“Yes. He didn’t want to, but he did.”
Pigeon Tony was shaking his head with regret. “Sorry, Judy. He no stop. He ask, ask, ask, ask. He scream and yell. He no give up. Like father.”
But Frank ignored him. “He also told me about my parents’ truck, which you found, and have, incredibly enough—and the report you got from an expert who examined the wreck. You know more about my parents’ death than I do, Judy. You knew all along. And you didn’t tell me!”
“I couldn’t. It was privileged.”
“Bullshit!” Frank raised his voice, then glanced nervously at the conference room door. “You could have told me! I don’t want to hear about this privilege shit!” Frank caught himself and lowered his voice. “You’re not my lawyer. You’re supposed to be my lover. My friend. Everything. I took that seriously, but evidently you didn’t.”
Judy went hot with embarrassment. She didn’t want to be having this conversation in a courthouse, in front of other people, much less Bennie, so she said as much.
“This is the time and place, Judy, and you didn’t tell me about my parents’ murder because you were afraid I’d retaliate. You both were!” Frank cast a scornful glance that managed to encompass both Judy and Pigeon Tony. “That’s why you two kept your mouth shut. You both decided what my reaction should be, and it wasn’t the one you wanted, so you didn’t tell me. But that wasn’t for either of you to decide. They were my parents! I am their only son! I had a right to know they were murdered.”
“But we don’t know that they were!” Judy couldn’t help but shout. “Think logically. Coluzzi told your grandfather he killed them, and I didn’t tell you that. Granted. But before you go off half-cocked, you should understand that there’s no proof that Coluzzi was telling the truth. I don’t think he did it.”
Pigeon Tony was nodding. “He did it.”
“He did it!” Frank agreed.
“You don’t know that,” Judy said. “In fact, I have, or had, tapes of Coluzzi discussing the night your parents had the accident. There’s not a word on them about the murder or your parents. Nothing.”
“Tapes, from where?” Frank demanded, and even Pigeon Tony looked over. She hadn’t mentioned the tapes to either of them. “What tapes? Videotapes?”
“Phone tapes.”
“Phone tapes? Of Coluzzi? Who was he discussing it with?”
Judy thought better of it. She didn’t want Frank attacking Jimmy Bello, not before she had her chance with him on cross-examination. “It doesn’t matter. But I had them, and they said nothing. And the expert I hired said the accident was only an accident, as did the cops. They can’t all be wrong, Frank. Use your head, not your heart.”
But Frank’s anger became unfocused. “Who was Coluzzi on the phone with? Who? And where did you get the tapes?”
“I’m not telling you that, and you have to trust me. They don’t prove anything. Nothing proves anything. I think it was an accident. I didn’t think it before that accident expert, but now I do.”
“I don’t need proof. Coluzzi admitted it.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. Think about it.”
Frank threw up his hands. “Why would he say it if he didn’t do it?”
“To drive your grandfather crazy. To make him nuts. To take credit for something he didn’t do, with false bravado.” Judy felt calmer. The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. “There are a million explanations, Frank. Coluzzi was a sadist.”
“He did it!”
“He did it,” Pigeon Tony echoed, and Bennie shot him a dirty look.
Judy got fed up. “Look, Frank, I’m in the middle of a murder trial right now. So this isn’t about you or your parents, as sorry as I am for their deaths. Right now it’s about your grandfather, who is charged with murder, and it doesn’t look so good for the good guys. Or the bad guys. Whoever we are.” It was a little confusing.
Frank swallowed, visibly dry-mouthed, and Judy saw her opening and went for it, as much as it hurt her to shut him down.
“You want to know the truth, Frank? You can read it. I’ll give you the files tonight. My file, the police file, the whole thing. You want to, you can even talk to the expert. He’s completely impartial. He said the guardrail was too low to be safe and there was no foul play. But right now I have a client to defend and you are not helping him—or me—in the least.”
Frank’s features went stiff and he looked down at Pigeon Tony, whose tiny face sagged between his hands. Frank stood still for a minute, then his sigh was audible. “Fine. We’ll discuss it later.”
Judy figured it was the closest an Italian man could come to an apology. “And you won’t get crazy until we do.”
“I didn’t promise that.”
“It wasn’t a question,” Judy said, and let it drop. Frank wasn’t nuts enough to be thinking about murder, was he? And who would he kill? Angelo Coluzzi was already dead. “Now let’s get back to court, where all I have to fight with is the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.” Judy glanced at Bennie. “You have anything to tell me before we go back in there?”
“Nope. You’re the boss, boss,” Bennie said, with a relieved smile, and Judy breathed in the encouragement.
“Then let’s go kick some ass.”
On the witness stand in a three-piece suit of light gray wool, Dr. Patel made the same professional picture Judy remembered from the medical examiner’s office. Glossy black hair, large brown eyes behind glasses, a pleasant smile, and a British accent that enhanced the impressiveness of his qualifications. He could have ordered a cheese pizza and sounded smart.
“Now, Dr. Patel, you were the assistant medical examiner who examined the body of Angelo Coluzzi, were you not?” Santoro asked.
“Yes.”
“And you prepared a report of that postmortem examination, did you not?”
“I did.”
Santoro approached the witness stand. “May I approach, Your Honor?” he said needlessly, as Vaughn nodded. “I am showing you a copy of your report on the examination of Angelo Coluzzi, and I ask you to identify it, Dr. Patel.”
“It is mine.”
Santoro moved the report into evidence without objection and addressed the witness. “Please describe briefly for the jury your examination, in layman’s terms, if you would.”
“Briefly, the first step in an autopsy is the external examination,” Dr. Patel began, then described in detail the procedure that Judy had witnessed at the morgue, beginning with the inspection of the deceased’s clothes, and ending with the weighing and sectioning of the internal organs. It sounded even more revolting in description, with the imagination working its wizardry. By the time Dr. Patel was finished, Santoro was pulling out autopsy photos like a proud father.
Judy half rose. “Objection, Your Honor, as to prejudice.”
“Overruled,” Judge Vaughn said. It was by now established law that the Commonwealth had the right to gross out the jury.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Santoro said, and he moved the exhibits into evidence without further objection. He set the first one before Dr. Patel and broadcast it on the overhead projector. “Dr. Patel, you see before you Commonwealth Exhibit Ten. Is this, in fact, the body of the deceased, Angelo Coluzzi?”
“It is.”
“Dr. Patel, did you form an opinion, to a reasonable degree of medical certainty, as to the cause of death of Angelo Coluzzi?”
“I did.”
“What was your opinion, Doctor?”
“I found that it was homicide, and that the cause of death was a fracture to the spinal column, at C3, in the cervical vertebra.”
“And how did you determine this, Doctor?”
“By inspection and by X ray.”
Santoro looked grave, and Judy had the sense that he’d practiced. “What was the mechanism of death, sir?”
“Death resulted from a blunt-force injury, that is, a rapid forward snap that broke the neck. Death was instantaneous.”
Santoro nod
ded. “Dr. Patel, just so the jury understands, when is this type of injury often seen?”
“This injury is similar to the whiplash type of injury one sees in auto accidents, when a car is struck from behind, or even in child abuse cases, with so-called Shaken Baby Syndrome. In this family of injury, undue stresses are placed on the cervical spine, and it ruptures, as it did in the case of the deceased.”
Judy made a note. She should have objected but she hadn’t seen it coming. She didn’t want Angelo Coluzzi equated with a baby in the jury’s mind.
Santoro changed to a slide of the top half of Angelo Coluzzi’s body, showing the neck and shoulders. The head was hideously askew. The jury reacted instantly. “Dr. Patel, I show you Commonwealth Exhibit Eleven. What does this view tell us?”
“It shows the looseness of the neck, which is clearly at an abnormal angle, as it is now severed from the shoulders. A broken neck can be difficult to detect. There is often little bruising, so X rays are indicated to confirm the conclusion.”
Santoro showed the slide of an X ray, which he moved into evidence, and Judy didn’t object, as repetitive as it was. She would lose anyway, and in fact the X ray was abstract in a way the photographs weren’t, reducing the whole human being to a black-and-white segment. If anything, it was a relief from the autopsy photos, and the jury returned to the fold. Judy bet Santoro wouldn’t have it up there long.
“Dr. Patel, I now show you Commonwealth Exhibit Twelve. What does this teach us?”
Dr. Patel shifted around and lifted a steel pointer from the witness stand. “As you can see, the human vertebrae interlock almost like a thick chain, except that one of the links has been broken.” He pointed to a break in the chain. “It determines positively that the spinal column has been broken.”
“Thank you.” Santoro nodded. “I have no further questions.”
Judy stood up, armed with notes and a report from an expert osteopath she had worked with in preparation for trial. “Good afternoon, Dr. Patel. My name is Judy Carrier, and if you recall, I was present at the postmortem of Mr. Coluzzi.”
“Yes, hello, Ms. Carrier.” Dr. Patel smiled.
“I have only a few questions for you. Dr. Patel, do you recall the age of Angelo Coluzzi at the time of his death?”
Dr. Patel nodded. “He was eighty, I believe.”
“In your opinion, how are the bones of an eighty-year-old man different from those of, let’s say, a thirty-year-old man?”
“Well, the bone mass of older people is, in general, markedly different from that of younger people. Bones become more brittle as we age. They lose mass and resiliency.” Dr. Patel cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his chair when he looked in Santoro’s direction. Judy could guess that the D.A. wasn’t happy with the lecture, but Dr. Patel was his own man, a dangerous thing in an expert.
“Specifically, how is the spine of an eighty-year-old man different from that of, let’s say, a thirty-year-old man?”
“Like other bones, the spine weakens with age in general, becoming more fragile. This is because the vertebrae lose some of their mineral content, making each bone thinner. Also, between each pair of vertebrae, the intervertebral disk, a gel-like cushion, loses fluid gradually, making these thinner as well. The spinal column therefore becomes curved and compressed. In addition, as we age, the likelihood of arthritis and osteoarthritis increases.”
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
Jimmy 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 th
at 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.