PART 35 (39 page)

“I disagreed with you before,” said Sam, “and I disagree even more now that Snider's testifying. You see how sad he is, how not one sound is heard in the courtroom when he speaks? The jury'd think it sacrilegious to attack him.”

“Unless we could prove it,” Sandro added.

“Right. Unless we could prove it. And we can't. And it won't help us to antagonize the jury. We've got a lot of really good stuff to use.”

Mike was disappointed. “We'll get it. We'll get more,” he assured them.

During the afternoon session, Snider was cross-examined without any forceful attack. Siakos and Sam each finished with him in short order, his version of the last few minutes before Lauria's death remaining unchanged.

The next witness for the people was Detective Thomas Mullaly. Sandro and Mike and Sam all perked up at the thought of Mullaly's having to stay in one place without slithering into the shadows. Mullaly, tall and broad, his thinning red hair combed neatly from a part an inch above his left ear across the top of his head, stood and was sworn.

Mullaly testified that he had been in the station house on July 3rd, 1967, when a call came in that a Patrolman Lauria had been shot. He and a Detective Johnson were the first detectives to respond. The only uniformed men at the scene before them were Snider and two other policemen from a radio car in the area.

Mullaly testified he arrived at the roof of 153 Stanton Street about 2:45
P.M.
and saw Lauria lying face down in a pool of blood. Lauria appeared not be be breathing and was apparently dead. Mullaly saw personal property strewn about near the front of the roof—a radio, a television set, a purse, some tickets to an amusement park, and a woman's glove. Mullaly testified he helped remove Lauria's body from the roof to the hallway below to await the doctor. While Mullaly was there, he noticed the door to Apartment 5B was slightly ajar. The door jamb was broken and lying on the floor. With Detective Johnson, he entered Apartment 5B. It appeared to have been ransacked. After about five minutes of investigation there, Mullaly testified, he returned to the street. A 1961 Chevrolet, double-parked in front of 160 Stanton Street, was brought to his attention. It seemed suspicious that the car was left with the window on the driver's side wide open, despite the rain. Mullaly investigated and determined that the car belonged to a junky who lived on the top floor of 163 Stanton Street. Mullaly went to the apartment and there saw Hernandez for the first time.

Hernandez was fully dressed and was wearing a hat. He was sweating profusely. Hernandez told him he had not been out of the house and had not been driving the car; a friend had driven it. Mullaly said he had touched Hernandez's jacket. It was wet. He requested Hernandez to accompany him down to the street. Mullaly said that any lie at this point was highly suspicious, particularly since burglars often leave cars double-parked outside the site of their burglaries for a quick getaway. Mullaly testified that Hernandez had originally told him he had lent the car to a friend by the name of Lopez. Then, according to Mullaly, when asked if Lopez was Negro, Hernandez changed his story, saying that a white Puerto Rican borrowed the car. These suspicious statements caused Mullaly to be keenly interested in Hernandez.

Once in the street, Mullaly asked Hernandez to open the trunk of his car. It contained a cheap red valise filled with men's clothing. Also in the valise was a bankbook in the name of one José Arce. Mullaly said that Hernandez told him the clothing belonged to a friend, but he couldn't remember his name.

At about 3:50, Mullaly testified, he heard shouting from 161 Stanton Street. He ran there, leaving Hernandez in the custody of a uniformed policeman. In that building, under a staircase on the ground floor, he saw a revolver.

At the stairway, he saw that a door leading to the cellar was ajar. He said he went out and searched the cellar, but there was nothing or no one there. Mullaly said he returned to the street and took Hernandez to the station house. On the way, Mullaly said, Hernandez told him more about his activities that day.

Hernandez, once at the station house, reverted to the story about not having been out of the house all day. He said again that a person named Lopez had been driving his car. Hernandez said he could show the police where Lopez lived. Several policemen, including Mullaly, took Hernandez to Second Street where Hernandez pointed out a house. Lopez was not at home. Hernandez was returned to the station house and was again questioned. It was then about 5:10
P.M.

Ellis asked Mullaly to continue. Mullaly said that at about 5:30
P.M.
, Crispin Lopez, the person Hernandez had said was driving the car, was brought in. The police soon determined that Lopez had been at work all day. They showed him to Hernandez. Mullaly testified that at this point Hernandez was taken to a locker room on the third floor of the precinct because the crowd in the offices below was too great to continue the interrogation. In the locker room, Hernandez admitted lying about the car. He said that he had been driving the car and had met a friend.

“Your Honor,” Ellis said, “I believe this is now the proper time for any voir dire relating to the defendant Hernandez.”

“Very well.” Judge Porta swiveled toward the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, at this point we are going to have a voir dire, which will concern itself with the voluntariness, or lack of it, of any alleged statement made by the defendant Hernandez. Now, the term
voir dire
, although French, comes to us from English common law. Literally it means
to say true.
In modern practice, it refers to a procedure to determine the truth in a particular matter. The truth we are seeking here is whether any such statement is admissible as evidence. The voir dire is not concerned with the truth of such statement, but only with the methods of obtaining it. Our law is that even if a statement be true, but was involuntary, was coerced by force or fear or threat of force, it cannot be accepted as legal evidence. That is our law.” The judge turned to Siakos and nodded. Siakos walked toward the witness stand.

“Detective Mullaly,” he asked, “did you strike the defendant Hernandez in the face when you went into his apartment, when you first asked him about the car?”

“Did I hit him, Counselor? Certainly not.”

“Did you strike the defendant at any time?”

“No, Counselor.”

Mullaly testified in answer to Siakos's further questions that the third-floor locker room to which Hernandez had been taken was used exclusively by uniformed patrolmen. He said he had never asked Hernandez a specific question about the murder of the policeman or, except for the double-parked car, about anything that happened that day on Stanton Street. Everything Hernandez said, according to Mullaly, was voluntary, without prompting or questioning. In the locker room, Hernandez was sitting in a chair, without handcuffs, during the entire investigation. Mullaly testified that Detective Johnson, Detective Jablonsky, and Detective Tracy were also in the locker room, but that he personally conducted the proceedings and the taking of the statement. Lieutenant Garcia, in charge of detectives in the precinct, never entered the locker room.

By 6
P.M.
, Mullaly testified, Hernandez had made his entire statement. Mullaly then took Hernandez to the clerical office, next to Lieutenant Garcia's office, where he sat in a chair. Mullaly said that neither he nor anyone else questioned Hernandez after 6
P.M.
At approximately 9
P.M.
, Mullaly and other detectives went to Brooklyn with Hernandez, looking for Alvarado. Alvarado was not there.

Siakos asked for the memorandum book in which Mullaly recorded his activities of the evening and early morning of the third and fourth of July. Ellis opened a red folder on his table and took a notebook from it. He handed it to Siakos. Ellis said that only the first eight pages of the pad contained the material at which Siakos now had the right to look. The judge nodded. A rubber band was inserted around the book so that only the first eight pages could be turned and read. Siakos began to read the notes.

“We'll recess for the day at this point,” said the judge. “Remember, jurors, don't discuss this case. Ten fifteen.”

When the judge and jury had left the courtroom, Sandro, Sam, and Siakos sat at the counsel table and read the first eight pages of Mullaly's memo book. Ellis hovered nearby to make sure that they did not turn to the ninth page. The memo book was not an official memo book of the police department. It was a secretary's dictation pad. It contained the same story Mullaly had just recited on the stand, almost verbatim.

CHAPTER IX

The usual tables in the Two Steps Down Inn were filled. It was 6
P.M.
, and Sal Angeletti was seated in the back. Several men, some with faces now familiar to Sandro, were sitting at the table near the front door. Sitting with Sal were three men, engrossed in a quiet discussion. Sal winked and smiled momentarily at Sandro. He told the waiter to take care of him.

Sandro sat at a side table alone and ordered a drink. The jukebox was wafting Neapolitan songs into the air. Didn't anyone in Italy except the Neapolitans have any songs, Sandro wondered. He had never heard of anyone singing a romantic Genoese or Barese song. Sandro was halfway through his second drink when Sal finished his business. He motioned Sandro to join him.

“Hello, Sandro,” Sal said, shaking hands. “Still lookin' great.”

“Hello, Sal, how're you doing?”

“What's the use of kicking, right?” He shrugged and bit into his cigar. “All these guys come around, all in trouble. Sal, help me here. Sal, help me there. And no money, ya know what I mean? Nobody's got any money today. You read all these bullshit stories about this phony syndicate that they make up in the papers, even in books. Everybody, even he's not connected, the guy that goes for the pizza, is supposed to have a million bucks. I'll take half, they give it to me. The bullshit they sell people so they can get elected, those goddamn politician bastards. They put all this bullshit out to frighten the people out of their taxes.” Sal puffed his cigar. “You got a problem, Sandro?”

“No problem, Sal. Just wanted to keep in touch about that case I have on the East Side.”

Sal nodded. “You want a drink?”

“I've already got one, thanks.” Sandro raised his glass. “
Salute.
”

“Drink hearty.” Sal nodded his head to some unspoken thought. “You know, another thing, these goddamn politicians, they got no balls. They let the niggers push them all over the place. You go around this neighborhood, it used to be quiet. No trouble here. We won't let it. Women can walk the street at night. Now, you take these goddamn niggers, they carry knives, guns. If we carry guns, we get arrested. They carry guns, they get told to move on. The cops don't want no trouble with the niggers. That's the politicians' fault. Takin' the cops' balls away cause they ain't got none themself. Ah, what the hell. Let's make some money. The hell with the cops and the niggers.”

Funsi, the owner of the Two Steps Down, walked quickly over to Sal's table.

“Sal,” he said, “you remember that fellow Ferdinand Balsa? I told you he owes that money for a big tab he run up?”

“Yeah, right, Freddy Balsa. He's with Louie Bags from Brooklyn. He's okay.”

“He's over here now. I just saw him go down the street. He keeps telling me he's got the shorts.”

“Well, that's okay, Funsi. Some of these guys take a little time to get their money together, you know?”

“I know, Sal, but this guy's really been trying to con me out of it for six months now. I mean, six months? First he tells me he don't have it this week. Then I should charge less money. Then he says the food's not so good, so he don't want to pay. He's trying to stiff me.”

“Oh, yeah, a wise guy? How much does he owe you?”

“Two hundred. The bill goes back six months.”

“Hey, Tony, come here a minute,” Sal called toward the front table. A tall, heavyset man with a stolid, fleshy face walked back. “Tony, go out in the street and get that kid from Brooklyn. Tell him I want to see him over here, right away. Tell him in a hurry, okay?”

“Right, Sal.” Tony walked out.

“Come on, Sandro, have something to eat.”

“Are you going to eat, Sal?”

“Yeah, I'll have something with you. Goddamn doctor won't let me eat anything that I like anyway.” He motioned to the waiter. “Joey, take the counselor's order, and bring me a plate of that stuff that the chef makes for me. You in court on that case now, Sandro?”

“Right. We had a couple of cops from the Seventh Precinct today.”

“Which ones? We know some of the cops over there.”

“Snider and Mullaly. Mullaly is a detective.”

“Snider, that's right. Frankie Sausage was telling me that Snider was the partner of the cop that was killed. I know him.”

“You know Snider?” Sandro asked quickly. “How do you know him?”

The waiter brought Sal a plate of something very white and bland. He brought Sandro an antipasto. Sal looked at the antipasto hungrily.

“Just a second,” Sal said, seeming to be searching his memory for something. “Mullaly, Mullaly. I think he was the guy that arrested Johnny Banjoes about three years ago. A name something like that. I think it was him.”

“He's a big, tall Irishman, with red hair, getting bald now. His hair is thin and straight.”

“I'll bet that was the same guy. I'll ask Banjoes when I see him.”

“What about Snider?” Sandro asked. “He's more important.”

“Snider. He was the one, he used to be on the narcotics squad. Then he got tossed off and is back in uniform again. Everybody got thrown off the narcotics squad that time. That was about the time when Don Vincenz',
Buon Anima
, was deported. Matter of fact, it was Don Vincenz's case that caused the whole shake-up in the goddamn narcotics squad.”