PART 35 (33 page)

“Off,” the judge said to the stenographer, who was recording even these “sidebar” proceedings. The stenographer's fingers lifted from the keys of the machine. “Sam, you know I usually don't interfere,” said Judge Porta. “But are you going to let in that picture of the body?”

Sam surprised, took the photos again quickly and studied them. He studied them all again. A mischievous twinkle danced in the judge's eyes. “Just want to see if you're alert, Sam,” he whispered. “All right, any other questions of this witness, Mr. Ellis?” he said aloud.

“None, Your Honor.”

“Any cross questions?” The judge looked about. “None? Step down. Thank you, sir. Your next witness.”

“Rafaela Santos,” Ellis called.

Sandro turned to watch the door to the witness room.

“Who the hell is Rafaela Santos?” Sam whispered.

“I wish I knew,” replied Sandro. They masked their surprise from the jury.

A thin, young Pueno Rican woman with a pimply, olive complexion entered the courtroom.

“What is she going to testify to?” Sam whispered.

“I never saw her before,” said Sandro. He took out his pen.

Rafaela Santos testified that at the time of the shooting she lived in Apartment 1B of 153 Stanton Street, although she had since moved. She testified that she had been five months pregnant on the afternoon of the shooting. She said she had walked out of her apartment to the front door, looking for a friend in the street. It was raining. While standing in the doorway, she said she saw a 1961 Chevrolet double-parked across the street.

“Was anyone in that car?” Ellis asked.

“I saw him in the car.” She pointed at Hernandez.

The jurors' eyes swiveled in unison to Hernandez.

“I think you'd better stand up, Mrs. Santos, and come down and show us,” Ellis suggested.

She stepped down from the witness chair and walked to within four feet of Hernandez. She pointed right at his nose, then returned to the witness chair.

“May the record show she pointed out the defendant Hernandez,” said Ellis.

“It shall be so noted,” the judge replied.

“Was he alone or with someone else?” Ellis continued.

“He was with another man.”

“Now, this other man, do you see him in this courtroom?”

“Yes.” She aimed her finger at Alvarado.

Sam continued looking down at his notebook, writing nonchalantly. Sandro watched in silence.

“Step down, please,” said the judge. Mrs. Santos walked over to Alvarado and pointed directly at him. Alvarado's eyes were glazed with a kind of wonder and terror. The witness started back to her witness chair.

Alvarado leaned over and whispered to Sandro, “She a goddamn liar.”

“Shh. Don't get excited. Let's hear what else she has to say.”

Mrs. Santos continued to tell how the two men she saw were just sitting in the car, conversing. As she was turning to go back to her apartment, she noticed the men start to alight from the car. She walked to the rear of the hallway and entered the toilet closet just outside her apartment. Shortly, as she was opening the door to leave, she heard a noise.

“And when you came out of that toilet, did you see anybody?”

“Yes.”

“Who did you see?”

“He was going up the stairs.” She pointed at Hernandez again.

They weren't following Soto's story, Sandro thought, and then wondered at himself for even thinking they would.

“What part of the stairs was he on when you saw him?”

“He was on the second step going up.”

Mrs. Santos testified she then returned to her apartment. Her son, whom she had left watching television, had fallen asleep on the couch. She put the boy in his bed and returned to the living room, where she began to watch television. She said she heard a noise from the fire escape outside her son's window.

“Did you look out the window in your son's room?”

“Yes.”

“And when you looked out the window of your son's room, did you see anybody?”

“Yes.”

“Who did you see?”

“He was going up.” She pointed across at Alvarado.

“May the record show, Your Honor, that she pointed to Alvarado,” said Ellis.

“Do you acknowledge that?” the judge asked.

“Yes, she pointed to Alvarado,” Sam affirmed.

Ellis continued. Occasionally, Mrs. Santos hesitated, seeming to have difficulty understanding the questions. The judge ordered the woman who had been assigned as interpreter for Hernandez and was sitting next to him to come up to assist the witness.

“Before we continue,” said the judge, “let's have a short recess.” He walked to his robing chambers.

“What do you make of her?” Sam asked after the jury had retired.

“She's a liar,” Sandro retorted. “I've been in that hallway many times, and from where she said she was standing, she couldn't see anyone on the stairs. And standing on that stoop, on a rainy day, if she could see the faces of two men sitting inside a car eighty or ninety feet away, especially a dark Negro, she's got X-ray vision.”

“I think you should cross-examine her,” Sam suggested. “I'll take the cops.” They walked outside so Sam could light his cigar.

“You got a tough one this time, Counselor,” said an old woman with glasses and close-cropped gray hair. She was one of the courtroom buffs, the professional jurors on pensions or disability who hang around the courts to listen to the more sensational criminal trials.

“It's too early to tell much,” replied Sam.

“I want Siakos to question her long enough to take us through the end of the day,” Sandro said as they paced the corridor. “If I'm to examine her, I want to go to Stanton Street and get some more pictures this evening. Nick, Nick,” Sandro called to Siakos. “Can you carry Mrs. Santos until the end of the day? Do you have enough cross-examination to do that?”

“Sure, okay,” Siakos said, nodding slowly. “This woman has a motive for coming here, you know? There must be a reason for her coming here and lying for the D.A.”

“Case on trial,” called the court officer from the door to the courtroom. The lawyers and spectators filed back.

Through the interpreter now, the witness resumed testifying that she saw Alvarado on the fire escape.

“Where was he in relation to your apartment?” asked Ellis.

“He was facing to my window.”

“And in what position was he when you saw him facing your window?”

“Face to face.” Her hand raised flat, palm down, she made a parallel motion.

Alvarado, according to Mrs. Santos, then ascended the fire escape. She went back to watch television in the living room. In about a half-hour, she heard many shots from the roof.

“Your witness.” Ellis sat.

Siakos stood and walked toward the jury box. He wheeled.

“Mrs. Santos, are you married?”

“Yes.”

“Legally married?”

“Yes.”

Siakos studied her. He asked if she had any prior acquaintance with Hernandez. Although he lived on the same block, she said, she didn't know him personally. She had seen him before, however.

“Are you pregnant now?”

“No.”

“Did you have another child?”

“I was pregnant, but I lost it.”

Siakos nodded stiffly. His manner was haughty, caused more by nearsightedness than by arrogance. He studied the floor.

“And how many months were you pregnant at the time of this crime, at the time you saw the two men?” He was digging, hoping to come up with something.

“Five months.”

“While you were on the stoop, Mrs. Santos, did you see the car?”

“Yes.”

“Where was it as exactly as you can tell us?”

“It was at One fifty-nine or something. I don't know the exact numbers of the building. I lived in One fifty-three.”

“Was the car across the street from you, or was it on the same side as your home?”

“They was on the same side.”

Sandro took one of the photographs that Ellis had introduced into evidence. In it, the double-parked car was pictured on the side of the street opposite 153, approximately in front of 160. Sandro slid the picture unobtrusively across the counsel table toward Sam. Sam studied it and looked up at the witness. He inclined his head toward Sandro.

“Does Siakos know this?” he whispered.

Sandro nodded.

“Same side of you as your house, right?” Siakos inquired.

“Yes.”

“In other words, it was parked in front of One sixty-one?”

“Something like that. I can't tell you the exact number of the building,” the interpreter said.

“But it was in front of a building that lies on the same side as your house, right?”

“Yes.”

Siakos turned away from the witness and consulted his notes. When he turned back, he asked Mrs. Santos what the men were doing in the car. Mrs. Santos, almost unblinking, with dark, round eyes, was watching every move of Siakos, answering his questions without hesitation.

Sandro looked up at the clock. It was only five after four. Siakos had to have another fifty-five minutes of questions to last out the day. Siakos continued, asking her what time it was when she went out to look for her friend and saw the car instead.

“More or less, it was after one thirty when I went out.”

“Would you say that this double-parked car was in front of the
bodega
, the grocery store?”

“Yes.”

“And the grocery store is on the same side of the street as your building. Correct?”

“Yes.”

Siakos turned away from the jury and winked at Sam. He turned back and asked about the previous occasions when she had seen Hernandez.

Sandro looked at the time. Four fifteen.

Siakos asked Mrs. Santos about the time she went into the toilet closet in the hall. She said she had been there only a minute and she came out immediately upon hearing a noise.

“And what did you see?”

“He was going up the steps.” She pointed at Hernandez again.

“This gentleman was going up?”

“Yes.”

“Where was he when you saw him? Was it in the hallway?”

“He was on the staircase, going up.”

Sandro looked at the time. Four twenty. He knew Siakos had little more to question. The judge wouldn't let him be repetitious or ask questions about what she saw on the fire escape because that didn't pertain to his client. Siakos hadn't dented her story in the slightest. Sandro stood and walked toward him. Siakos moved away from the jury and inclined his head to Sandro.

“Stretch it. We need until the end of the day,” Sandro urged, pointing to his notes as if offering Siakos an important reminder.

“I'll see if I can. I don't have too much more,” Siakos whispered. He looked quickly at the clock, then returned and questioned Mrs. Santos about the length of time she saw Hernandez and how much of him she saw. She said she saw him for about a second or two, from the waist up, as he ascended. Siakos then returned to questions about her son, his TV program, and whether or not it was a cowboy picture.

The judge was becoming restless. The jury began to look at the spectators.

“Are you almost finished, Mr. Siakos?” Judge Porta asked, shifting in his seat.

“Not quite, Your Honor. A few more minutes.”

“We'll adjourn for the day. Remember, gentlemen and ladies of the jury, do not discuss this case amongst yourselves or with anyone else. Ten A
.M.
tomorrow morning.”

Sandro looked at the clock. Four forty-seven. He winked at Siakos.

The jury and the judge filed out. The prisoners were escorted back to the Tombs.

“He didn't touch her. Not a bit,” Sam said. “She's hurting us bad right now.”

“She couldn't have seen what she said. I know that hall,” replied Sandro. “There's a wall there, obstructing the view into and out of the rear part.”

“You've got to knock her brains out, Sandro.”

“I'm going to call Jerry Ball. I hope he's still at his studio.” Sandro moved quickly toward the corridor. “I think you ought to go up with us, Sam, to get a view of the place.”

Sam took his briefcase and walked to the corridor sighing.

“Okay. Okay. You're finally going to get me over to that lousy neighborhood.”

CHAPTER IV

It was 6:45
P.M.
when Mike Rivera ascended the stoop at 153 Stanton Street. Jerry Ball followed. Behind them were Sam Bemer and Sandro. They entered the first-floor hallway. The stairs lay directly ahead. As they reached them, the rear portion of the hallway became visible. It was on the left beside the stairs. They walked down it toward Apartment 1B, whose door faced them at the end of the hallway.

“So this is it?” said Sam, looking around with displeasure.

“That's the wall I was telling you about,” Sandro said, pointing back the way they had come. If the rear part of the hallway had not been visible from the front, the front door could not be seen from where they now stood.

“I guess this is Mrs. Santos's old apartment. This must be the common toilet she went to.” Sam opened a door on the right, under the stairway. The toilet had a pull-chain mechanism.

“Let's get cracking,” said Sandro. “Jerry has to get back to his studio to develop and enlarge these pictures if we want to have them for tomorrow morning.”

“What pictures do you want?” Jerry asked. He put his camera bag down and assembled the flash unit.

“Take some looking down here from the front of the hall so we get a view of Mrs. Santos's apartment. Then I want some from the back here, right where Mrs. Santos said she was standing when she came out of the toilet closet and saw Hernandez. Let's see where she was. Mike, stand on the second step, please.”

“Okay.”

Sandro entered the tiny cubicle. He turned and stepped back into the hallway. “She must have been standing right here.” Without moving, Sandro looked toward the front hall and the stairs. On his left he could see the wall supporting the stairs, the wall into which the toilet closet was set. He could also see the banister and the banister post. Sandro twisted and moved, trying to get a view of the stairs. But as long as he remained near the door of the toilet closet, he could see no part of Mike, no part of the front hall beyond.