Authors: James Patterson,Andrew Gross
Judge & Jury (12 page)
“The exact same job? Meaning extortion?” Joel Goldenberger pressed him.
The witness shrugged again as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah.”
“And what would happen,” the prosecutor asked, “if the contractor refused to pay?”
“Then they wouldn’t get no labor, Mr. Goldenberger.”
“And if they still refused to pay? Or if they used outside workers?”
“You mean
outside our union?
” the witness asked.
“Yes.”
Zaro looked around blankly for a second; then he scratched his head. “You understand, we were talking Dominic Cavello here, Mr. Goldenberger. I don’t think I ever recall that happening.”
A few people around the courtroom laughed.
Goldenberger smiled, too. “So this was basically a monopoly? Mr. Cavello over there could dictate terms to the entire construction business?”
“There wasn’t a building went up in north Jersey, and parts of New York, that Dominic Cavello didn’t get a piece of.” The witness laughed out loud.
Even Cavello seemed to curl a smile at that one. As if he was proud of his business acumen. We had him dead to rights. Murder. Union tampering. Fraud. You could read it on every face in the courtroom. You could even read it on Cavello’s face, beneath the cold stare that seemed to say,
This doesn’t bother me at all.
Now the prosecution had one final witness, one who could testify about an even uglier side of Cavello. One who could drive the nail into his coffin for good.
Me.
I TOOK THE STAND the next afternoon.
“Please state your name.” Joel Goldenberger stood up and faced me. “And what your association is with this trial.”
“Nicholas Pellisante,” I said. “I’m an SAC in the New York office of the FBI. I’m the head of a unit known as C-10. We oversee organized crime.”
“Thank you. And in your role as head of this unit, Agent Pellisante, you are the senior law enforcement agent on the investigation into Dominic Cavello, is that correct?”
“That’s correct.” I nodded. “Other than the assistant director and the director.”
“The assistant director and the director?” Goldenberger cocked his head. “You mean of the New York office?”
“No, Mr. Goldenberger.” I paused, then moistened my lips with a sip of water. “Of the entire FBI.”
Goldenberger looked impressed. “Those are pretty good credentials, Special Agent Pellisante. Now, you haven’t always held this position, have you, sir?”
“No. Before that I was an agent on the task force for five years. Prior to that I taught a class in criminal anthropology at Columbia. I also worked at the Justice Department in DC for three years. And before that I was in law school.”
“And you hold a law degree from where, Mr. Pellisante?”
I played along because this was designed to set me up as even more impressive to the jury. I took another sip of water. “Columbia.”
“So you’ve been investigating organized crime for how many years?”
“Eleven. Five as a special agent. Six as the special agent in charge.”
“So it’s fair to say, in the course of your experience, you’ve come across some pretty bad people, isn’t that right?”
“The absolute worst. The Colombian drug cartels, Cosa Nostra, the Russian mob. I think I’ve looked into some of the most corrupt and violent organizations on the planet. My specialty, I guess.”
Goldenberger smiled politely. “And in the course of these investigations, how would the defendant, Dominic Cavello, rank in terms of your experience?”
“Rank?”
“In terms of the criminal behavior you’ve investigated.”
I cleared my throat. “Mr. Cavello is the most ruthless and cold-blooded killer we’ve ever looked into. He’s
personally
ordered the deaths of over thirty people we can directly tie him to. He is an evil human being.”
“Objection!” Hy Kaskel shot up. I expected that. “The defendant is not being charged with any of these alleged homicides. The government’s investigations and pet theories are not of interest to this court.”
“Correction, Your Honor.” Joel Goldenberger waved. “The government will rephrase. I guess what I’m asking is, does your experience with this man go beyond just your investigation? You’ve had personal experience, haven’t you, Agent Pellisante? You’ve seen Mr. Cavello’s brutality firsthand?”
“Yes.” My gaze shifted to Cavello. I wanted him to feel my eyes. I’d waited a long time to say these next words.
“I’ve personally witnessed Mr. Cavello commit murder.
Twice.
”
I’D ASSEMBLED HUNDREDS of wiretaps and recorded conversations as part of my testimony, but we just started with
my
story, what I had seen myself.
“Would you describe for this court the events surrounding Dominic Cavello’s arrest?” Goldenberger asked me.
I glanced toward Manny Oliva’s wife, Carol, who was sitting in the first row. I was glad she was here for this.
“We had been told that Cavello was going to attend his niece’s wedding at the South Fork Club in Montauk on July 23, 2004. We had multiple warrants outstanding.”
“You had tried to arrest Mr. Cavello before?”
“Yes. Cavello had gone underground, though. He was a threat to leave the country.”
“So you staked out the wedding on this tip. Can you describe for the court some of the other agents who assisted you there?”
“Sure.” I swallowed back some emotion. I talked about Manny first. “Manny Oliva was my ASAC at C-10 for three years. I took him right out of Quantico. I brought him up through the ranks. He and his wife had just had twin girls.”
“And Edward C. Sinclair, he was with you there as well?”
“Ed Sinclair was as exemplary a special agent as we had in the unit,” I said. I nodded to his wife, Maryanne, and his son, Bart, in the seats next to Carol Oliva.
“So can you paint the picture for the jury, Agent Pellisante?” Joel Goldenberger placed a blown-up aerial photograph of the scene on an easel across from the jury box. “Agents Oliva and Sinclair are where in the stakeout?”
I walked over and took a pointer. “They were on the beach, outside the club grounds, blocking any escape.” I described how Cavello had disguised himself as an old man in a wheelchair. How, as my special agents moved in, he jumped out of the chair, trying to escape. How he shot one of my agents who was posing as a waiter, Steve Taylor.
“He ran down toward the beach. Manny and Ed were in position.
Here.
I radioed ahead that he was headed toward them.”
“Can you describe what happened next? I know this is difficult for you, Agent Pellisante, and for the family members of the agents who are present in the courtroom.”
“I heard a volley of shots.” I clenched my teeth. “I counted five—two quick ones, then three in rapid succession. I ran down from my position over the dunes and saw the bodies in the sand.”
There wasn’t a sound in the courtroom. I looked away from the easel, and every eye was focused on me.
“Then what did you do?” Goldenberger asked.
“I went over to the bodies.” I cleared my throat. “Manny was dead. He’d been shot in the head. Ed was hit in the chest and neck. He was bleeding profusely. I could see he was dying.”
“And did you see Dominic Cavello?”
“He was running down the beach, trying to get away. He’d been hit in the shoulder. I could make out what looked to be a gun. He was headed toward a helicopter on a promontory. I radioed for help, and we called in a helicopter from a Coast Guard cruiser offshore to block Cavello’s escape.
“Then I went after him and fired my weapon, hitting him in the thigh. In the time I was calling for help he must’ve hurled the gun into the ocean.”
“So you never found a weapon?”
“No.” I shook my head. “We never did.”
“But you have no doubt who killed your agents, do you?”
“None whatsoever.” I shook my head. I looked squarely at the defendant. “Dominic Cavello. There was no one else near Ed and Manny when I heard those shots. And the bullet they removed from Cavello’s shoulder was from Ed’s gun.”
“Just to be perfectly clear”—the prosecutor turned and raised his voice—“do you see the man you chased on the dunes that day? The man you saw running away from the dead agents’ bodies?”
“That’s him,” I said, gesturing toward the second row. “Dominic Cavello.”
For the entire trial Cavello had gazed stoically ahead, but now he was focused on me.
And I found out why.
Suddenly Cavello leaped out of his chair. He pulled himself up on the table like some enraged madman. His face was red, the veins in his neck about to explode.
“Fuck you, Pellisante! You son of a whore! You lying piece of shit!”
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT was total bedlam.
“Lying bastards!” Cavello bellowed in a hoarse, crazed voice. He slammed his fist on the table, sending papers and documents flying.
“And fuck you to this court!” He glared at the judge. “You have no hold on me. You think you have, because you’ve bribed a few of my old enemies to carry your lunch pails. But you don’t have shit.
I have you!
”
The marshals sprang into action. Two of them jumped in and grabbed Cavello by the torso, wrestling him to the ground. People were screaming. A few ran out the exits.
Cavello fought like a berserk animal. “You don’t have me, Pellisante! I have
you!
”
A third guard jumped into the fray, and finally they forced the mobster to the floor. Two of them held him down while the third squeezed a set of cuffs over his wrists. He was still shouting at the top of his lungs.
“This court is a joke! A mockery! You’ll never convict me no matter how many traitors and wiretaps you have. It’s too bad, Nicky—
about your friends!
But whoever killed those scum, I would kiss them on the lips.”
“Get him out of here,” Judge Seiderman called out from the bench, trying to regain control. “Mr. Cavello, you have lost your privilege to sit in on this trial. You are in contempt. You are barred from this courtroom. Jurors, you will go back into the jury room immediately. Bailiff!”
Pandemonium continued in the courtroom. The jurors looked shell-shocked. Members of the press were already running out of the gallery to call their newspapers.
“Take me out of here! Bar me!” Cavello twisted his face toward the judge. “I don’t want to be here any fuckin’ longer!” His voice bellowed throughout the courtroom. “Your court is a joke!”
Blood trickled from Cavello’s mouth. His formerly neatly groomed hair was tousled and wild. The guards lifted him up and tried to drag him through the side door. They had gotten one leg through when he wildly jerked around, and I saw something I could hardly believe.
The bastard was smiling.
THE JURORS WERE STILL buzzing about what had happened. Shocked. Blown away. The court officials had rushed them all into the jury room. No one could recall ever seeing anything like Cavello’s blowup in the courtroom.
“The asshole just made it easy for us.” Hector shook his head. Everyone seemed to agree.
Maybe it just got to him,
Andie thought.
His case was shot to hell. He cracked.
The jury was going to be leaving the courthouse earlier than planned, and Andie hoped Jarrod was already here waiting for her and his special birthday celebration. They were quickly herded into the elevator to go downstairs, where the blue bus would be waiting.
As the elevator hit the lobby, Andie tried to regroup. Jarrod was here! In his Stephon Marbury number 3. Rita was waiting with him in the lobby. As soon as Jarrod saw his mother, he ran up and jumped into her arms.
“Happy birthday, honey!” It was wonderful just to see his happy face and give him a big birthday hug and kiss. Cavello, what had happened in there, didn’t matter anymore.
“What’s going on, Mom?”
Andie squeezed him double-tight. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie.”
The bus was waiting right there on the street. Andie and Jarrod climbed on first and made their way into one of the rear seats. Hector and Rosella, who sometimes spoke to each other in Spanish, sat in front of them. O’Flynn squeezed into the row behind them with a rolled-up
Sports Illustrated
in his fist.
“So tell me about school,” Andie said.
“Nah.” He grinned broadly. “It’s my birthday, Mom. No school today, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
They wanted to get them away from the courthouse as quickly as possible, and that was all right with her. A marshal jumped on, counted heads, winking because there was one more than usual. He slapped the side of the bus, sending it on its way with an “Okay!” The driver started the engine.
Andie looked back at the courthouse. Standing outside the side entrance was the FBI guy, Pellisante. He had set up the whole thing when she came to him with the idea for Jarrod’s birthday party.
Thank you.
Andie waved at him through the glass. An appreciative, one-finger wave.
He waved back.
Two police cars led the way as the bus pulled out from the curb onto Worth Street. It was a twenty-five-minute trip through the Holland Tunnel back to the motel. A few of the jurors looked around at Andie, wondering when they could break the surprise and sing “Happy Birthday” for this nice-looking boy.
“Hey, Jarrod.” O’Flynn leaned over, staring at his Stephon Marbury jersey. “You like the Knicks?”
“I like ’em. I like
Halo
more.”
“
Halo?
” It was a popular battle video game. Pretty violent and graphic. O’Flynn grinned at Andie. “Your mom lets you play
Halo,
huh?”
“His mom does no such thing,” Andie said. “His aunt, though, that’s another story, for another time.”
A few of them laughed.
The bus pulled ahead to the corner of Church and stopped at a red light.
Andie looked out the window. She was thinking about the party and when to spring it on Jarrod that everyone knew this was his birthday. She figured they’d wait until they got close to the tunnel, build a little suspense. Rosella had made a colorful banner.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JARROD.
This was going to be so great.