Judge Vaughn sighed. “Go ahead, Mr. Santoro, but restrain yourself shortly. You’ve made your point, and Ms. Carrier’s made hers.”
Judy sat down and scribbled for the sake of scribbling, but she was too stressed to write any jokes in capital letters. Pigeon Tony’s life was at stake and yet another neighbor was taking the stand. As much as Pigeon Tony warmed to see his old friends, she knew each one was driving a nail into his coffin. She considered asking them if they thought Coluzzi had committed the past murders, but she knew she’d draw a legitimate objection. Neither lawyer could prove or disprove the truth of the past murders, but Santoro was using them to advantage. She vowed to do the same before the case was over.
They sat through the testimony of Mr. Ralph Bergetti, Mrs. Josephine DiGiuseppe, Mr. Tessio Castello, Miss Lucille Buoniconti and, oddly, an Anne Foster, before Judge Vaughn granted Judy’s objections. Santoro asked all the same questions and got all the same answers, as did Judy on cross. But she was concerned. The jury would remember these witnesses, whose demeanor was so credible and whose testimony was undisputed. It would lighten Santoro’s burden on proving reasonable doubt. By lunch recess, Judy had serious doubts.
She had to turn it around, or Pigeon Tony was a dead man.
39
“That was the worst thing Santoro could have done, for us,” Judy said as she, Pigeon Tony, Frank, and Bennie sat at the round table in the courthouse conference room. It was a small white room, dominated by a fake chestnut table and ringed with four black leather swivel chairs. Right now the table was covered with a large pizza box, filled with leftover crusts.
“Agreed,” Bennie said. Her unruly hair had been swept back into a ponytail, which looked professional with her trademark khaki suit. Her face was pale, the result of hard work and worry; she had backstopped Judy on trial prep as if she were Judy’s associate and not the other way around. “You know what he’s doing, don’t you? Setting up the physical evidence.”
“I know. How’d I do, on cross?”
“Fine. You know what they say. When you have the facts, pound the facts. When you have the law, pound the law. When you don’t have either, pound the table.”
Judy grinned. “Got it. I’ll just keep pounding and hold up until it’s our turn.”
Pigeon Tony set down his half-eaten pizza crust. “Then I talk to judge?”
Judy shook her head. They had discussed this only about twelve hundred times before the trial began. “No. Then we put on our witnesses. I thought we agreed, you should not testify. It wouldn’t help your case. They have no good proof of what happened in that room except through you.”
Pigeon Tony’s face went red. “But they lie! They say Coluzzi no murder Silvana. Or my Frank. And Gemma! I hear! I know! Lies!”
“If you got up on the stand, you would tell the truth. You would say that Coluzzi did all those things, but we couldn’t prove any of it, which would make you look just like the man they say you are. An angry old man, full of hate. Legally, it’s your decision, but I am telling you not to go up there and let me handle it.”
“I tell truth! Millie tell truth! Sebastiano and Paul! They all say truth!” Pigeon Tony went red in the face, waving a finger. “I hate Coluzzi! He kill my family! That is truth!”
Frank started to explain to him, but Judy held up a hand. This was between lawyer and client, since the decision to testify in his own defense was strictly the client’s.
“Pigeon Tony, listen to me. All they can show is that you meant to kill Coluzzi, or even that you wanted to kill Coluzzi. But what they have to prove is that you did it. You don’t go to jail in this country because you want to kill somebody.”
“But I kill Coluzzi! I do it!”
Judy winced. It was still hard to hear. Plus it might not help the defense if he screamed it throughout the courthouse. “But they have to prove that you did, and that’s a lot harder. If they can’t prove it, you win. If you get up there, they can prove it easy, and you lose. Understand?”
Pigeon Tony’s features went rigid, his mouth an unfamiliarly unhappy line, and Frank put a reassuring hand on his grandfather’s shoulder. “Pop, Judy knows what she’s doing. She’s the lawyer, and she cares about us. She knows what’s best for you. Let her do her job, okay?”
Pigeon Tony blinked in response. His mouth stayed set, giving a new meaning to Italian marble.
Judy locked eyes with Frank and she didn’t have to tell him what she was thinking. They had become lovers the night she’d gone to him, but since then the relationship hadn’t had a chance to blossom into a warm, rich, full-blown love affair. The law was a jealous mister.
Frank squeezed Pigeon Tony’s shoulder. “Pop, she’s right. She’s trying to save your life here. Tell her you agree.”
Pigeon Tony sighed shallowly, his concave chest rising and sinking with resignation. “Si,” he said quickly.
“Thank you.” Judy patted Pigeon Tony’s other shoulder, skinny even in shoulder pads. “Now let’s go back in. And remember, it’s gonna get worse before it gets better. Nobody feels good during the other side’s case.”
“Amen,” Bennie said, but Pigeon Tony was losing his religion.
Detective Sam Wilkins made a professional counterpoint to the down-home ragtagginess of Pigeon Tony’s neighbors. His dark eyes were alert and grave, and he was dressed in a neat blue suit with a cop-issue patterned tie. Wilkins didn’t so much sit behind the microphone as address the courtroom, and his demeanor was natural and professional. Judy knew the jury would respect him. He reeked of integrity, which she valued in everyone but the opposition.
“Now that we have your background, Detective Wilkins,” Santoro continued, “please tell us what you did the morning of April seventeenth.” Santoro stood taller than he had before. Like most D.A.s, he sucked up to real live cops but wouldn’t ever be one himself. Guns were involved, and somebody could get hurt.
“I was on the day tour and was called to seven-twelve Cotner Street, at eight-thirteen in the morning. About.” Wilkins smiled, and so did the jury. The only person who didn’t was Pigeon Tony. Judy remembered he no like police, and he was baring his dentures.
“Is that the address of a pigeon-racing club?”
“Yes, it is. The South Philly Pigeon Racing Club.”
“What did you do and see there?”
“I was directed to the back room, where I found the body of the deceased, Angelo Coluzzi.”
“Could you describe exactly what you saw, for the jury?”
“Mr. Coluzzi was partly underneath a bookshelf that held various veterinary supplies. I knelt beside him and determined that he had no pulse. It was clear to me his neck had been broken, and—”
“Objection,” Judy said. “Detective Wilkins is not a medical expert, Your Honor.”
“Sustained,” Judge Vaughn said, and Judy felt vaguely satisfied. She didn’t know if she had accomplished anything, but it didn’t hurt to remind the jury that Detective Wilkins wasn’t Superman. Again, Pigeon Tony was the only one who didn’t need the reminder. He glared at the detective so fiercely that Judy clamped her hand on his arm. Oddly, he seemed angrier than he had during Santoro’s opening and resisted her soothing.
Santoro nodded. “Perhaps you could explain what you saw, Detective.”
“Mr. Coluzzi’s neck was lying to the left, loosely, at a skewed, unnatural angle. He lay on the floor near a bookshelf, which was partly on top of him, and many of the items on the shelves had spilled out. The room showed signs of a struggle, but I concluded it was a brief one. From my investigation it appeared that the defendant had entered the room and attacked the deceased.”
Suddenly Pigeon Tony jumped to his feet. “Scum! Coluzzi kill my wife! Coluzzi kill my son! You do nothing! You know he kill him! I spit on you! Pig! Dog!”
“Pigeon Tony, no!” Judy leaped up and grabbed Pigeon Tony as the judge’s gavel started pounding. This outburst could get him killed. The jury was with Detective Wilkins, and Pigeon Tony was going
berserk on the man.
Crak! Crak! Crak! “Order!” Judge Vaughn shouted. “Order in the Court! Ms. Carrier, get your client in control.”
“Liar! Scum!” Pigeon Tony kept screaming, and then he segued into Italian. Struggling with him, Judy understood only the word Coluzzi, screamed at least five times at an only mildly surprised Detective Wilkins.
“Order! Order!” Judge Vaughn roared, banging the gavel again and again. The bailiff and courtroom security rushed over. The gallery rose to its feet. Frank looked anguished. All hell was breaking loose.
Judy wrestled Pigeon Tony into his chair and caught sight of the jury. Even though they didn’t understand Pigeon Tony’s words, they understood his meaning, and he looked every inch the angry, violent man Santoro had told them about in his opening. Judy dug her nails into Pigeon Tony’s shoulder and forced him to stay in his seat, but he was still yelling in Italian.
“Your Honor, may we conference?” she shouted, over him.
Crak! Crak! Crak! “We damn well better!” Judge Vaughn thundered. “Bailiff, dismiss the jury! Officers, subdue the defendant! Counsel, into my chambers! Right now!”
Judge Vaughn was so furious he didn’t bother to take off his robes but swept into his huge leather desk chair and let them billow around him like the silken mantle of a king. His large chambers were elegantly appointed, with a polished walnut desk, which was faced by navy leather chairs so large they made even Judy look small. Santoro’s Italian loafers barely grazed the sapphire-and-ruby-patterned carpet, and hunter green volumes of Purdon’s Pennsylvania Statutes Annotated lined the walls of the chamber, as well as tan-and-red volumes of the Pennsylvania reporters and an entire shelf of detective fiction. It didn’t bode well for the defense.
“Ms. Carrier,” Judge Vaughn said, his tone exasperated and his face ruddier than usual. “What the hell is going on out there?”
“Your Honor, I apologize—”
“My courtroom is a zoo! The gallery is the Hatfields and the McCoys! I have double the usual number of men on security. We’re already taking from the Williamson case upstairs.” The judge gestured wildly, his sleeves flying out like an eagle’s wings. “How am I going to explain this to the court administrator? What the hell is the problem with your client?”
“Your Honor, I apologize, but let me explain. My client—”
“Do. Please. Now.” Vaughn simmered while Judy hatched a plan. She could still get Pigeon Tony out of the mess he’d gotten himself into.
“First, I am really sorry.”
“Really sorry?” Judge Vaughn ripped off his glasses and held them poised beside his face. “Really sorry? Can’t we do better than really sorry?”
“Very sorry. Extremely sorry. So very sorry.” Was this a game? Judy stopped guessing. “The problem, as you can see, is that my client is very emotional about this matter and is obviously under a great deal of strain. I apologize for his outburst, especially coming as it did, in front of the jury.”
“Disrupting my trial!” Judge Vaughn said, snatching a tissue from a box on his desk and wiping his forehead with it.
“Exactly, which brings me to my point.” Judy cleared her throat. “The fact that it occurred in front of the jury makes me concerned that prejudice has occurred, and I doubt the ability of this jury to fairly evaluate the facts of the case. Because the incident occurred so early in the trial, it would not be so great an imposition of the judicial system if the Court were to grant a mistrial at this point, and the defense so moves.”
Judge Vaughn’s blue eyes widened and a thick vein expanded in his neck. “Are you crazy?”
Judy hoped it was rhetorical. “Your Honor, I’m as unhappy about it as you are, but I see no alternative, given the outburst.”
Santoro fairly waved his hand. “Your Honor, the Commonwealth opposes any such mistrial. It is a terrible waste of resources. I have ten murder cases back at the office, and here we are, already on trial in this one, after it took almost two weeks to pick a death-qualified jury. In addition, Your Honor, I think defense counsel has incredible nerve, making this request after her own client acted out. How could there be any prejudice, when her client did most of his screaming in Italian? The jury has a right to evaluate this man for what he is, and he’s obviously not shy about his conduct.”
Judge Vaughn was shaking his head, and Judy knew it would be the fastest ruling in judicial history. “There will be no mistrial in this matter, and the defense request is denied. The defendant brought this on himself and he won’t benefit by it.” The judge pointed directly at Judy, his robe slipping back to reveal a white French cuff with a gold cufflink. “Ms. Carrier, tell your client to straighten up and fly right. I’ll give him the night to cool down, and we’re back in session at nine on Tuesday morning. Get your act together. Capisce?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Judy said. She capisced just fine.
But would Pigeon Tony?
40
“I go to judge, I tell him police do nothing! Nothing! Pigs! Scum! Bullies!” Pigeon Tony wasn’t any calmer three hours and two cartons of take-out lo mein later, and Judy wasn’t completely surprised. Bennie had gone back to her office, leaving Judy and an unusually quiet Frank in the main conference room at Rosato & Associates, which Judy had claimed as her war room. An expanse of windows, now black with night, reflected her agitated client.
“Why judge mad at me? I tell truth! I know truth!” Pigeon Tony’s face was still red with emotion. He couldn’t sit still in his tan swivel chair, in front of an oak credenza stuffed with accordion files for the Lucia case, mounds of legal research, and Judy’s notes. None of it had proved any help in the face of an Italian client. It was the English common law, after all, and had stood only for centuries.
“Pigeon Tony, please.” Judy glared at her client across the table. “You keep up what you did today, and that jury will turn against you. You’re playing with fire. The judge is already very unhappy with you, and the jury can sense that too.”
“Lies! All liars! No can believe!” Pigeon Tony’s eyes had gone bloodshot and he began to get winded. Judy was worried he’d have a stroke and passed him a can of Coke across the table.
“Take a sip. Please. Calm down.”
Pigeon Tony ignored her. “You tell judge. I tell judge! Liars! You hear what they say? All lies! He kill my son! My daughter-in-law!”
Judy’s stomach tensed as she watched Frank’s reaction. He was standing behind his grandfather, his forehead buckled with strain at the mention of his parents’ death. Judy had had enough. She stood up and folded her arms. “Pigeon Tony, quiet! Enough! Stop!”
Pigeon Tony startled, evidently accustomed to being the only temper tantrum in the room.
“We’ll go to court tomorrow and you will shut up! I almost got killed for you. You owe me.”
Pigeon Tony opened his mouth, then shut it.
“Now do I have your attention?”
Pigeon Tony fell silent, his leathery skin mottled. He hadn’t lost his tan from months of working outdoors with Frank, building a wall. Judy wished for just one rock.
“I promise you. The next peep outta you in that courtroom, you don’t have to worry about the jury. I’ll kill you myself.”
Pigeon Tony stopped fussing in his chair.
“You promise?”
“Promise.”
“Good.” Judy glanced at Frank, who forced a smile. She knew him well enough to know he was concerned by what had happened in court. “Now, time for you to go home.” She checked her watch. “It’s almost ten. You both need some sleep for tomorrow, and I have work to do, to prepare.”
Frank touched his grandfather’s shoulder. “Come on, Pop, she’s right.”
“S’allright,” Pigeon Tony said, rising as if he were suddenly weary, and Frank helped him to his feet, then stopped.
“Pop, gimme a minute alone with my girl, would you?” he asked softly, and Pigeon Tony nodded. Frank walked him out of the conference-room door, undoubtedly left him wit
h the security guards, then came back in and closed the door behind him. When he returned, Frank’s brown eyes looked washed out, not with fatigue, but with something Judy couldn’t identify.
“What’s the matter?” Judy asked. “Besides the obvious?”
“Siddown a minute,” Frank said, but he didn’t meet her eye. He took a seat on one side of the table, and Judy sat across from him. She watched him loosen his tie, tugging it from one side to the next.
“Are we having sex again? I really liked it the first and only time.” Judy smiled, but Frank didn’t.
“No.” He rubbed his chin, running his finger pads over his dark stubble. “But this is hard to talk about.”
Judy didn’t feel like joking, which left her speechless. “What?”
“My grandfather, today in court. He yelled at the detective.”
“Right.”
“First he yelled in English, then in Italian. You didn’t understand the Italian, did you?”
Judy felt a wrench in her chest. Suddenly she sensed where this was going. “No,” she said, but it wasn’t an answer. It was a wish.
“In Italian, what he yelled at the detective was ‘Coluzzi told me he killed my son, and that’s why I killed him. But you did nothing.’ ” Frank’s voice sounded soft, almost hoarse, as if the very words choked him. “At least that’s what I think I heard. I may be mistaken. The microphones to the gallery distorted his voice. And he was facing away from me. And my Italian isn’t that good.”
Judy didn’t breathe. “So then it probably isn’t what he said.”
“But it could be.”
Judy wanted this conversation to be over. “You know your grandfather thinks it was murder. You told me that.”
“But now he’s saying that Coluzzi confessed to it. Admitted it, that morning.” Frank looked at Judy directly, his dark eyes boring into her, making the connection between them real, reminding her again of their lovemaking. It mattered to her. “Do you know what he was talking about?”