The Vendetta Defense (44 page)

Bingo. Judy paused. She had hired an expert of her own, a gerontologist she hoped she didn’t have to call, if she could get the evidence now. “And is it true that Angelo Coluzzi’s cervical vertebrae shows these typical signs of aging?”

“It is.”

“And isn’t it also true that he had signs of osteoarthritis in his cervical spine?”

“He did. The deceased had signs of arthritis in his neck and also signs of osteoarthritis, which is not uncommon in that age group. By age sixty-five, most people experience pain and stiffness in their joints. Osteoarthritis occurs with equal frequency in men and women. The hands and knees are more commonly involved in women and the hips in men. But it can exist in the neck, too, as in Mr. Coluzzi’s case.”

“And isn’t it true that these conditions—his age, his arthritis, and his osteoarthritis—would make it easier to break his neck than the neck of a younger, healthier, man?”

Santoro was on his feet. “Objection, relevance,” he said, but Judge Vaughn was already shaking his head over his papers at the dais.

“Overruled.” The judge returned to listening to the testimony, his chin in his large hand.

Judy nodded at Dr. Patel. “You may answer.”

“Yes, Mr. Coluzzi’s age and his osteoarthritis would render his neck fairly susceptible to such an injury.”

Judy decided to press it. “Before, Dr. Patel, you testified that his injury was like a whiplash injury from a car accident or Shaken Baby Syndrome from child abuse. Did I hear you correctly?”

“Yes.”

“But, just so the jury isn’t confused, isn’t it true that it would take far less than both of these examples to break the neck of Angelo Coluzzi, especially given his ailments and his age?”

“Yes, of course.” Dr. Patel turned to address the jury directly, as Judy was praying he would. “I didn’t mean to confuse anyone. I only meant to say this was in the same
family
of types of injury, not that it was caused the same way. The injury to the deceased could occur with very little force or violence, and it could happen in an instant.”

“As if, in a scuffle?” Judy offered, but Santoro was on his loafers.

“Objection, Your Honor, as to relevance.”

“Overruled,” Judge Vaughn said wearily, and Santoro sat down. It was more than Judy had hoped for. Her karma banks were kicking in. It must have been the pantyhose. Anybody who had to wear pantyhose every day deserved a break from the cosmos.

“You were saying, Dr. Patel. Could this type of injury, on an eighty-year-old man with osteoarthritis and arthritis, have occurred in a scuffle?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Dr. Patel,” Judy said, and meant it. She wouldn’t even need to call her own expert later. She had gotten what she needed from the Commonwealth’s. “No further questions.” Judy grabbed her notes and sat down as Santoro got up hastily and commanded the podium.

“Dr. Patel,” he asked, “could this injury also be caused by a violent push from the front, as in an attack?”

Judy let it lie. She knew the answer. It was what had happened, but it wasn’t the only thing that
could
have happened, which was all that mattered for reasonable doubt.

Dr. Patel thought a moment. “Yes, this injury could also have occurred from a violent push from the front, as in an attack.”

Santoro exhaled, obviously pleased. “Thank you, Dr. Patel.”

But Judy was pleased, too. She could be on her way to saving Pigeon Tony, if she could put a hurt on Jimmy Bello, who undoubtedly would come next.

43

J
immy Bello wore a dark silk tie, a bright white shirt, and a shiny gray suit for trial, which looked remarkably like Santoro’s. Judy assumed it wasn’t the thug aspiring to be a lawyer, but the other way around, and she hoped that everyone would stop wanting to be mobsters soon. She was completely over Mafia chic and was considering boycotting
The Sopranos
.

“Now, Mr. Bello,” Santoro was saying, “you have worked for the Coluzzi family for thirty-five years, correct?”

“Yeh.”

“And while Angelo Coluzzi was alive and running the construction company, you worked directly for him?”

“Yeh.”

“You knew him well?”

“Very.”

“He was a friend?”

“Yeh.”

Judy smiled to herself. If Santoro was trying to wring some emotion out of Fat Jimmy, he’d have to wring harder.

Santoro twisted his neck to free it from his tight collar. “Now, moving directly to the events on the morning of April seventeenth, you were with Angelo Coluzzi that morning, correct?”

“Yeh.”

“It was just the two of you, by the way?”

“Yeh.”

“Where did you go?”

“I drove Angelo to the club, ’cause he needed to get some bands.”

“Bands, what are they?”

“Steel bands, for his birds. His pigeons. For the next race. They’re numbered, like that, so you can’t cheat at the races.”

Judy noticed two of the jurors chuckling, and Santoro decided to move on, with good reason.

Santoro continued, “Mr. Bello, please tell the jury what happened at the pigeon club that morning.”

“Well, me and Angelo opened the place and Angelo went in the back room while I went to make some coffee. Instant, at the bar. That’s right near the back room. They got like a coil, you know. You plug it in and stick it in the mug, with the water.”

Santoro sighed, almost audibly. “Then what did you do?”

“I went to the bathroom while the water was gonna boil.”

“Then what happened?”

“When I came out I seen Tony Pensiera and Tony LoMonaco standing there and the water boiling in the mug. So they see me and they say, what are you doin’ here, and I say what are
you
doin’ here, and we both figure out that Pigeon Tony, I mean Tony Lucia, went in the back room to get his bands, where Angelo already was.”

Santoro raised a hand. “Did you hear anything at that point?”

“I heard Tony Lucia yell, ‘I’m gonna kill you,’ in Italian.”

Judy eyed the jury, which reacted instantly. A juror in the front row gasped; a homemaker, from Chestnut Hill. Judy prayed she didn’t end up as foreperson.

Santoro nodded. “And then what did you hear, Mr. Bello?”

“A big crash and then like a scream, a real bad scream. And then we ran in the back room and there was Angelo lying there dead near the shelves, and they were spilled onna floor.”

“What was defendant Lucia doing?”

“Tony Lucia was standing over Angelo, and then his friends got him outta there and then I called the cops.”

Judy glanced again at the jury, and several in the back looked upset. But out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed her client, and to her surprise, there were tears shining in his eyes. His lashes fluttered in embarrassment, then he focused quickly elsewhere.

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.”