t go to heaven to be with her someday if I didn’t confess and ask for forgiveness.”

“But what about the photograph with the black mark across your mom; aren’t you afraid for her and the rest of your family?”

“No,” DiMarzo said. “I think they’re going to be okay. But either way, they’re not afraid; they’re all stronger than I ever was because of their faith.”

Karp nodded. Marlene had told him about Ivgeny’s promise to shield the DiMarzos from any repercussions, particularly from the Malchek gang.
Sometimes it truly is good to have relatives in low places,
he thought. “But it’s one thing to confess to your own crime,” he said. “Why agree to testify against Charlie Vitteli?”

DiMarzo looked to the side for a moment to gather his thoughts. “Well, just like I believe it wouldn’t be enough to ask God for forgiveness—that I also had to confess to you and pay the price, if I was going to deserve to be forgiven—I knew I needed to do whatever I could to make this . . .” He stopped talking for a moment then: “Well, ‘right’ isn’t the word, I can’t make this right, but I can try to do the right thing. Mrs. Carlotta and her baby deserve justice.”

Slowly, DiMarzo turned in his seat until he faced Vitteli, whose lip curled like a junkyard dog’s as he was confronted. “But it’s not just that. Me and Gnat and even Bebnev, we’re guilty as sin, but we got used, and the guy that used us is the same guy who wrecked Mrs. Carlotta’s life, and he needs to pay the price, too.”

“And for the record, Mr. DiMarzo, who was this ‘guy’ you just referred to?” Karp asked.

“Sitting right over there, Vitteli,” DiMarzo said, pointing at him.

As the witness and defendant continued to glare at each other in the hushed courtroom, Karp turned to the judge. “No more questions, Your Honor.”

Judge See looked over at Kowalski. “Will you be cross-examining the witness, Mr. Kowalski?”

The defense attorney rose to his feet. “By all means, Your Honor,” he said. “But I’d like to wait until after lunch. I know it’s a little early, but I’d rather not get started before we break and then have to come back.”

Judge See looked at the clock on the wall. He and Karp both knew that following such emotionally powerful testimony, Kowalski wanted its impact on the jury to dissipate before he attacked the witness. But it was not an unreasonable request.

“Very well,” the judge said. “We’ll break now and resume at twelve thirty sharp.” When the jury had left, he said, “The witness may step down.”

As DiMarzo rose from his seat, the witness’s sister Liza Zito yelled, “We’re proud of you, Frankie. Jesus loves you.” Her brother smiled and replied, “I love you, too.”

Karp looked at the judge to see if he’d reprimand the sister or the witness. Judge See seemed about to say something but then turned without a word and left the courtroom.

Looking back, Karp watched as DiMarzo hesitated briefly at the gate leading from the well of the courtroom. The young man’s eyes were on Antonia Carlotta, whose face was hard and impassive. “I’m sorry,” DiMarzo said.

Antonia’s expression softened. “Me, too,” she said quietly and began to cry.

After lunch, Kowalski’s cross-examination of Frank DiMarzo followed his pattern of questioning the witness’s motives, and what he derisively called DiMarzo’s “jailhouse conversion.” However, he concentrated the bulk of his attack on what in his opening statement he called “the lack of anything beyond the word of admitted murderers and liars, and manufactured evidence” tying Charlie Vitteli to the murder of Vince Carlotta.

In particular, he questioned DiMarzo regarding the statement Bebnev overheard and “supposedly” told him about “Charlie wanting this done,” then moved on to his recollection of the murder. “Did you hear what Vince Carlotta allegedly said to my client?”

“No. I know he said something.”

“But it could have been anything?”

“I didn’t hear what he said.”

“But you did hear my client say, ‘Shoot him’?”

“Yes, because he yelled it.”

“If that’s what he said, are you sure whether he was talking to Carlotta or Bebnev?”

“He was looking at Bebnev.”

“Wasn’t everybody looking at Bebnev—Carlotta, my client, Joey Barros—I mean, after all, he’s the one holding the gun?”

“Yes, except when Carlotta looked at Vitteli.”

“So you don’t know who my client was actually speaking to?”

“You’re not listening,” DiMarzo shot back. “Vitteli was ordering Bebnev to shoot Carlotta. He was holding Mr. Carlotta’s arm down.”

“Could my client have been trying to get Mr. Carlotta to shoot, or desperately trying to get the gun so he could shoot?”

“That’s not what it looked like to me.”

“Was it dark outside?”

“Yeah, pretty dark . . . just a streetlight down on the corner.”

“And it all happened fast, right?”

“Yes, very fast.”

“So is it possible that, along with being afraid, maybe even having second thoughts, the dark, and the speed with which this went down, you could be mistaken about my client’s intentions and what you saw?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But you don’t know for sure, do you?”

“I believe what I said is true.”

“Fortunately,” Kowalski scoffed, “determining what is true won’t be up to you.”

“Fortunately,” DiMarzo replied, “it’s not up to you, either.”

For a moment, the defense attorney’s face contorted in anger at DiMarzo’s quick response. But then he moved on.

However, Karp was surprised that Kowalski spent so little time on the magazine photograph other than to ask DiMarzo when he’d received it from Bebnev. Guma whispered that he thought
it was because Kowalski knew how damning the photo was and wanted to deemphasize it, but Karp wasn’t so sure. “I think he’s up to something,” he whispered back, and made another note on his legal pad.

As expected, Kowalski tried to beat DiMarzo up on the sentencing “deal” he’d received. “And won’t it be nice to have a letter in your parole file from the District Attorney of New York County stating what a help you were in putting away Charlie Vitteli?” the attorney sneered.

There was a lull. The defense attorney was obviously waiting for DiMarzo to protest. But instead, he nodded. “I know I deserve to be punished. But yes, I don’t want to spend twenty-five years of my life in prison, and every year that goes by will be tougher than the one before it. The sooner I can return to my home and family and make them proud of me again, the better. So if I can get out in eight and four, I’m praying that God will be merciful.”

Kowalski seemed confused for a moment, but then scowled. “In other words, you’re hoping that your testimony here today will buy you that letter?”

Karp felt Guma tense in his seat. He knew that his combative colleague was champing at the bit to object at defense counsel’s insinuations. But that was Guma, all-out bull rush. Karp was more subtle; he knew this witness and believed he would rise to this occasion, which would impress the jury more than the prosecutor “rescuing” the witness by objecting.

“I’m not trying to ‘buy’ anything, but I am trying to earn some things,” DiMarzo replied softly. “My self-respect. My family’s love and support . . . forgiveness.” He looked out at Antonia Carlotta and then at the jurors. “But only God knows when I deserve to walk out of prison, and I’m willing to leave it in His hands. Mr. Karp has promised me nothing but what you’ve already been told.”

Karp hid it well but inside he was smiling. He noted that Guma
had relaxed, too.
Sometimes in a trial you just have to trust your instincts,
he thought.

Then it was over. Kowalski said he had no more questions, and Karp didn’t feel he could improve on DiMarzo’s last statement by asking more himself. Instead, he rested the People’s case. Now it was time to see if Vitteli was going to take the bait.

A
S IT WAS NEARLY TIME
for the afternoon break, Judge See sent the jury off so that Kowalski could make the perfunctory argument that the prosecution had not proved its case beyond a reasonable doubt and demand that it be dismissed. The judge denied his motion and told him to be ready to begin the defense case as soon as they returned from break.

When everyone else was gone, Karp left the courtroom through the side door and made his way to the prosecution witness waiting room. Knocking, he entered. Inside were Marlene and Frank DiMarzo’s family. “You’ll have twenty minutes,” he said gently to the old woman, who sat at a table surrounded by her husband and daughters.

“Thank you, you are kind,” the old woman replied.

There was a knock on the door, which opened to allow a court security officer to enter, followed by Frank DiMarzo, who’d changed from the civilian clothes he’d worn into the courtroom back into a gray prison jumpsuit.

The young man wouldn’t let his parents visit him in prison. “I don’t want them to see or hear what goes on there,” he told Marlene during one of her visits with his sister Liza. “I don’t want them picturing me in this place.” But there hadn’t been the opportunity
for him to hug his parents one last time after his trial, and that was the one thing he’d asked.

DiMarzo was engulfed by his family, who wept at the same time they patted him on the back and told him how proud they were of him. Karp looked at the security officer and pointed toward the door. “Think it would be okay if you and I waited outside, Lyle?” he asked. “Marlene will keep an eye on things here.”

The officer glanced at the grieving family and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s not going anywhere, and they’ve all been through security.”

Twenty minutes passed. With court convening soon, Karp knocked on the door and poked his head inside. Frank DiMarzo was sitting next to his mother with his head on her shoulder while she patted his cheek. “I’m sorry, but it’s time,” he said.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, but the old woman smiled as she looked up at him and nodded. “My boy’s ready, Mr. Karp,” she said. “And so am I.” She lifted her son’s face and looked down into his eyes before kissing his forehead. “
Vai con Dio, mio figlio
. Good-bye for now, my little Frankie. Don’t worry, we’ll all be together someday in the arms of Jesus. I’m proud of you.”

Frank DiMarzo sobbed as he kissed her cheek and stood. But he pulled himself together to shake his father’s hand and hug each of his sisters. “I love you all,” he said, then turned to Karp. “Thank you.” He then walked up to Marlene and held out his hand. “I’m glad we met,” he said with a smile. “I owe you more than you know.”

Tears in her own eyes, Marlene grasped his hand. “I do know; I’ve been there myself. As your mother just said, go with God and stay safe, Frank.”

This sidebar in the tragedy of Vince Carlotta’s murder was still playing in Karp’s mind when court reconvened and Judge See asked the court clerk to bring the jury in. Karp had little sympathy for Alexei Bebnev, who he believed was a conscienceless sociopath, especially after Ivgeny told Marlene that Bebnev likely
killed two old men for Lvov prior to the Carlotta murder. Nor was Karp in the least bit troubled by the death of Joey Barros, another murderous sociopath, though he did feel sorry for the wife and two daughters Barros had left behind. They’d apparently known nothing of his dark side until his death; the man was pure evil, but his family were also victims.

It was all a reminder to Karp that evil came in shades of gray. Jackie Corcione had been lured by greed and then paralyzed by fear until unable to live with the guilt. He’d done an evil thing, but he wasn’t by nature an evil man, like Barros. Nor were Miller and DiMarzo, despite their petty crimes as youths and their willing participation in exchange for money. It didn’t mean they weren’t guilty of murder or deserving of their fates; with all DiMarzo’s talk of God, Karp believed that God allowed men to make their own choices, good or evil, and they’d made theirs and had to suffer the consequences. But the ruined lives of three young men—Corcione, Miller, and DiMarzo, all with good people who loved them and mourned their loss—was nothing to celebrate or even take satisfaction in. Nor was the waste limited to the perpetrators and the man they killed.

Like a stone cast into a still pond, Vince Carlotta’s murder had had a ripple effect, one that devastated many lives. Antonia Carlotta and her son, who would grow up without ever knowing his father, were closest to where the stone had gone in. But also caught in the widening circle were Nicoli Lopez and Billy Jr., Frank DiMarzo’s family, and Greg Lusk. Farther out from the center, but still impacted, was the North American Brotherhood of Stevedores, some of whose members, like T. J. Martindale, had attended every day of the trial. They counted on leaders with integrity, like Vince Carlotta, to protect their interests, not rob them and put their safety below the lust for power and money.