Kitty Genovese: A True Account of a Public Murder and Its Private Consequences (34 page)

“And what else did you see?” Cacciatore asked.

“And then I heard the voice upstairs, suddenly the neighbor screaming something, and the man run away very fast.”

“He ran in what direction?”

“Near the bus stop.”

“Towards the bus stop?”

“The bus stop, yes.”

“This would have been the bus stop in front of the West Virginia Apartment house at 82-40 Austin Street, where Moseley had first parked his car. Frank Cacciatore asked if she could describe the man she saw.

“I could not see the face at all, but I saw he had a dark hat and a coat, he had a three-quarters coat.” She described the man as not very tall, thin and young.

“Now, did you also see the woman?” Cacciatore asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell us what she did, if anything?”

“After he run quick, the poor girl get up slowly and she screamed, ‘George,’ and ‘Help,’ and walking slowly toward the drugstore—pharmacy, and up towards the back street.”

“After that could you see her?”

“And I could not see her, no,” Picq replied.

“Did you see anything else? Did you see the man come back afterwards?”

“I was still at the window, scared, kind of frozen, and a few minutes after, that man came back, walking normally.”

“The same man?”

“As if nothing—yes, it did look the same—as if nothing happened, and walking by the parking lot and coming near the door of the
drugstore, and opened that door and looked a little bit in the drugstore and walked back and goes to the parking lot. He went to the train station. And then he came out again and left in the back and I did not see anything, but I heard the last two screams, ‘Help.’ ”

“You heard more screams after that?”

“The last two, ‘Help, help.’ That’s all I heard.”

Sparrow had no cross-examination. Before letting Andree Picq leave the stand, Judge Shapiro asked her, “This man that came back that you say was the same man, was he dressed the same way the second time you saw him as the first time you saw him?”

“It did seem—he had a hat on.”

Irene Frost, the prosecution’s final witness from the Mowbray Apartments, then took the stand. Frost lived in apartment 204. Cacciatore began by asking her what she had heard on the early morning of March 13.

“I heard a shriek. I got out of bed, went to the window, and I saw a man and a woman standing across the street. They were standing across the street. By the bookstore. I looked at them for a minute. Nothing happened, so I got back to bed. I happened to look at the clock at the time. It was 3:20.”

“Can you describe the man that you saw, Miss Frost?”

“At that time he looked just a bit taller than the girl, but they were standing close together, not fighting or anything. I got back in bed and I heard another scream. I got back up and went to the window and as I got there, she was kneeling down on the sidewalk and he was running up the street, towards the bus stop.

“The second time she screamed, ‘Please help me, God. Please help me. I have been stabbed,’ and he ran up the street. I was looking out one window. I have two windows in my bedroom. I went to the other one, so I could look up Austin Street. Then I went back to the front window, and she was on her knees. She got up. Then it looked like she was reaching for her purse. She bent down again and picked something up. I don’t know what it was. She walked down to the drugstore, walked along into the back of that building.”

“That is when you lost sight of her?” Judge Shapiro asked.

“Yes, when she went to the back of the building.”

“I show you this photograph, Miss Frost,” Cacciatore said, presenting a photo of the storefronts in the Tudor building, “and I ask you whether this fairly represents the area as you saw it and as you saw the woman on that early morning?”

“It was in front of this store,” she replied, indicating on the photo.

“Is that the bookstore in front of which you say they were standing?”the judge asked.

“Yes.”

“And in front of which she was kneeling?”

“She was kneeling in this area here, nearer the liquor store,” Frost answered.

“Miss Frost,” Cacciatore continued, presenting a longer shot of the Tudor, “I show you this photograph and ask you whether this fairly represents the physical layout as of the early morning of March 13, 1964?”

“Yes, sir, this is the corner she went around. I saw her when she disappeared back there.”

“Now Miss Frost, you say that you saw the girl go along the side of the parking lot after turning the corner of the drugstore, is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you saw her walking along there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now I show you this photograph, Miss Frost, and I ask you, are you familiar with that area which is the far corner?” Cacciatore asked, indicating the corner of the Tudor building by the Interlude Coffee Shop.

“It’s the back of the building,” Frost replied.

“Now could you see the girl up to this point before she turned the corner where the coffee shop is?”

“That’s right. She disappeared around this corner and then I didn’t see her anymore.”

“Now did you see the man after he ran from the location that you indicated in front of the store? Did you see him after that?”

“Only going up Austin Street beyond the Virginian (sic). On that same street as the Virginian (sic) Apartment, which is the railroad side of Austin.”

“Did you see him walking or riding or what?”

“Running.”

“And you didn’t see him after that?”

“No, sir.”

Sidney Sparrow did not cross-examine Irene Frost. Samuel Koshkin, resident of the West Virginia Apartments at 82-40 Austin Street, was called to the stand.

“Mr. Koshkin,” Frank Cacciatore asked, “on the early morning of March the 13th of 1964, did you hear anything?”

“Yes. I heard a woman screaming.”

“And what did you do then, sir?”

“I looked out the window facing Austin Street.”

Judge Shapiro inquired, “You are on the opposite side of the street from where these other witnesses lived? You live on the same side of the street where the bookstore is?”

“That’s right,” Koshkin answered.

After establishing the location of Koshkin’s apartment building—past the railroad parking lot, opposite the Tudor building—Frank Cacciatore asked, “Your apartment is on what floor?”

“Sixth,” Koshkin replied.

“And you have windows facing Austin Street, is that so?”

“That’s right.”

“You have a window facing the parking lot, and you have a window facing the railroad? So there’s three sides really?”

“Yes.”

“What window did you look out of?”

“The Austin Street window, the bus stop.”

“There’s a bus stop immediately below?”

“That’s right.”

“Tell us what you saw, sir?”

“I looked out the window and I saw a man hurrying to his car, a little car parked under my window. It was a compact, light-colored compact.”

“And did you see him get in?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What else did you see him do?”

“Well, I thought he would pull out—”

“Not what you thought,” the judge interrupted. “Tell us what you saw him do.”

“He backed into 82nd Road.”

“Did you see the car then after he backed into 82nd Road?” Judge Shapiro asked.

“No,” Koshkin answered. Using the chart prepared by the police engineer, he indicated the path Moseley’s car had taken that night.

“All right now,” Cacciatore said, “did you continue watching from that window?”

“I did.”

“Will you tell us, please, did you observe anything else after you lost sight of the car?”

“The man came back again, about five minutes later I’d say, and was looking—”

“Did he appear to be the same person?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Can you describe the clothing as you saw it?”

“He wore a three-quarter-length coat. When he came back he wore a fedora.”

“What did he have on the first time?” Cacciatore asked.

“The first time he had on a knitted cap when he got into the car.”

“And then he was wearing a fedora?”

“A fedora when he came back.”

Cacciatore wanted this detail firmly in the minds of the jury. Moseley had changed hats between attacks, from a stocking cap to a brimmed hat that might better disguise his features. For the prosecution, this attempt to hide his identity clearly indicated that Winston Moseley knew that what he was doing was wrong.

Cacciatore asked Samuel Koshkin what Moseley had done when he returned.

“He was looking around the area.”

“When you say looking around, just where did he look?”

“He looked in the doorway near the drugstore. And then he went to the railroad station and looked in there.”

Cacciatore entered another photograph into evidence before continuing. He had the witness confirm locations, giving the jury a step-by-step visual of Moseley’s movements. The prosecutor built a meticulous reenactment of the crime. He wanted the jury to know exactly what Winston Moseley had done that night, and how.

“Now, you said that you saw him near the drugstore,” Cacciatore proceeded, “and you saw him go where then after that?”

“Towards the back of the building,” Koshkin answered.

“The corner of that is the coffee shop, is that right? What do they call that, a beatnik—”

“An espresso house.”

“Espresso house. Then you said you lost sight of him?”

“When he went behind the building.”

“Now before that, did you see him do anything with his hands?”

“When he came back, he had his hand in his mouth I think. He had his fingers in his mouth, two or three fingers in his mouth.”

“Now,” Cacciatore said, “on the early morning of March the 19th, were you at the location of Austin Street and the parking lot?”

“I was,” Koshkin replied. “The police had a man there, handcuffed, and they were looking around the area.”

“What time was that?” Judge Shapiro asked.

“4:30 I’d say.”

“Same morning?”

“This is March 19th,” Cacciatore cut in. “Six days later.”

“Six days later,” the witness agreed.

“Tell us, please, what you saw?” Cacciatore asked.

“I saw the same man, I thought, looking around, pointing out different places and so forth.”

This also was important to establish; that Moseley had had the clarity of mind to point out to the police, in detail, exactly where each stage of the crime had occurred.

Once again—and to the relief of the prosecution—Sparrow declined cross-examination. His defense did not rest on disputing any of the mechanics of the crime, nor on any attempts to transfer ill feeling to the witnesses who had watched events unfold. In this
strategy the prosecution and the defense were of the same mind-set, though for starkly different reasons; they wanted the horror focused squarely on the defendant.

Milkman Edward Fiesler took the stand. Using the chart, he indicated for the jury where he had stopped on Austin Street on the early morning of March 13 to make a delivery at the grocery store that sat next to the corner drugstore.

“Now, across the street is a building called the Mowbray, isn’t that so?” Cacciatore asked.

“That’s right,” Fiesler answered.

“Were there any cars parked along that side of the street?”

“No cars at all.”

“Were there any people on that street at all while you were making the delivery?”

“Just one person I had seen.”

“Now, where was that person coming from?”

“Coming from Lefferts Boulevard,” Fiesler answered.

“And as you saw that person, did you look at him?” Cacciatore asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Was there any lights at that location?”

“Yes, there was.”

“Had no trouble looking, right?”

“No, sir.”

“Anything obstructing your view?”

“No.”

“Now, when you looked, you saw a man, is that so?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you see that person in this courtroom?”

The witness pointed at Winston Moseley. He indicated the direction that Moseley had walked. As for the time, he placed it somewhere between 3:15 and 3:45 a.m., but said he could not be more specific than that, as he had not looked at a watch.

The prosecution called Sophie Farrar.

Wearing a simple suit, she strode confidently down the center aisle of the courtroom and took the witness seat. Prosecutor Frank
Cacciatore asked what she had heard during the early morning of March 13.

“I heard a scream,” Sophie replied.

“Now, your windows face on Austin Street, is that so?”

“Yes.”

“And did you look out the window?”

“Yes, I did. I didn’t open it. I stood near the window and I looked. I saw nothing, and then I listened and I didn’t hear anything, and I went back to bed,” Sophie said.

“Sometime later, did something happen?”

“Yes.”

“How long—how much later?”

“Well, not too long, because I wasn’t sleeping. About fifteen minutes, I’d say—approximately. The phone rang.”

“And after you had that conversation with someone, what did you do?” Cacciatore asked.

“I ran downstairs. To 82-62 Austin Street.”

“Is that in the rear of the building?”

“Yes.”

“Is there an apartment that goes up?”

“There are two apartments up there,” Sophie answered.

“Upstairs.”

“Yes.”

“Now, you went to 82-62, and what did you see, please?”

“I saw Kitty Genovese laying down; she was stretched out in the hall,” Sophie answered. “Her head was toward the door. She was stretched out on her back, and her clothes were all torn, or ripped, and she was all exposed. Her shoes were off, and she—”

Judge Shapiro interrupted. “All exposed; you mean her private parts were exposed?”

“Yes, top and bottom,” Sophie answered.

“Did you notice anything else with respect to her body?” Cacciatore asked.

“No, I didn’t look that closely.”

“Did you go up to her?”

“Yes; oh, definitely.”

“Was she alive?”

“Yes, she was.”

“Did she talk to you?”

“No, she didn’t,” said Sophie. “She was just moaning. I was talking to her.”