"I reported back to Tommy."
"And shortly after that, you became a captain yourself?"
"Yes." He nodded. "After about two months."
"And did Mr. Cavello say anything about why you had been made a captain in such a short time?"
The witness stared across the room. Toward Cavello. "He made a joke that I wouldn't be buying any property in the Poconos anytime soon."
Even now, Cavello seemed to find the line amusing.
"Thank you, Mr. Denunziatta." The prosecutor closed his notes and went to his seat. "One more thing." He turned back. "Did Louis Machia ever find out what became of his buddy?"
Ralphie lowered his eyes. "No, Mr. Goldenberger, Louie never knew what happened to Stevie."
Chapter 32
ANDIE TRIED TO RELAX in her motel room that night, but it wasn't happening.
She found Denunziatta's testimony that day pretty unsettling. The more she heard, the more she was developing an intense hatred for Dominic Cavello, even though she knew she was supposed to remain objective. She lay on her bed, leafing through a Vanity Fair, but her thoughts went to Stevie, the trusting wannabe, with his toothbrush and a change of shorts in his little travel bag, thinking he was going to the Poconos to lie low. Cut the fat fuck up and stuff him in a can for all I care.
She was feeling so alone. Some detective show was playing low in the background on the TV. She reached for the phone and dialed Jarrod at her sister's.
"Hey, hon," Andie said, brightening already.
"Hey, Mom!" Jarrod answered. It was great just to hear his voice. Talking to Jarrod always cheered her up. They were buddies.
"How's it going, guy? Auntie Rita treating you okay? She feeding you?"
"Yeah. Everyone's real nice here. The food is great."
"So it's not so bad after all, staying with your cousins?"
"I guess. It's just that . . ." Jarrod's voice grew soft. "Why do you have to be there, Mom?"
"Because they're making us stay out here so we can really concentrate on the case. So no one will interrupt us."
"People at school are saying it's so this Mafia guy doesn't come after us. Try to hurt us."
Andie sat up and flicked the TV off. "Well the people at school are wrong, Jarrod. No one's coming after us." It was one thing if she had to be out here, totally separated and alone. It was another thing for her nine-year-old to be sucked into this.
She tried to lift his spirits. "Anyway, how many kids get to ride in a police car with a real FBI honcho?"
"Yeah, I guess. That was cool."
There was silence between them for a few seconds.
"Guess what?" she said. "I spoke with the powers that be. They said you can come down here for the night next Tuesday-- for your birthday. I hear there's some pretty good Italian food out here in Jersey."
That did the trick. Jarrod was over the moon. "Can I stay over?"
"Yep, Jar, I cleared that, too. They even said they'd ride you back to school in a police car in the morning."
"That sounds great! I miss you, Mom."
"Me too, Jarrod. I miss you more." Andie moved the phone away a little and covered her mouth. She knew her voice was about to crack, and she didn't want Jarrod to hear that.
I miss you more than you'll ever know.
Chapter 33
WE BROUGHT IN three more strong witnesses on Friday and Monday. Each built up the case against Dominic Cavello; each dug the blade in deeper and deeper.
One was Thomas Mussina, the famous Tommy Moose, Ralphie D.'s boss. He was currently in the Witness Protection Program.
Mussina backed up everything that Machia and Ralphie had previously testified: that Cavello had given the direct order to murder Sam Greenblatt; that Tommy was actually driving him around, in his gray Lincoln, just blocks from the scene; that after they heard the shots and saw their guys speeding away, all Cavello did was wipe his hands and say, "So that's done. How 'bout some eggs?"
Mussina also corroborated Denunziatta's story about what happened to Stevie. He used the exact same words: "Stevie's gotta go."
Then he told the jury about a dancer, Gloria, who worked at a fancy strip club Cavello owned in Rockland County, New York. Gloria bragged to one of the other girls that she had squirreled away thirty thousand dollars in cash. Her "I-70 fund," she called it. One day she was going to take her daughter and just drive west, start a new life.
Tommy Mussina told the jury, "When Mr. Cavello heard this he got mad as hell. He thought this chick was stealing from him. So he sent a couple of guys to her apartment. They screwed her, strangled her, and tossed the body in a Dumpster. Luckily the kid was at school."
"They found the money?" Goldenberger asked.
"Yeah." Mussina nodded. "Stuffed inside a suitcase in a closet. Thirty grand, just like Gloria had said. They brought it back to Mr. Cavello."
"Why?"
"He wanted it." Mussina shrugged. "He laughed, said, 'What was once Caesar's belongs to Caesar.' I was there."
Vintage Cavello. Coldhearted and unnecessary. Over-the-top cruel.
"So in the end," the prosecutor said, shaking his head sadly, "did the money turn out to be stolen after all?"
"Nah. She saved it up just like she'd said. Mr. Cavello ended up giving it back to the family as a fund for Gloria's kid. He got a good laugh out of that one. It was the girl's own dough."
Chapter 34
AFTER MUSSINA'S TESTIMONY, the jury members filed into the jury room for lunch. No one seemed particularly hungry. "You see that asshole sitting there?" Hector shook his head angrily. "He barely moves a muscle. Like he's got the world under control. Even us."
"Well, he won't have it under control much longer if I have anything to do with it." Rosella crossed herself. "God rest his soul. In hell."
Andie sat down. She glanced at Marc. The writer was just leaning on the windowsill, staring out at lower Manhattan.
"That poor dancer. Some getaway fund, huh? I have a little boy. That could've been me at another time in my life," Andie said.
Marc nodded sympathetically. "Which club was it you said you danced at?"
"Very funny." Andie scrunched up her face. But at least the joke broke the tension. One by one, people began to smile and sit down. They passed out plates.
"After this is over we should all meet. I know this farm in the Poconos," John O'Flynn said, piling cold cuts onto his bread.
Winston, the mechanic, laughed. "Yeah, just watch out for all the large mounds of dirt."
Lorraine let one of her loud, high-pitched giggles go. That set everybody off. It was amazing that after all the grisly testimony they could just kick back and laugh.
"Lorraine," Andie said, "I have a dare for you. We all put ten bucks into a kitty, and the next time the Eyebrow makes one of those ridiculous statements about Cavello being a good citizen, you let rip one of your laughs."
"That would be priceless." O'Flynn cackled. "I'm in. I think even Judge Seiderman would get a charge out of it."
Lorraine must've liked the image, because she let another one loose. Shrill and penetrating. Everybody laughed even louder than the first time.
Andie had to admit that over the past week she had gotten close to these people. Maybe it was the nature of what they were doing. Sharing the same room, hearing the same sick, unsettling testimony.
She looked around the room. "Listen, it's my kid's birthday tomorrow. I arranged for him to come back with us and spend the night. What do you guys say about soda and cake in my room after dinner?"
"Hey, a party," O'Flynn said, nodding for all of them.
"We'll get party hats and noisemakers!" Rosella exclaimed. "Like New Year's Eve. Be a birthday he'll never forget."
"Courtesy of the United States government," Marc said. "They owe us something after all this, right? What's the little guy's name?"
"Jarrod." Andie smiled. "That's great. Thank you, guys. There's just one other thing. I kinda promised you'd all bring presents."
&n
bsp; Chapter 35
I WATCHED THE JURY file back in for the afternoon session. Minutes later, another star witness was on the stand. He was an ex-mobster named Joseph Zaro, a former union official in the Local 407. The 407 was the contracting union Cavello controlled in New Jersey.
Zaro explained how for years contractors were squeezed for payoffs to get building contracts. How it literally took a hundred thousand dollars in a suitcase dropped at union headquarters if you even wanted workers to show up for the job. Or, if a contractor wanted a mix of union and nonunion labor to save money, that cost you 20 percent of the savings up front.
For years, we knew it was the biggest racket going in New Jersey, and that Cavello was literally skimming millions off the top. We just couldn't catch him.
"How many contracts did you rig for Mr. Cavello?" Joel Goldenberger asked Zaro.
"Dozens. Hundreds?" The witness shrugged. "And there were two other guys like me doing the exact same job."
"The exact same job? Meaning extortion?" Joel Goldenberger pressed him.
The witness shrugged again as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Yeah."
"And what would happen," the prosecutor asked, "if the contractor refused to pay?"
"Then they wouldn't get no labor, Mr. Goldenberger."
"And if they still refused to pay? Or if they used outside workers?"
"You mean outside our union?" the witness asked.
"Yes."
Zaro looked around blankly for a second; then he scratched his head. "You understand, we were talking Dominic Cavello here, Mr. Goldenberger. I don't think I ever recall that happening."
A few people around the courtroom laughed.
Goldenberger smiled, too. "So this was basically a monopoly? Mr. Cavello over there could dictate terms to the entire construction business?"
"There wasn't a building went up in north Jersey, and parts of New York, that Dominic Cavello didn't get a piece of." The witness laughed out loud.
Even Cavello seemed to curl a smile at that one. As if he was proud of his business acumen. We had him dead to rights. Murder. Union tampering. Fraud. You could read it on every face in the courtroom. You could even read it on Cavello's face, beneath the cold stare that seemed to say, This doesn't bother me at all.
Now the prosecution had one final witness, one who could testify about an even uglier side of Cavello. One who could drive the nail into his coffin for good.
Me.
Chapter 36
I TOOK THE STAND the next afternoon.
"Please state your name." Joel Goldenberger stood up and faced me. "And what your association is with this trial."
"Nicholas Pellisante," I said. "I'm an SAC in the New York office of the FBI. I'm the head of a unit known as C-10. We oversee organized crime."
"Thank you. And in your role as head of this unit, Agent Pellisante, you are the senior law enforcement agent on the investigation into Dominic Cavello, is that correct?"
"That's correct." I nodded. "Other than the assistant director and the director."
"The assistant director and the director?" Goldenberger cocked his head. "You mean of the New York office?"
"No, Mr. Goldenberger." I paused, then moistened my lips with a sip of water. "Of the entire FBI."
Goldenberger looked impressed. "Those are pretty good credentials, Special Agent Pellisante. Now, you haven't always held this position, have you, sir?"
"No. Before that I was an agent on the task force for five years. Prior to that I taught a class in criminal anthropology at Columbia. I also worked at the Justice Department in DC for three years. And before that I was in law school."
"And you hold a law degree from where, Mr. Pellisante?"
I played along because this was designed to set me up as even more impressive to the jury. I took another sip of water. "Columbia."
"So you've been investigating organized crime for how many years?"
"Eleven. Five as a special agent. Six as the special agent in charge."
"So it's fair to say, in the course of your experience, you've come across some pretty bad people, isn't that right?"
"The absolute worst. The Colombian drug cartels, Cosa Nostra, the Russian mob. I think I've looked into some of the most corrupt and violent organizations on the planet. My specialty, I guess."
Goldenberger smiled politely. "And in the course of these investigations, how would the defendant, Dominic Cavello, rank in terms of your experience?"
"Rank?"
"In terms of the criminal behavior you've investigated."
I cleared my throat. "Mr. Cavello is the most ruthless and cold-blooded killer we've ever looked into. He's personally ordered the deaths of over thirty people we can directly tie him to. He is an evil human being."
"Objection!" Hy Kaskel shot up. I expected that. "The defendant is not being charged with any of these alleged homicides. The government's investigations and pet theories are not of interest to this court."
"Correction, Your Honor." Joel Goldenberger waved. "The government will rephrase. I guess what I'm asking is, does your experience with this man go beyond just your investigation? You've had personal experience, haven't you, Agent Pellisante? You've seen Mr. Cavello's brutality firsthand?"
"Yes." My gaze shifted to Cavello. I wanted him to feel my eyes. I'd waited a long time to say these next words.
"I've personally witnessed Mr. Cavello commit murder. Twice."
Chapter 37
I'D ASSEMBLED HUNDREDS of wiretaps and recorded conversations as part of my testimony, but we just started with my story, what I had seen myself.
"Would you describe for this court the events surrounding Dominic Cavello's arrest?" Goldenberger asked me.
I glanced toward Manny Oliva's wife, Carol, who was sitting in the first row. I was glad she was here for this.
"We had been told that Cavello was going to attend his niece's wedding at the South Fork Club in Montauk on July 23, 2004. We had multiple warrants outstanding."
"You had tried to arrest Mr. Cavello before?"
"Yes. Cavello had gone underground, though. He was a threat to leave the country."
"So you staked out the wedding on this tip. Can you describe for the court some of the other agents who assisted you there?"
"Sure." I swallowed back some emotion. I talked about Manny first. "Manny Oliva was my ASAC at C-10 for three years. I took him right out of Quantico. I brought him up through the ranks. He and his wife had just had twin girls."
"And Edward C. Sinclair, he was with you there as well?"
"Ed Sinclair was as exemplary a special agent as we had in the unit," I said. I nodded to his wife, Maryanne, and his son, Bart, in the seats next to Carol Oliva.
"So can you paint the picture for the jury, Agent Pellisante?" Joel Goldenberger placed a blown-up aerial photograph of the scene on an easel across from the jury box. "Agents Oliva and Sinclair are where in the stakeout?"
I walked over and took a pointer. "They were on the beach, outside the club grounds, blocking any escape." I described how Cavello had disguised himself as an old man in a wheelchair. How, as my special agents moved in, he jumped out of the chair, trying to escape. How he shot one of my agents who was posing as a waiter, Steve Taylor.
"He ran down toward the beach. Manny and Ed were in position. Here. I radioed ahead that he was headed toward them."
"Can you describe what happened next? I know this is difficult for you, Agent Pellisante, and for the family members of the agents who are present in the courtroom."
"I heard a volley of shots." I clenched my teeth. "I counted five--two quick ones, then three in rapid succession. I ran down from my position over the dunes and saw the bodies in the sand."
There wasn't a sound in the courtroom. I looked away from the easel, and every eye was focused on me.
"Then what did you do?" Goldenberger asked.
"I went over to the bodies." I cleared my throat. "Manny was dead. He'd been shot in the head. E
d was hit in the chest and neck. He was bleeding profusely. I could see he was dying."
"And did you see Dominic Cavello?"
"He was running down the beach, trying to get away. He'd been hit in the shoulder. I could make out what looked to be a gun. He was headed toward a helicopter on a promontory. I radioed for help, and we called in a helicopter from a Coast Guard cruiser offshore to block Cavello's escape.
"Then I went after him and fired my weapon, hitting him in the thigh. In the time I was calling for help he must've hurled the gun into the ocean."
"So you never found a weapon?"
"No." I shook my head. "We never did."
"But you have no doubt who killed your agents, do you?"
"None whatsoever." I shook my head. I looked squarely at the defendant. "Dominic Cavello. There was no one else near Ed and Manny when I heard those shots. And the bullet they removed from Cavello's shoulder was from Ed's gun."
"Just to be perfectly clear"--the prosecutor turned and raised his voice--“do you see the man you chased on the dunes that day? The man you saw running away from the dead agents' bodies?"
"That's him," I said, gesturing toward the second row. "Dominic Cavello."
For the entire trial Cavello had gazed stoically ahead, but now he was focused on me.
And I found out why.
Suddenly Cavello leaped out of his chair. He pulled himself up on the table like some enraged madman. His face was red, the veins in his neck about to explode.
"Fuck you, Pellisante! You son of a whore! You lying piece of shit!"
Chapter 38
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT was total bedlam.
"Lying bastards!" Cavello bellowed in a hoarse, crazed voice. He slammed his fist on the table, sending papers and documents flying.
"And fuck you to this court!" He glared at the judge. "You have no hold on me. You think you have, because you've bribed a few of my old enemies to carry your lunch pails. But you don't have shit. I have you!"