Authors: John Nicholas Iannuzzi
“No.”
“Did you have a watch?”
“No.”
“How do you know what time it was?”
“My friend came in about two fifteen. He had a watch. I looked at it, and we kidded about what time it was and that he only worked half a day.”
“This friend of yours comes in every day, doesn't he?”
“Almost.”
“How do you know it was July third and that he came in early and not some other day?”
“Because the next day was a holiday. I didn't work. That's why my friend came in early. He got off early because of the holiday.”
“Maybe it was Memorial Day, maybe it was another holiday. How does he know Alvarado came in on July third?”
“Because the next day was a holiday, and when he was off the next day, he saw Alvarado's picture in the paper, and he remembered having given him a haircut and trimmed his moustache the day before.”
Sandro smiled. Moreno smiled.
“What time was it that Alvarado came into your shop?” Sandro said suddenly.
“About two twenty-five, two thirty.”
“How do you know what time it was?”
“My friend came in about two fifteen. Alvarado came in about fifteen minutes later.”
“Have you ever been convicted of a crime?”
“I played dice once and paid a two-dollar fine.”
“Did you ever assault anyone?”
“No.”
“What day was it that Alvarado came into your shop?”
“July third, because the next day was a holiday, and I remember seeing his picture in the paper. I remember his face and that I gave him a haircut.”
“Okay, now explain this to him. I only want him to answer the questions the district attorney asks. Make the D.A. work. He should not volunteer anything.”
Mike translated.
“So that if he's asked, âWas it raining when he came in?' he should answer, âNo.' He should not answer âNo, the sun was out.' If he's only asked about the rain, that's what he should answer. This is like a game to see how few words you can use to answer. Little words, little sentences. See if he understands.”
Mike explained. Moreno studied Mike as he listened. He nodded.
“Is it raining now?”
“No.” He smiled.
“Wrong,” Sandro said sharply. “How does he know what's happened outside since we came in here? If he doesn't know something, he should say so.”
Mike repeated what Sandro had said. Moreno nodded sheepishly.
“Is it raining outside?”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“I don't know for sure.”
“Was it raining when you came in here?”
“No.”
“Was the sun out?”
“Yes.” Moreno looked at Sandro. Sandro nodded.
“What time did Alvarado come into the barber shop?”
“Two twenty-five, two thirty.”
“Did you look at a clock?”
“No.”
Sandro nodded.
“Were you wearing a watch?”
“No.”
“How do you know what time it was?”
“My friend came in at two fifteen. I looked at his watch.”
“Do you always look at your friend's watch?”
“Just this day. He was in early, and we kidded about it, and I looked at his watch.”
“How do you know when Alvarado came in?”
“He came in about fifteen minutes later.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
“You mean it could have been later?”
“Maybe five minutes, more or less.”
“Could it have been later than that?”
“I don't think so.”
“Mike, tell him that he should use positive statements, not I don't think so, or maybe. He must say, âYes, I am sure. It was two thirty.' If he gives positive times, positive statements, the D.A. can't trap him. If he says I think so, or maybe, that leads to more questions. He'll be asked, âWell, then you're not sure?' Or, âIt might have been later?' And then, âHow much later?' He'll avoid all that if he says positively, âIt was two twenty-five, two thirty.' If the D.A. asks, âCould it have been later?' He should answer, âNo!' Explain that.”
Mike translated.
“How long after your friend came in, did Alvarado come in?”
“About fifteen minutes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Could it have been later?”
“No.”
“Perhaps he came in at two forty-five.”
“No!”
“What time did he come in?”
“About two twenty-five, two thirty.”
“Is he sure?”
“Yes.”
“What day was it when the man Alvarado came in?”
“July third.”
“How does he know?”
“The next day was a holiday. He didn't work. And while he was off that day, he saw Alvarado's picture in the paper, and he remembered him from the day before.”
“Is he sure?”
“Sure,” Moreno said himself in English.
Sandro smiled. Moreno and Mike smiled.
CHAPTER XXIII
Wednesday, April 17th, 1968
“Call your next witness,” the judge directed Ellis.
“Josefina Ramirez,” Ellis announced. “We will need the interpreter for this witness, Your Honor.”
The judge nodded to the interpreter sitting beside Hernandez. She rose and walked to the witness stand. From the side door, a small, frail-looking woman of indeterminate ageâshe might have been twenty-five or forty-fiveâentered the courtroom.
“Who is she, Sandro?” Sam asked.
“I don't know. I haven't come across her name before.”
Sam shrugged. “I'm sure she's going to identify the defendants somehow.”
Mrs. Ramirez testified that she was married and had six children. On the day of the murder, she was living at 161 Stanton Street. About 2:15
P.M.
that day, she went to pick up her youngest daughter at the child-care center.
“She's the woman who was on the stairs with the kid when the killer ran down,” Sam said flatly.
Mrs. Ramirez testified that after picking up her daughter, she walked home. She had been in front of 153 Stanton Street at 2:30 and heard explosive noises coming from an upper floor. These she learned later were the shots on the roof that killed Lauria. As she and her child were climbing the stairs of 161 Stanton Street, Mrs. Ramirez said, first she heard someone running down, then she saw a Negro coming down toward them.
“Here we go,” said Sam, not looking up from his notes.
Sandro watched the witness.
The interpreter indicated that the man Mrs. Ramirez saw had bad hair. He was dressed in gray and had something she could not identify concealed in his right hand. He was running quickly and breathing very hard, as if fatigued. He said nothing to Mrs. Ramirez or the child, but just kept running.
“Did you get a good look at his face?” Ellis asked.
“I couldn't see him very well because he was going very fast. I saw him in a moment like this,” she replied, waving her arm through the air.
Sam looked up. “Did she just say what I thought she said?”
“I'm sure I heard it, but I don't believe it.”
Ellis asked Mrs. Ramirez what she did after the man ran past her. She said she went to her apartment, and sometime later the police came and asked her questions, and she told them about the man in the gray suit.
“That's where they got the description of a Negro in a gray suit,” said Sandro.
Ellis had no further questions.
Neither did Siakos.
“She's not going to identify Alvarado,” Sam said in amazement.
“Maybe I should have him stand, and ask her if this is the man she saw.” Sandro suggested. “She won't identify him and that will be strong in our favor.”
“Maybe it's a trap. She didn't identify him. Leave it at that. Don't ask her about Alvarado. Just about the guy on the stairs.”
Sandro rose and walked to the jury box. The judge looked at Sandro as if to say, “The witness hasn't touched your man; why bother?”
“Mrs. Ramirez, this man you saw, how was he dressed?”
“In gray, like a suit,” the interpreter translated.
“And his hair, you said was âbad hair?'”
“It's not like our hair. It is crispy.”
“When you say our hair, you mean yours, mine, whose?”
“Well, my hair is straight and smooth.”
“You mean it's not like a Puerto Rican's hair?”
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
“When you say our hair, whom do you mean?”
“It is not like my hair. It is curly hair. All plastered down.”
“Was this man you saw tall?”
“No, he wasn't very tall.”
“Was he as tall as I am?”
“More or less, but fatter. He was taller than I am,” Mrs. Ramirez replied.
“How tall are you, Mrs. Ramirez?”
“I don't know exactly.”
“Your Honor, may we have Mrs. Ramirez stand and be measured.”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Ramirez stood and was measured by one of the court officers. She was five feet four inches in her heels. She returned to the witness chair.
“Mrs. Ramirez, you saw me standing next to you just now. Was the man you saw as tall as I am?”
“More or less, but fatter.”
“Your Honor, will you accept for the record that I am five feet ten inches?”
“We will accept that. Anything further?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Step down. At this time, we will have a short recess.”
The jury began to file out. Sam stood and was placing his papers in his briefcase.
“You figure she was supposed to identify Alvarado?” Sandro wondered.
“I'm not sure that she balked on the stand. Ellis seemed too calm. He must have known she wouldn't identify our guy, but he needed her to support that confession. The police obviously based part of it on her description.”
“You know, Sam, she actually helped us. She gave the guy âbad hair' and made him five foot ten.”
“Yeah, that helps. Not much, but it helps.”
Ellis next called Claudia Lauria, sister of the dead patrolman. She testified that she went to the morgue the day after the shooting and identified the body as that of her brother Fortune Lauria.
There was no cross-examination.
Ellis next called Robert Soto.
“Here's the little bastard that led us down the garden path for Mullaly,” Sandro whispered to Sam.
Sam nodded. “I'm glad he did. It gave you a chance to plant that story about not having any alibi witnesses. I still can't believe Ellis hasn't asked for a list of them.”
“Maybe he will.”
“Too late for that now. He would have done it before this. If those witnesses stand up the way you say they will, Ellis is going to have the shock of his life.” Sam smiled slightly, his face still in the notes before him.
Sandro watched Soto take the stand. Soto was uneasy. He looked down at Sandro furtively, then looked away.
Ellis had Soto describe his old apartment at 153 Stanton Street. Soto testified that on the day of the shooting he had had three television sets there. He identified the property that had been found on the roof. Soto testified that he left for work early the morning of July 3rd and was not let back into his apartment until 8 o'clock that evening. Ellis had Soto inspect photographs taken by the police of the ransacked apartment.
Soto told the jury that there was a fire escape outside one of the windows in the living room extending over to the window of his children's bedroom. On all the windows he had installed folding iron gates. Soto indicated that these gates were effectively locked against intruders. He testified he had special screw locks on the windows. Ellis had no further questions.
Siakos cross-examined Soto. Soto testified that there were ordinary window locks on each window as well as the extra screw locks. Siakos had no further questions.
“You want to take him?” asked Sam.
“No, you take him,” Sandro replied. “You know what conversations I had with him. I think I'd jump right down his lying throat.”
Sam walked to the jury box and faced Soto. Soto denied ever having told Sandro that a junky named Salerno, on one of the lower floors, might have been the person who burglarized his apartment. He denied that Mrs. Salerno had become friendly with his own wife after the burglary. Soto denied telling Sandro that Mullaly told him everything about the case. Soto denied calling Sandro's office and offering to go interview witnesses with him.
Sandro was restive. Soto never looked toward him. Sam had no further questions. Soto walked off the stand. His eyes met Sandro's for an instant; he saw the fury there, looked away, walking quickly to the witness room.
The judge recessed for lunch.
Mike and Sandro, talking quietly, turned from the main corridor on their way to the elevator. They stopped short. There, alone, waiting for an elevator were Robert and Alma Soto.
“There's that lying little spic,” Mike muttered, loudly enough to be heard.
“Hey, you can't call me that.” Soto didn't seem certain whether Mike could or couldn't. His wife remained silent. Sandro held onto Mike's arm.
“I already did, you lousy liar.”
“I'm not any spic. I'm an American just like you and him.”
“You're a fink. You think that's what America's about? People trying to hide what they are or where they're from?”
“I ain't hidin' nothing.”
“You're damn right. Everybody can see what you're really like.” Mike drew his right foot back slightly. Soto studied him.
“Mr. Luca,” Soto said, “your friend's getting all excited. I don't want to fight him.” The elevator bell rang.
“Go ahead, Soto. Get on,” Sandro said, still holding Mike by the arm. Soto nodded and pushed his wife in ahead of him. The doors closed.
“Why didn't you let me smack him one?” asked Mike.