Judy’s mouth went dry. So Pigeon Tony felt remorse at the killing. She should have expected as much. She tried to reach for his hand, but he pulled it away and blinked his eyes clear. Judy would never understand this little man. He wasn’t ashamed to tell her that he killed Coluzzi, but he was ashamed to let her see him crying about it.
“Ms. Carrier,” Judge Vaughn was saying, “your witness.”
Judy looked up at the dais to find Santoro sitting down at counsel table, the court personnel staring at her expectantly, and Jimmy Bello examining his fingernails. She was on deck. She grabbed her pad and her exhibit and went to the podium.
“Mr. Bello, you testified that you worked for Mr. Coluzzi for thirty-five years, is that right?”
“Yeh.”
“You were his personal assistant, isn’t that right?’
“Yeh.”
“So you were with him, performing tasks for him?”
“Yeh.”
“How much of the time where you with him?”
“24-7.”
Judy lifted her legal pad so Bello could see that she was reading from her notes. In time he would figure out that they were her notes of the phone tapes. Bello had to know the tapes had been destroyed by the fake temp, but he couldn’t be sure Judy hadn’t made copies of them. Lawyers who planned better would have. Boring lawyers, who liked pumps. “Let’s briefly go through those types of tasks you performed. You drove him around, right?”
“Yeh.”
“He would tell you when to pick him up and even items to bring, right?”
“Yeh.”
“If he needed, let’s say, 20,000 square feet of plywood, builder’s grade, you would bring that, right?”
Bello blinked. “Uh, yeh.”
“If he needed extra groceries, like the Cento clam sauce his wife liked, you would bring them, right?”
“Yeh.” Bello glanced at the gallery, but Judy couldn’t afford to turn and see the reaction of Coluzzi’s widow.
“If he needed malathion and baby oil, so his pigeons didn’t get mites, you would bring it?”’
“Yeh.”
“If you got him the wrong thing, let’s say, normal peanuts to feed the pigeons instead of the raw Spanish peanuts, not roasted, no salt, you would go and get the right kind?”
“Yeh.”
“If he wanted you to bring him a Coke when you picked him up, you did that, too, am I right?”
“Objection,” Santoro said mildly, not bothering to rise. “Asked and answered, Your Honor.”
“I’ll move on,” Judy said quickly. Santoro wouldn’t understand the significance of the questions, but Bello would. He was already shifting in his chair. Judy checked her notes, which had run out of tapes and read, I’M SLEEPY. “So, Mr. Bello, since you were a friend of Mr. Coluzzi’s, you probably know a lot about who he liked and disliked, isn’t that right?”
“Yeh.”
“Isn’t it true that Mr. Coluzzi hated Tony Lucia, because Mr. Lucia’s wife had chosen to marry him instead of Mr. Coluzzi?”
“Objection!” Santoro shouted, jumping to his loafers. “Assumes facts not in evidence.”
“Your Honor,” Judy said, “it’s cross-examination.”
Judge Vaughn was shaking his head. “Sustained. There’s no foundation, counsel.”
Judy nodded. She didn’t need the foundation, she had just laid one. As the law books said, you couldn’t unring the bell. “Thank you, Your Honor, I’ll rephrase. Mr. Bello, isn’t it true that Mr. Coluzzi hated Tony Lucia?”
Bello ran a tongue over his thick lips. “Well, uh, yeh.”
“Mr. Bello, you testified that when you came out of the bathroom, Mr. Pensiera and Mr. LoMonaco were standing there, and then you heard the yell, is that right?”
“Right?”
“Would you say that five minutes passed while you were standing there but before you heard the yell?”
“I dunno.”
Judy paused. “Let’s figure it out. You testified that you came out of the bathroom, and they said, ‘What are you doing here,’ and then you said, ‘What are you doing here?’ It would take less than a minute for this to happen, wouldn’t it?”
“Okay, right.”
“And then you heard your water boiling, is that right?”
“Yeh.”
“It takes about two minutes for an immersion coil to boil water, doesn’t it?”
“Uh, yeh.”
“So that’s two minutes for sure.” Judy paused. “And you had to go around the counter to unplug the immersion coil, is that right?”
“Yeh.”
Judy reached for her exhibit and placed it on the easel. “Mr. Bello, I show you Defense Exhibit One, a diagram of the first floor of the club. The counter is here, approximately fifteen feet long. Please show the jury, where is the plug you used for the coil?”
“At the far end.” He pointed, and Judy nodded. She knew the answer from The Two Tonys, who had told her it was the only outlet at the club that worked.
“Let the record show that the witness is pointing to the west end of the bar. Doesn’t that mean that you had to go the length of the bar twice to unplug the coil?”
“Uh, yeh.”
“Wouldn’t it take you another two minutes to go around the counter, unplug the coil, come back again to where you were?” Judy didn’t refer to his weight. She didn’t need to.
“Yeh, prolly. I don’t move that fast, ever. And I wasn’t in no rush.” He laughed shortly, but the jury didn’t. They were listening, which gave Judy heart.
“So that’s four minutes, at least. Then how much after you came back from unplugging the coil did you hear the yell?”
“Right then.”
Judy paused. “So the two men were in the back room together for at least four minutes, maybe five.”
“Objection, that’s not what the witness said,” Santoro said, half rising.
“Overruled.” Judge Vaughn frowned.
“I’ll move on, Your Honor,” Judy said, as if it were a concession. She was on a roll. She had just proven that two men who hated each other had spent almost five minutes in a small room together. Who could say for sure who pushed whom first? It was Judy’s best hope for saving Pigeon Tony. The slender reed of reasonable doubt. But there was a big problem, and she went for it. “Mr. Bello, didn’t you testify that you were standing at the bar when you heard Mr. Lucia allegedly yell, ‘I’m gonna kill you,’ in Italian?”
“Yeh.”
Judy paused. “Mr. Bello, have you ever spoken to Mr. Lucia?”
“No.”
“Have you ever even heard him speak?”
“Uh, no.”
Judy could see one of the jurors reacting with a half smile in the back row. He was the electrician from Kensington and he got her point. If she pushed it further she’d lose it. “Mr. Bello, I’d like to move back in time for a moment, to the night of January twenty-fifth. That is the night that Tony Lucia’s son and daughter-in-law were killed in their truck, in an alleged truck accident. Do you recall where you were—”
“Objection, relevance!” Santoro said, rising, but Judy was already addressing Judge Vaughn.
“Your Honor, may we approach the bench?” She didn’t wait for him to nod his approval, though he did, and both lawyers went to the dais. “Your Honor,” Judy jumped in, “I know these questions seem unrelated but I have to ask the Court for some latitude, particularly in view of the fact that my client is on trial for his life. If I am permitted just a few questions to follow up, I think I can show the Court the relevance of the questions.”
Santoro was beside himself. “Your Honor, the defense is trying to muddy the waters here and distract the jury!”
Judy almost laughed. “Your Honor, the Commonwealth opened the door. Mr. Santoro is the one who raised the issue of the defendant’s belief about his son’s alleged accident, in the prosecution’s opening argument.”
Santoro stood on tiptoe. “Your Honor, I mentioned it but
I haven’t called a single witness regarding the accident. It wasn’t important whether it was an accident or not, only that the defendant thought it wasn’t an accident. If Ms. Carrier goes forward with this point, I’ll be forced to bring in a witness to refute these allegations and prove that it was indeed, an accident.”
“So do it,” Judy said, but Judge Vaughn was nodding slowly.
“I’ll have to overrule the objection, for the time being. You did open the door, counsel.” Then he glanced at Judy. “But don’t travel too far afield, Ms. Carrier. No frolics and detours.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” she said. She returned to the podium as Santoro took his seat and started tapping on his laptop, trying to act casual, which wasn’t working. Judy felt a little nervous herself. She couldn’t get any guilt-stricken admissions from Bello, but she could rattle his cage. Because Bello didn’t know what she knew, or what she could prove, and therefore would only overestimate both. It would set up her defense, and it was all she had.
“Mr. Bello, do you recall where you were at midnight, the night Anthony Lucia’s son and daughter-in-law were killed in an alleged truck accident?”
“No.” Bello’s lips set firmly, as did Santoro’s, opposite him.
“Do you recall if you were with Angelo Coluzzi on that night?”
“No.”
“Even though you were with him, as you testified, 24-7?”
“No.”
“Do you keep any calendar, datebook, or the like that would remind you of where you were that evening?”
“No.”
“Mr. Bello, you are aware, aren’t you, that your telephone conversations from your home, including conversations with Angelo Coluzzi, were being taped at that time?”
“Objection!” Santoro erupted. “Irrelevant and prejudicial!”
Judy’s eyes were trained on Bello, whose upper lip twitched slightly. The jury was watching him, intrigued. They would remember it. He would remember it. And he wouldn’t be sure what was on the tape, especially after the opening questions, and could only assume it incriminated him. Judy figured it was time to get the hell out of Dodge. “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”
“I demand that the record be stricken, Your Honor!” Santoro shouted. “This is a bald attempt to smear a completely credible witness and confuse the jury!”
Judge Vaughn waved him into silence. “Relax, Mr. Santoro. I’ll sustain your objection, but we’re not striking the record over it.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Judy said, grabbing her exhibit. She felt flushed and happy until she headed back to counsel table and caught sight of Frank, in the front row of the gallery.
His skin had gone gray and he focused on Bello with fresh anguish. He had just found out that it had been Bello on the telephone with Coluzzi that night. He believed he was looking at his parents’ murderer. And his dark eyes told Judy, in that moment, that he was capable of murder himself.
She sat down at counsel table, and she was shaking.
44
It was after six o’clock at night by the time they got back to the office, and almost everyone had gone home. Judy had just gotten Bennie and Pigeon Tony into the war room at Rosato & Associates when Frank put a gentle but insistent hand on her suit sleeve.
“Can I see that file now?” he asked, his voice quiet. He had been silent all the way back from the courthouse, stuck in the cab with one security guard and Judy.
“Sure.” Judy wasn’t surprised, and set her briefcase and purse down on the polished walnut table. She opened her briefcase and retrieved the complete file, including the police file and the report of the accident reconstructionist. It would be awful for him to read. Judy couldn’t get its gruesome conclusion out of her mind, and the Lucias weren’t even her parents. “You sure you want to read this?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Judy stacked the computer-animated videotape on top of the report. It had convinced her, and she hoped it would convince Frank. “You can read in the other conference room, which also has a TV with a VCR in it. It’s down the hall and to the left. You probably don’t want me to send you in dinner, do you?”
“Thanks, but no.” Frank met her eye, but his gaze was disconnected, and Judy suppressed comment. It made sense he’d feel distant.
“You go ahead,” she said. “I want to talk to your grandfather anyway, explain to him what we’ll be doing tomorrow.”
“Okay, thanks.” Frank palmed the files and tape and left, closing the door behind him, as Judy settled Pigeon Tony at the table and Bennie went to the credenza at the far end of the room, picked up the phone, and began checking her voicemail.
“Frankie okay?” Pigeon Tony said, and Judy shrugged.
“I hope so.”
“I no like.” Pigeon Tony hung his head. “Not good. Not good for Frankie.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
Pigeon Tony looked up, his eyes dark and sad. “No, not. Not a good day for him.”
Judy felt a twinge. It was clear Pigeon Tony wasn’t talking only about Frank. She told herself to slow down. Dialed herself back a little. “You want some coffee, Pigeon Tony?”
“Got Chianti?”
Judy laughed. “No. But you won’t need it. You want water?”
“Si, si.”
“No problem.” Judy got up and grabbed the pitcher of water from the back of the credenza, where Bennie was still on the phone. The woman must have 2,543 phone messages. Judy brought the pitcher back to the table, poured Pigeon Tony some in a Styrofoam cup, and handed it to him. “Here, handsome.”
“Grazie, Judy.” Pigeon Tony took a sip, and Judy watched his knobby Adam’s apple travel up and down, as if it had been hard to swallow. “My wife, Silvana. You know?”
Judy nodded, wondering where this was coming from. But she had noticed that when Pigeon Tony got tired or stressed, he became confused or talked more about the past. Judy could only guess at what memories this case was dredging up for him. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to live through a war, or to lose people you loved. She poured herself a cup of water, kicked off her pumps, and eased back to let him talk.
“Silvana, she gotta hard head. Baby Frank, he gotta hard head. Me, I’ma no hard head.” He smiled, and Judy smiled with him.
“No, not you. You’re a piece of cake.”
Pigeon Tony laughed then, a little heh-heh-heh that fit his size perfectly, a custom-made laugh. He finished his thought, shaking his head. “Silvana, she beautiful!”
“I’m sure she was.”
“I tella judge how beautiful!”
Judy sipped her water as Pigeon Tony’s eyes began to shine, his thoughts transported to another place and time. Judy had seen her grandmother do this, without the depth of feeling. Or maybe Judy had never given her grandmother the chance to talk over a Styrofoam cup of lukewarm water. She should have, and now it was too late.
“I tell judge when I first see Silvana, I meet Silvana, onna road with Coluzzi, atta race. How beautiful she is! Onna cart! She wear”—Pigeon Tony’s small hand went to his lips and he patted them, fumbling for the word—“she wear, you know. Rossetto per le labbra. You wear, when I see you, at jail.”
“Lipstick?” Judy offered.
“Si, si!”
Judy smiled. And here she thought she didn’t speak lipstick.
“Red, like wine she wear! Onna mouth! How we kiss!”
“Ooh!” Judy laughed. “Can’t tell that in court!”
Pigeon Tony held up a finger. “No! No! We kiss with a tomato! Si, si! Yes! A tomato!”
Judy didn’t get it, but Pigeon Tony was too wrapped up to stop and explain.
“So many tomato! Many, many tomato! Until she love me! Alla my tomato!” Pigeon Tony went heh-heh-heh. “Alla time, my mama, she say, ‘Where my tomato? I no have tomato, for make salad! Why I no have tomato?’ I laugh and laugh.”
Judy smiled, her throat unaccountably tight. She didn’t know exactly what Pigeon Tony was talking about, b
ut she could get the gist. And somehow the feeling.
“Then Silvana, she eat lunch, make picnic, with me. You know, make picnic?” Pigeon Tony looked at Judy for verification, and she nodded. “In woods. Alla time. We talk and talk and we kiss.”
“No tomato?”
“No tomato. Kiss! Kiss a woman! La bella femmina! Ha! Aha! So sweet!” Pigeon Tony clapped his hands together once, his face alive with the memory. “Such a kiss! Such a woman! Sweeter than tomato! I say to myself, Tony, you marry these woman! You be happy forever!”
Judy smiled, forgetting for a minute the way it had all turned out, but Pigeon Tony leaned over and touched her hand.
“I tell judge, I tell him how she marry me, and choose me, he will see.” Pigeon Tony’s voice grew urgent, and deep. “Alla Coluzzi, I tell judge, how Coluzzi beat chemist, beat me, in street, at Torneo. You know, Torneo?”
“No,” Judy said. It sounded like tornado.
“I tell judge, he know. I tell people—how you say, jury—they know. I tell, I make them see how Coluzzi murder, murder my Silvana. Murder my baby Frank. Murder Gemma, his wife. I make them see!”
Judy shook her head. He wanted to testify so much, she couldn’t reason with him. “Pigeon Tony, you’ll tell them all about Silvana and how wonderful she was, and then you’ll tell them all about Coluzzi and how terrible he was—”
“Si, si! And how he kill her, how I find her, inna stable, with baby Frank.” Pigeon Tony’s breathing began to quicken. “Baby Frank see his mama! Like that!” Pigeon Tony’s eyes filled with tears, and Judy jostled his hand, trying to bring him back to the present day, to a different country.
“And then you’ll tell the judge and the jury what? How you went into the back room at the clubhouse and Coluzzi told you he killed Frank and Gemma and then how you ran at him and broke his neck?”
“Si!” Pigeon Tony nodded. “I tell! I do it! I make them see no is murder!”
“But it is! It is, here! If you tell them that, they will lock you up. Don’t you see?” Judy heard herself shouting in frustration, and she became aware that Bennie had hung up the telephone and was staring at her with disapproval. Judy stopped and looked over. “Uh, hi?”