Capture (Butch Karp Thrillers) (31 page)

“No.”

“Did he place it in your mouth and then pull the trigger?”

“Obviously not.”

“That’s right…obviously, he did none of these things. Thank you, Miss Salinas, you have given us nothing, and I have nothing else.”

Karp rose for redirect with his blood boiling.
Stay cool
, he told himself,
don’t rise to the bait or you’re going to give him credibility
.

“Miss Salinas, how long did your relationship with this other director last?”

“Almost two years.”

“How long did the play run?”

Carmina laughed unexpectedly. “About a month. It wasn’t a very good play.”

Karp smiled. “Apparently, the relationship was better than the play?”

“Yes, but we eventually went our separate ways.”

“Did you have sex with this other man because you wanted a role in his play?”

Carmina shook her head. “No. I had sex with him because I liked him. That’s why I continued to see him after the play was closed.”

“Miss Salinas, do you remember what happened in Mr. Maplethorpe’s apartment that night?”

“Clearly.”

“Did Mr. Maplethorpe attempt to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“Did he change into a ‘cowboy costume’ that included chaps with no pants on underneath?”

“Yes.”

“Did he then ask you to perform fellatio?”

“Yes.”

“Did you refuse?”

“Yes.”

“Did you try to leave?”

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you, ‘Nobody leaves me unless I say they can’?”

“Yes.”

“Did he look angry when he said this?”

“Yes.”

“Did he have his hand on the butt of a gun when he said this?”

“Yes.”

“Did you feel threatened?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“I left.”

“Why didn’t you tell the police?”

“I didn’t think it was necessary; he apologized.”

“Did anyone from my office or the New York Police Department ever discuss whether Mr. Maplethorpe was wearing chaps the night Miss Perez died?”

Carmina looked puzzled, then shook her head. “No, I didn’t know that he did.”

“You didn’t read about it in the newspaper or see it on television?”

“No. I never saw anything about chaps.”

Karp tossed his legal notepad onto the prosecution table and paused to let the jury catch up. He turned to look at them to ask his final questions. “Miss Salinas, were you worried that telling the authorities about Mr. Maplethorpe’s actions would prevent you from working on the stage again?”

“Yes.”

“Were you worried that you would be perceived as a slut who tried to use sex to get a better role in Mr. Maplethorpe’s play?”

“Yes,” Carmina replied quietly, on the edge of tears.

“Isn’t that exactly what Mr. Leonard just did?”

The defense attorney leaped to his feet. “Objection!”

Before the judge could respond, Karp held up his hand. “That’s okay, Your Honor, I’ll withdraw the question. I’ll let the jury come to its own considered conclusion.”

“M
R.
G
IANNESCHI, WHAT WAS
M
R.
M
APLETHORPE’S REACTION
when you asked if he needed you to call an ambulance?”

They were a half hour into the direct testimony of Hilario Gianneschi, which so far had covered everything up to getting the call from Maplethorpe that he needed help. That included identifying Gail Perez as the woman he had seen get on the elevator with the defendant. “She was laughing, but she seemed like she did not want to be there.”

“What do you mean by that?” Karp asked.

“Like she did not want to be with that man. I know when a woman wants to be with a man, this was not like that.”

When they’d talked about Gianneschi’s testimony before the trial, Katz wondered if they should bring Perez’s demeanor up.
“They could read that like she had something weighing her down…she’s resigned. Or even bipolar or something…laughing one moment, down in the dumps the next.”

Karp acknowledged that there was a danger of the jury reaching that conclusion.
“But it would be more dangerous if the defense brings it up and it looks like we tried to hide it,”
he’d told Katz.
“We’ll stick to our game plan. Clear, simple, here are the facts, noth
ing to hide. Make the defense look deceptive with all their bells and whistles and opinions.”

Karp had also spent several minutes establishing that while accented, Gianneschi’s English was more than just adequate. He accomplished this by getting him to talk a little bit about himself and his job at the upscale, swank hotel in Tribeca. And then asked him about his dreams for the future. “I want to fall in love, take her to Italy to meet my mother, and then return to America, maybe someday go to college and”—he laughed, his white teeth flashing—“make lots of babies and grow old with my wife in the country.”

There wasn’t a woman in the courtroom—or jury box, Karp thought—who hadn’t melted at least a little bit with that. Then, when Gianneschi talked about his desire to become a citizen, he was positively eloquent. “I like it here a lot. I love the people. Here you are limited only by your dreams and you have only yourself to blame if you fail. I want that opportunity. I want to be an American.”

That brought them up to Maplethorpe’s call for help. “Mr. Gianneschi, what was Mr. Maplethorpe’s reaction when you asked if he needed you to call an ambulance?”

“He shouted, ‘
No!
Don’t call anyone. Just come here.’”

“What did you see when you arrived at Mr. Maplethorpe’s apartment?”

“Mr. Maplethorpe.”

“Was he holding a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Which hand?”

Gianneschi thought for a moment, then said, “His right.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“Yes, he say, ‘I’ve been bad.’ And then he say, ‘Tell her I didn’t mean to do it.’”

“He said that he’d been bad?”

“Yes.”

“Not that there was an accident? Or that Miss Perez had done something bad?”

“No. Neither of those.”

“And he said, ‘Tell her that I’—meaning Mr. Maplethorpe—‘didn’t mean to do it’?”

“Yes, that’s right. Then I asked him what he means by this.”

“And he responded how?”

“He says, ‘I think I killed her.’ That’s what he says.”

“Mr. Gianneschi, this is very important,” Karp said. “It’s important to Miss Perez and it’s important to the defendant over there”—he pointed at Maplethorpe—“that we get this exactly right, word for word…”

“Yes, of course.”

“He told you, in these exact words, ‘I think I killed her.’”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Did the defendant say that he’d accidentally shot someone?”

“No.”

“Did he say he’d accidentally killed someone?”

“No.”

“And Mr. Gianneschi, think very carefully…”

“Okay.”

“Did the defendant say that she had shot herself?”

“No.”

“Did he say that she found a gun in his apartment, put it in her mouth, and then pulled the trigger?”

“No,” Gianneschi replied. He was starting to sound exasperated, which was what Karp wanted. “He said, ‘I…think…I…killed her.’ That’s all. That’s what he said. Okay?”

“Mr. Gianneschi, what was Mr. Maplethorpe wearing when you arrived at the apartment?”

“A smoking jacket with dots on it,” Gianneschi replied, as Karp walked over to the evidence table and picked up the bag containing the polka-dotted garment.

“Does this look like it?” Karp asked.

“Yes, that is it.”

“Was he wearing pants?”

Gianneschi made an equivocating gesture with his hand. “Um, they are kind of pants.”

Karp walked over to the prosecution table, where Katz handed him several pieces of paper. “Mr. Gianneschi, I have here pages
nineteen and twenty from your interview with a police detective three days after Miss Perez was shot and killed. Do you recall that interview?”

“Yes. He asked me many questions.”

“Please take a look at these pages,” Karp said, handing them to Gianneschi. “And then I’m going to ask you a few questions.” At the defense table, Leonard snapped his fingers and one of his subordinates scrambled to find the pages Karp had identified.

The young Italian spent a minute reading the transcript and then looked up. “Okay, I am ready.”

“Good. Okay, if you would go to line seventeen on page nineteen, the police detective asks you about the pants…how did you describe them?”

“I could not think of the words in English, so I say they are
pantaloni di cuoio dispari.”

“And what does that mean in English?”

“It means…um…strange, uh, weird…leather pants.”

“Strange or weird leather pants.”

“Yes.”

“Hold on here just a cotton-picking minute,” Leonard said, standing with pages from the transcript in his hand. “It only says here ‘leather pants.’ I don’t see anything about
pantaloni di
…whatever he said.”

“Mr. Karp, do you wish to explain the apparent discrepancy?” Rosenmayer asked.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Karp replied. “Mr. Leonard must be referring to the original transcription of the taped interview with Mr. Gianneschi, which was inaccurate. He was supplied with a copy of the revised transcription…when exactly, Mr. Katz?”

Although they’d planned for this moment, Kenny Katz made a big show of leafing through several pieces of paper before finding what he was looking for. “It was signed for by Mr. Leonard a week ago. It was prefaced with a letter explaining the discrepancy.”

Karp held up the transcript. “This is the revised copy of the transcript, including a translation of the phrase
‘pantaloni di cuoio dispari’
certified by three outside linguists who speak Italian. It does indeed translate to ‘strange or weird leather pants.’ The People are
asking that this transcription be accepted into evidence, as well as a tape recording of the original interview with Mr. Gianneschi, which, by the way, defense counsel has had in his possession for more than six months.”

“How was this discovered?” the judge asked.

“Well, Mr. Reed found the mistake sometime before his death,” Karp said. “In fact, you may recall a warrant he requested to search Mr. Maplethorpe’s apartment for leather pants.”

“I do recall that,” Rosenmayer agreed.

“I found a note that Mr. Reed left behind with some of his work with the phrase
‘pantaloni di cuoio dispari.’
I then listened to the tape of the interview with Mr. Gianneschi. So I decided to ask Mr. Gianneschi about it. He recalled at that time making the statement, as well as described to me what he meant by it. Which is what I was getting to before Mr. Leonard objected.”

Rosenmayer looked over at where Leonard was fuming. “Counselor, did you receive this transcript and tape?”

“I may have,” Leonard conceded. “But I don’t have time to listen to Karp’s tapes and read every piece of paper the district attorney shoots my way.”

“I’ve read every piece of paper you’ve sent to my office,” Karp replied. “Which at last count outnumbered the paperwork we’ve sent you by about twenty to one, including notice received this morning of a new defense witness, a Mr. Mike Cowsill, the former boyfriend of Carmina Salinas who Mr. Leonard made much ado about earlier this afternoon.”

“Your Honor, there is a huge difference between adding a witness and slipping some paperwork under the door and expecting me to read it,” Leonard complained.

“I’m going to overrule your objection, Mr. Leonard,” Rosenmayer said. “Keeping up with the paperwork, which is all part of the pretrial discovery that you demanded by way of formal motion, is a very important part of the job. And you really should have vetted the prosecution copy of the transcript against the tape you have had in your possession. What if the DA really had been trying to pull a fast one?”

Leonard sat down heavily and tossed his pen on his pad as
though giving up. Karp allowed himself only a little smile at that as he turned back to Gianneschi.

“Mr. Gianneschi, you said that the defendant was wearing strange leather pants. What did you mean by ‘strange’?”

“I mean”—Gianneschi waved a hand over his groin area—“there is nothing here to cover him.” He shrugged apologetically at the jury.
“Scusami,
I could see his
pene e testicoli
…his, um, cock and balls.” He blushed as several spectators giggled before a look from Rosenmayer silenced them.

“You could see his sex organs?” Karp asked.

“Yes.”

“Was this because his pants were unbuttoned, or his zipper was down?” Karp asked.

Gianneschi shook his head and waved his hand over his own lap. “No. There was…ummm…no cloth.”

“And have you since recalled or been told what such leather garments are called?”

Gianneschi nodded. “Yes, they are ‘
pantaloni del cowboy
.’”

“In English, please.”

“Like cowboy pants you see in the movies. I think they are called chaps.”

“He was wearing leather chaps when you arrived at his apartment?”

“Yes.”

“Was he wearing these chaps when the police arrived?”

“No,” Gianneschi said, shaking his head. “He changed. He was wearing blue jeans.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gianneschi,” Karp said. “I have no more questions.”

“Can I go?” Gianneschi asked.

“No, sorry, that man over there—his name is Mr. Leonard—is going to ask you a few questions, too,” Karp replied.

“Oh, great!” Gianneschi said with such feeling that everyone laughed, including the people sitting in the pews behind Maplethorpe.

Even Leonard smiled. “I’ll try to be gentle, Mr. Gianneschi.”

“I appreciate that,” Gianneschi replied to more chuckles.

But suddenly, Leonard’s demeanor changed. “Mr. Gianneschi, you’re an illegal alien, are you not?”

Gianneschi’s smile disappeared and he looked frightened. “Yes. I am here illegally.”

“Illegally. That makes you a criminal, doesn’t it?”

The young Italian looked confused and shook his head. “No, I am not a criminal. I do not rob. I do not steal.”

“Are you breaking the law by residing in the United States without permission?” Leonard asked.

“Yes, I guess so,” Gianneschi conceded.

“That makes you a criminal, Mr. Gianneschi,” Leonard said. “And doesn’t it also make you a liar?”

Gianneschi looked outraged. “I am not a liar,” he insisted. “I am a good Catholic. I do not lie.”

“When you got your student visa, Mr. Gianneschi, did you agree to obey the laws of this country?” Leonard said.

“Yes.”

“Did those laws include that if you were not attending college, then your visa was no longer valid?”

“I guess, but I work instead…”

“Did you have a work visa?”

Gianneschi shook his head. “No.”

“Then you lied when you said you would obey the laws of this country?”

“I guess this is true,” Gianneschi said sullenly.

“And isn’t it true that you used another name, and a false Social Security number, when filling out the tax forms for your employer’s tax records?”

“Yes, or I can’t get paid. The government keeps the tax money.”

“Well, isn’t it lying to pretend you are someone you are not?”

“Yes.”

“And isn’t it lying to use a Social Security number that’s not yours?”

“Yes.”

“Then by your own admission, you’re a liar?”

“Yes.”

“So then why should this jury believe anything you just said when questioned by Mr. Karp?”

“Because it’s the truth?”

“I see. But didn’t we just agree that the truth is you are a criminal and a liar?”

Gianneschi looked at the jurors. “Then I would tell the jury that even a criminal and a liar can tell the truth.”

For a moment, Leonard seemed put off by Gianneschi’s answer. He took a moment to scribble something in his notebook as he gathered himself. “A criminal and a liar, Mr. Gianneschi,” the defense lawyer muttered. He tossed his pen back on the lectern. “Mr. Gianneschi, your first language is Italian, correct?”

“Yes. I speak Italian before I speak English.”

“Do you find yourself sometimes translating things people say to you in English into Italian so that you can understand what they meant better?”

Gianneschi thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “
Sì
, I sometimes think to myself what an English word would be in Italian and then I know better how to answer in English.”

“If that’s true,” Leonard continued, “isn’t it possible that Mr. Maplethorpe said those things to you in English and that you translated them into Italian, and then translated them again back into English when the police asked you what he said?”

Gianneschi looked confused. “I did not understand you. Could you repeat, please?”

Leonard gave a knowing glance at the jurors. “Sure. I said, ‘Isn’t it possible that Mr. Maplethorpe said those things to you in English and that you translated them into Italian’…You with me so far?”

“Yes.”

“And then you translated the Italian words back into English when the police questioned you?”

Gianneschi realized what Leonard was getting at. “Ah, I see what you are saying,” he said. “But no. He said these things exactly as I told Mr. Karp. He said he’d done something bad. That he wanted me to tell her that he didn’t mean to do it. And he say, ‘I think I killed her.’ Are you with
me
so far?”