PART 35 (29 page)

“Bastard,” complained Mike.

Sandro laughed. “He ran Lauria's route first. And even though he was pooped, he still ran Snider's route twenty seconds faster.”

Sam's eyes narrowed.

“I figure Snider shot Lauria,” Mike said boldly. “Either by mistake, or maybe even intentionally. This guy Snider got himself in trouble with narcotics several years ago. Was thrown off the narcotics squad. Maybe he was still involved in something and Lauria was going to turn him in.”

“We don't know what he was thrown off for,” Sandro corrected.

“Okay, but we know he was thrown off,” said Mike. “And this guy Mullaly has been going around covering up the trail so the dirty finger won't point to a fellow cop.”

Sam just listened, looking from Sandro to Mike.

“We can bring this stuff out at the trial, Sam. We can show the time sequences, show that Snider was on the roof before Lauria was shot. It'll look awfully suspicious to the jury.”

“Sandro, let me ask you a serious question. Are you a lawyer in this case, or a detective?”

“Come on, Sam …”

“No, I'm serious. Answer the question. Which are you?”

“I'm a lawyer, all right?”

“Well, remember it. We're supposed to defend Alvarado, not figure out who did it, if Alvarado didn't.”

“Would it hurt if we did both?” Sandro asked.

“No. But you won't do it with that evidence. You said yourself it's just suspicions. Can you prove Snider did it? Can you prove that he was actually on the roof before Lauria was shot?”

“No.”

“Do you have witnesses, anything besides supposition pieced together with speculation because of some time discrepancy?”

“No,” Mike answered.

“Now, I'm not saying it couldn't happen. Don't get me wrong. But this won't do a damn thing except hurt Alvarado. The jury'll think here's some son-of-a-bitch lawyers who'll stop at nothing, even accusing a cop of murder, to get their lousy goddamn client off. They may resent it. If you had more, it'd be all right. But just to throw bare suspicion out might ruin our chances of showing the jury our alibi, showing that Alvarado was in Brooklyn. We've got a great case going for us now. Why screw it up with wild ideas we can't prove?”

“Maybe we can get more,” said Mike.

“Get it. Then we'll talk.”

Sandro nodded. “I guess you're right, Sam. We really can't prove anything with what we have.”

“But we can do our job with what we have. I just hope we didn't miss anything. Well, we'll see next week.”

“What Part is Ellis moving the case in, Sam?” asked Sandro.

“Thirty-five.”

“Who's sitting there?”

“Judge Porta.”

“Judge Porta?” Sandro had never even considered the possibility. “He appointed us.”

“He's also trying the case. He's a good trial man,” Sam said, “right down the middle. See you on Monday.”

BOOK TWO

CHAPTER I

Sandro and Sam walked toward the courthouse. The day was clear, crisp, and sunny. Spring would be arriving soon. Green buds had begun to appear at the tips of tree branches and on shrubs.

“Well, he sure as hell gave Ellis an edge,” Sandro was saying.

“Look, Porta had to pick the lesser of two evils—he could either give Ellis another bite at the apple in front of the jury or give us the entire case before it even got to the jury. I'm not saying this is always what happens. But, speaking practically, in this case the Huntley hearing had more to do with tactics than with deciding if the confessions were voluntary.”

“But even so,” Sandro said stubbornly, “that's exactly what the Huntley does have to decide. Ellis didn't even produce medical evidence to explain away Alvarado's trip to Bellevue. So how could the judge be convinced beyond a reasonable doubt that the confession wasn't beaten out of Alvarado?”

“He wasn't. All he had to do was
say
that he was convinced. Now, instead of crippling the D.A.'s case—maybe killing it—by tossing out the confessions, he drops the whole bundle into the jurors' laps. Let them hear all the evidence and decide it. Why should Porta go out on a limb to make a tough decision he doesn't have to make?”

“Okay, from a practical standpoint, that makes sense. But then why have the Huntley hearing at all?”

“Because the United States Supreme Court said so. What's the big deal? We'll have a chance to go through the whole thing again when we have a voir dire on the confessions in front of the jury. And then we'll tear them apart with our medical stuff.”

“Sam, don't you think it's a bit ludicrous to go into a voir dire in front of the jury when the judge is automatically going to deny our motions to suppress the confession again?”

“But this time he's going to let the jury decide it as a question of fact—if they believe our evidence they can throw it out, if they believe the police they can consider it as evidence. That's the way the Supreme Court figured it'd be fairer to the defendants.”

“If the jurors are aware people, they'll know the judge has already decided it was voluntary beyond a reasonable doubt. And if they're not aware, why the hell do we want them on our jury?”

“Porta decided it, practically speaking, as a question of law. The jury will decide it as just some more facts in the case. That's the system, Sandro. I told you, come the millennium, it'll all be perfect.”

They entered the building and took the elevator up to the eleventh floor. As they entered Part Thirty-five, they saw the spectators' seats in the large courtroom filled. There were more than two hundred people there, men and women, young, old, black, white, and all variations between, well dressed and not so well dressed. This was a random sampling of New Yorkers, making up the panel from which the jury would be selected. Ellis was already seated at the prosecution's counsel table. Sam and Sandro put their briefcases on the defense table and sat down. Siakos hadn't arrived yet.

“We have to break these jurors in, Sandro. There are a couple of things they'll have to live with if they're going to sit on this jury—Alvarado's record, cop-killing, confessions that were beaten out—”

“How about the narcotics?”

“Right. Whatever Ellis'll throw at us during the trial. I'd rather shake up prospective jurors that we can challenge than sworn jurors that we're stuck with during the trial.”

Siakos arrived and joined them at the counsel table.

The court clerk went into the judge's chambers. Shortly, thereafter the door opened again, and a court officer, who had been with the judge, came out. He looked about the courtroom and then pounded the door twice. Judge Porta swept into the courtroom, trailing his long black robes and the court clerk behind him. He ascended the bench. The clerk returned to his desk.

“All rise. Hear ye, hear ye. All persons having business in Part Thirty-five of the Supreme Court of the State of New York, in and for the County of New York, draw near, give your attention, and ye shall be heard. The Honorable Gaetano S. Porta presiding,” the officer announced.

“Bring out the prisoners,” the judge instructed another court officer.

A door next to the judge's bench opened, and Hernandez and Alvarado entered the courtroom. Hernandez was in a gray suit. Alvarado was wearing a Madras jacket two sizes too big. He must have borrowed it from another prisoner, and could not be too choosy about fit, style, or season. They sat at the defense table. A guard sat behind each of them.

“You may proceed, Mr. Ellis,” said the judge.

Ellis rose and faced the entire panel sitting in the spectators' area.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is David Ellis. I'm the assistant district attorney in charge of the prosecution of this case. The name of the case is People of the State of New York against Ramon Hernandez and Luis Alvarado. Mr. Nicholas Siakos is the counsel for the defendant Hernandez. And Mr. Samuel J. Bemer and Mr. Alessandro Luca are the attorneys for the defendant Alvarado. Now this is a trial for murder in the first degree, the defendants being charged with the death of one Fortune Lauria, who, it will be revealed in evidence, was a policeman of the City of New York.”

Many heads in the panel turned, and a slight murmur rose in the room.

“I am making this preliminary statement so that you will understand the type of case on which you are going to be asked to serve, and so you get to know the names of the defendants and their attorneys. This is a case which might involve capital punishment. But that does not come into play in the first part of the trial. Only if the defendants are convicted. However, you should know that, too, in the event that you may wish now to make any application to be excused from this trial. To save time, rather than asking individually, I'll ask any persons who have moral scruples against capital punishment in the proper case—and I emphasize that, in the proper case, where the defendant may be proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt—any persons who have such scruples, please rise so that you may be brought to the judge's bench to see about being excused.”

About sixty percent of the panel rose and began to line up before the judge's bench. Ellis sat at his table while the judge began to excuse the jurors who had risen.

“Looks like not too many people are for execution these days,” said Sam. “That's a good example for the rest of them, makes them feel bloodthirsty.”

Finally, the first prospective juror was asked to sit in the witness chair. Two others were brought up to sit closer, so that there would be no delays in the flow of traffic. Ellis rose.

“Now, Mr. Randell,” Ellis said, looking at a card the clerk had handed him, “I see that you're a real estate broker.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you ever been a juror before?”

“A few years ago. On a civil case.”

“And did you get an opportunity to go into the jury room to deliberate with your fellow jurors in that case?”

“No, it was settled.”

“You know, of course, Mr. Randell, and if I'm speaking too loudly, it's because I want everyone in the room to hear the questions.” Ellis turned. “I'll ask everyone in the room to listen to the questions being asked, so that if there is anything that comes to mind as a result of questions asked of another prospective juror, when you come up on the witness chair, you can save us time by just mentioning it. Now, Mr. Randell,” Ellis continued, turning back, “you know that the jury in a civil case does not have to agree unanimously. You need only five sixths or ten out of twelve members of a civil jury to reach a verdict.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But in a criminal case, unanimous verdicts are necessary. You do understand that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, there may be some things about the law that you may not like, may be surprised at, but if the judge tells you what the law is, will you follow His Honor to the letter of that law?”

“If the judge says so, sure.”

“Have you ever been the victim of a crime?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you any friends or relatives who are on the police force, or are in any fashion connected with law enforcement?”

“I have a couple of friends who are policemen.”

“Do you feel that this friendship will interfere with your giving an objective verdict in this case?”

“Not at all, not at all,” he smiled.

“He's too willing to please the D.A.,” Sam whispered to Sandro.

“Do you feel that you could deliberate with your fellow jurors in this case, and reach a verdict, if a verdict is at all possible?”

“Sure.”

“The fact that this is a crime of violence wouldn't deter you from making a decision, even if that decision might have serious implications for the defendants?”

“Not at all.”

“You realize that you are not to be at all involved with questions of punishment?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That's the function of the judge.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And sympathy has no place in your verdict either, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don't like this guy either,” said Sandro.

“Okay. Always follow your feelings when you pick a jury. There's not too much else to go on, and the defendant's life is at stake.”

“And you feel that you could be fair, both to the defendants and the people?” Ellis continued.

“Yes, sir.”

“No challenge for cause,” Ellis announced.

“I'll take him,” Sam said, rising. “Mr. Randell, would you accept the word of a policeman just because he's a policeman, or would you give him the same test of credibility you would give any witness, that is, watch his demeanor on the stand, listen to what he says, weigh it in your mind as to veracity and accuracy?”

“Well, that's hard to say. A policeman is a policeman, after all. He should know.”

“Mr. Randell,” Sam continued, “would you feel that if a policeman gets on the stand and testifies, that he's telling the truth because he is a policeman, and policemen don't lie?”

“I'd have to be shown that he lied. I'd go along with the policeman unless somebody showed me he was lying.”

“And if someone not a policeman was on the witness stand and testified that a policeman beat the defendants in this case, in order to cause them to confess to a crime, would you, in all honesty, have a tendency to disbelieve that, or would you be able to listen to such evidence objectively and make up your mind after you heard all the evidence?”

“I'd have to have it proven to me, that a policeman'd do that. I find that kind of hard to believe. Sort of television and movie stuff.”

“Do you start out believing, then, Mr. Randell, that policemen do not beat defendants, and that a defendant would have to prove to you that he was beaten?”