PART 35 (63 page)

Moreno testified in answer to Ellis that he was sure he had cut Alvarado's hair on July 3rd because the next day was a holiday and he didn't work, and especially because he recognized Alvarado's pictures in the papers. He said Alvarado had been wearing some kind of a blue sweater when he came into the barber shop. He said he had given him a medium haircut, not too close. Alvarado had a thin-line moustache at the time.

Moreno testified that he remembered the time as being 2:25 or 2:30 because a friend of his who worked at a nearby school playground always came over after his job. He usually arrived about 4
P.M.
But this day, on July 3rd, because of the holiday the next day, Moreno said his friend got off from his job early, and when his friend arrived they kidded and remarked about the friend's working only half a day. Moreno testified that his friend had arrived at 2:15
P.M.
Alvarado entered the shop about ten minutes later.

Ellis asked Moreno what the name of his friend from the school was. Moreno said he called him Julio, and that was the only name he knew the man by. Ellis asked where this Julio worked.

“You can bet Ellis's spotter is busy back there now,” Sam whispered.

“Let's hope Moreno doesn't make it too easy for him.”

“What's so difficult for the cops to find a guy called Julio who works at a playground near the barber shop? How many playgrounds you think there are near there?”

Ellis asked Moreno to describe Julio. He described him as a light-complexioned Puerto Rican, about thirty-five years old. He said he didn't know exactly where Julio was living now, but it was somewhere in the Williamsburg section.

Ellis asked Moreno if Alvarado had been with another man when he came into the barber shop. Moreno said that Alvarado
had
been with another man, but that it had definitely not been Hernandez. The man with Alvarado was Negro. Moreno told the jury he had not see Alvarado since he gave him a haircut on July 3rd, except for his picture in the newspaper. He was positive, however, that this was the man who had entered the barber shop on July 3rd at 2:25 or 2:30
P.M.

Ellis asked Moreno if anyone had spoken to him about the case. He nodded, and said yes, pointing to Sandro. He acknowledged that Sandro had had someone write down what was said when they first spoke. Moreno testified that there had always been an interpreter present. He said that when Sandro questioned him, he immediately remembered about cutting Alvarado's hair. Ellis asked Moreno to tell the jury of the conversation he had the first time he spoke to Sandro. Moreno repeated what he had said on the stand a few minutes before. Ellis asked if Moreno had told Sandro the first time he spoke to him that Alvarado came into the shop at 2:25 or 2:30
P.M.
Moreno said he had.

Ellis turned and asked Sandro if he could look at the statement signed by Moreno.

“Your Honor, are you directing me to show the statement to Mr. Ellis?” Sandro asked, rising, wanting to whet the jury's appetite.

“I'm just asking if I can see it, Mr. Luca,” Ellis said.

“I do not believe I'm required to show this to the district attorney, Your Honor,” said Sandro.

“Your view of the law is correct, sir,” replied Judge Porta.

“However, the defense at least is interested in making all the evidence available to the jury,” said Sandro.

“I object to such statements, Your Honor,” said Ellis.

“Sustained. Strike it out. Don't make speeches, Mr. Luca. Sum up at the proper time. Do you want to show Mr. Ellis the witness's statement or not?”

Sandro fished out a sealed envelope from his file and slit it open. He handed the envelope to Ellis without looking at its contents.

“May I note for the record,” said Sandro, “that this statement was written in Spanish, and the signature of this witness appears thereunder. However, I have supplied to Mr. Ellis, on the same page, beneath the Spanish, what I have been informed is an accurate translation.”

The judge nodded.

Ellis stood, reading the statement. He handed it to Moreno, who identified his signature. Ellis's face suddenly showed he tasted blood. Sandro wondered what Ellis had hooked into. He took a photostatic copy of the same statement from the file. Siakos came over, and the three defense lawyers read the statement.

“Did you say to Mr. Luca that around two thirty
or
three o'clock, two thirty
or
three o'clock, about that time, Alvarado was in your shop?”

“Yes. Well, it was about two twenty-five, but I started to cut his hair about two thirty.”

“But did you tell Mr. Luca it was about two thirty
or
three o'clock when Alvarado was in your shop?” Ellis asked, reading directly from the English translation.

“I object, Your Honor,” said Siakos, rising.

“Overruled,” said the judge impatiently.

“May I explain my objection, Your Honor, on the record?”

“You may, sir.”

Siakos held the copy of the statement in his hand. “This statement in Spanish, which is the one signed by the witness, says ‘between two thirty
and
three o'clock.' In Spanish, the word appears
y
—
and
—three o'clock, not
or
three o'clock.”

Ellis, his back to the jury, glared at Siakos. “Did you see this statement?” Ellis asked. He handed the paper to Siakos.

“I saw it,” replied Siakos. “I saw a copy of it, and I challenge the translation.”

“You can't challenge my translation because this is the translation supplied to me by Mr. Luca,” Ellis fumed.

“Mr. Luca is not a good translator,” said Siakos. “Let's have it translated now. Let's have the official interpreter here do it.”

Sandro rose, “I am not any kind of a translator.”

Siakos smiled and winked at Sandro.

“If he pulls this off, he's made up for everything else during the trial,” Sam whispered.

Sandro nodded.

“I submit, Your Honor,” said Siakos, “the word
or
in English is written in Spanish
o
, meaning exactly the same; the word here in Spanish is y meaning
and
—between two thirty
and
three, not
or.
”

“I heard the point. We will recess for a few minutes to let the interpreter look at it,” said the judge.

Everyone filed out of the courtroom.

When the trial resumed, Sandro asked to have the interpreter translate the entire statement, so that there would be no further mistakes. She did, including the phrase “and between the hours of two thirty
and
three, about that time, Luis Alvarado was in my shop.”

“Your Honor,” Sandro requested, “may I at this time correct the English translation contained on that statement to read two thirty
and
three?”

“Deem it corrected. The interpreter has said so.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Sandro sat and leaned over to look at Sam's notes. Sam squeezed his arm.

“Don't smile,” Sam cautioned.

Ellis tried to pick up the pieces. He questioned Moreno about how many other times he had spoken to Sandro. Moreno said he had seen Sandro many times, and each time he had said the same things to him. Ellis handed Moreno a two-by-two photograph taken of Alvarado the morning of July 4th at police headquarters. He asked if the photo fairly depicted the haircut he had given to Alvarado on July 3rd. Moreno studied the picture and said it looked like it.

Sam objected to the picture, since it was not in evidence, and since the conditions of its taking or developing were unknown. In addition, the photo was too small to show anything more than a general impression of a haircut.

Ellis offered the picture into evidence.

Even though the photograph was small, the line around Alvarado's ear and neck was straight and clean. His moustache was perfectly trimmed. The judge allowed the picture into evidence.

“Don't worry about it,” Sandro assured Sam. “I'll have motion pictures and eight-by-ten glossies Tuesday.”

The clerk gave the jury a magnifying glass, and each of the jurors studied the picture.

The police spotter returned to the courtroom and whispered something to Ellis.

“Mr. Moreno,” Ellis asked, “in August of 1964, were you living at Eighteen-ten Broadway, in Brooklyn?”

“Yes.”

“Did you assault someone with a bottle in that month.”

“No.”

Ellis looked at Moreno, then turned toward his chair. He looked at Sandro. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

Sandro asked no further questions of Moreno.

“Your next witness, please,” said the judge.

“In our orderly procedure, Your Honor, our next witnesses will be from the American Broadcasting Company, but they cannot be in court until tomorrow. Our only available witness is the defendant Alvarado. Since the hour is late, and his testimony shall be lengthy, may we adjourn until tomorrow?” asked Sam.

“Yes. We stand adjourned until tomorrow morning, members of the jury. Do not discuss this case amongst yourselves or with anyone else.”

The judge and jury left the courtroom.

“It's always best to leave the jury with a strong point to think about overnight. And we were strong!” said Sam.

CHAPTER XXX

“What the hell did Roosevelt say when you finally found him?” Sandro asked.

“He said he was too busy, that he didn't have time to go to court,” Mike answered.

“Well, we'll get him tonight. Either he goes to court, or, goddamn it, I'll get the judge to send a court officer after him. I'm tired of having to beg these witnesses to help us. Not only do we have to know the law, be able to plead the case, and sway the jury, but we've also got to wet-nurse a bunch of people who think they're doing us a favor.”

“I'd love to see some of them if they were ever in trouble,” said Mike. “They'd sing a different tune if they needed someone to testify for them.”

Sandro grunted.

Mike parked the car on Stanton Street.

“While we're here,” said Sandro, “we might as well talk to Hernandez's wife, and see if we can get to the bottom of this story Sal Angeletti told us.”

“Why bother? At the bottom of it, is the beast with two backs,” Mike said as he wheeled the car into the tight space.

Mike knocked on the door to Roosevelt Jackson's apartment. Music was coming from within. Mike knocked again. A small Negro boy opened the door.

“Is your daddy home?” asked Sandro.

Mike looked impatiently at Sandro. “Is Roosevelt in?” Mike asked. The boy disappeared inside. “He might disappear forever if you want him to find his daddy. Let's just get to Roosevelt.”

The boy returned and waved them to enter. They found themselves in the kitchen. The sink was piled with dishes. The rest of the apartment was dark except for a small night-light in the bedroom. The boy pointed that way.

“Can you see anything in there?” asked Mike.

Sandro peered into the darkness. He could see a dark mass on what seemed to be the bed.

“There's our Roosevelt, if I'm not mistaken,” said Sandro. He entered the room cautiously. Mike was a step behind him. As they got closer, the air became thick with the smell of cheap wine. Jackson was in his shorts, sprawled face up on the bed.

“Roosevelt,” Sandro called.

There was a grunt.

“Roosevelt, it's Mr. Luca, the lawyer.” Sandro crouched next to the bed, inhaling reluctantly.

A groan, and Jackson shifted position.

“What happened to you today, Roosevelt? You know we needed you in court. I even sent a car here to pick you up.”

“I jus' di'n't have no time today to go to no court. I was busy.”

“Roosevelt, you've got to go to court tomorrow,” Sandro said, wishing that he didn't need him.

“Maybe I can make it, ‘n maybe I be too busy again.”

“No, tomorrow you've got to make it, Roosevelt. Where's your hand,” Sandro groped in the dark. “Where's your goddamn hand?” He found Roosevelt's hand and put a subpoena and a dollar into it. “That in your hand is a subpoena. If you don't come to court tomorrow, I'll have the judge send a court officer after you.”

“You gon' get me in trouble? You gon' do that to your friend, Roosevelt?”

“I don't want you to get in trouble, Roosevelt. That's why I'm going to send the car for you again.” Sandro peered into the dark, still not able to make out if Jackson's eyes were open or closed.

“You gon' send car?”

“That's right. At ten o'clock this time. And you'd better be there. And you'd better be sober, Roosevelt. I don't want to tell the judge that his friend Roosevelt is not behaving himself.”

“You tell that judge Roosevelt is behavin'. You tell the judge I be there tomorrow.”

“I'm going to send the car for you, at ten,” Sandro said. “You be sure to be ready.”

“I'll be there. Don' you worry none. I'll be all ready.”

“Come on, let's get out of here. He doesn't even know what the hell we're talking about tonight. But tomorrow morning, you come here, and if he's not ready, you get him dressed. He'll wake up with that subpoena. It's no joke. You tell him that.”

“I'll get him there if I have to carry him,” Mike replied. “No, I take that back.”

“You may just have to.” They started out of the apartment.

They walked over to 163 Stanton Street and climbed the stairs. Mike knocked. Mrs. Hernandez came to the door and smiled. She began chatting with Mike in Spanish as they entered. She nodded and smiled at Sandro. She offered them a cup of coffee. Mike accepted. Sandro said he didn't feel like coffee.

She and Mike continued to talk, and Sandro let Mike dispose of all the amenities.

“She's asking me about how the case is going, what I think, and all that.”