Rothstein (43 page)

And McManus, who might have seriously embarrassed his prosecutor by forcing him to show on what grounds he was being charged with the capital crime, smiled and agreed to the delay.

He also smiled 20 or 30 times, nodded his head at his friends and even waved familiarly at detectives who are supposed to be trying to send him to the chair.

And of course, District Attorney Banton smiled, the detectives smiled, and all in all it was quite a happy occasion even though nothing happened.

Nothing happened for the longest time. True, in early December 1928, Banton indicted McManus, Hyman Biller, and “John Doe” and “Richard Roe” for firstdegree murder, but police never located Biller, never identified “Roe” or “Doe.” Yet, while McManus (a former fugitive from justice) gained his freedom on $50,000 bail on March 27, 1929, Bridget Farry languished in the Tombs. Someone clearly didn’t like what she had to say about George McManus. So while an accused murderer walked city streets freely, she-unaccused of any crime-remained behind bars as a material witness. In April 1929 she finally got the message-and obtained her freedom on $15,000 bond.

McManus used his freedom to repay Jimmy Hines, working with Dutch Schultz, to reelect Hines’s puppet 13th Assembly District leader Andrew B. Keating. McManus could sympathize with Keating. After Keating failed to shake down newly nominated Magistrate Andrew Macrery for a $10,000 bribe, he had campaign worker Edward V. Broderick beat the judge to death. Keating won his primary.

Meanwhile, investigators continued to sift gingerly through A. R.‘s private financial files. District Attorney Banton assigned Assistant District Attorney Albert B. Unger and a police lieutenant Oliver to examine Rothstein’s file, but soon Banton realized he wanted no part of their contents. There was too much there. Too many transactions. Too many names. Too many politicians. Too many cops. Too many celebrities.

Too much trouble.

Within two days, he announced to the press he was pulling Unger and Oliver off the case: “Mr. Unger called me up today and said it was a dreary job and would take at least three weeks.”

This stunned reporters. “But,” they asked, “you yourself told us … it would take three weeks to sift the files.”

Banton possessed a remarkable ability to remain unembarrassed. “I know … ,” he answered. “Mr. Burkan and his accountants have promised to turn over to me anything that is important.”

Nathan Burkan, one of the city’s better lawyers, was also among the nation’s finest theatrical and intellectual-property attorneys. His clientele included major movie studios, as well as celebrities Victor Herbert, Charlie Chaplin, Flo Ziegfeld, and Mae West. More significantly, Burkan was also a Tammany leader and a member of Tammany’s finance and executive committees-and served as an attorney for the Rothstein estate. Nathan Burkan’s job would keep any incriminating documents from seeing the light of day, anything that might embarrass Tammany and its friends.

The case dragged on. Nineteen twenty-nine was a mayoral election year, and while Jimmy Walker appeared unbeatable, he didn’t believe in taking unnecessary chances. McManus’s trial was scheduled for October 15, but blueblood judge Charles C. Nott cooperated by announcing he would not allow a trial before the election, moving it to November 12.

Gentleman Jimmy’s mistress Betty Compton was busy at rehearsals of Cole Porter’s new play, Fifty Million Frenchmen. On election night, a cop appeared backstage. He lifted Betty into his arms and carried her outside. Walker and Police Commissioner Whelan sat in a parked car, grinning with excitement. Walker told her the news: He had crushed LaGuardia 865,000 votes to 368,000, carrying every assembly district in the city. It seemed safe to be bold, safe to finally bring George McManus to trial.

People v. McManus began on Monday, November 18. The trial was a farce. District Attorney Banton, by now a lame duck, never appeared in court. He delegated the case to his chief assistant, Ferdinand Pecora, and two other subordinates. James D. C. Murray-he was the one who had phoned Cordes to arrange Big George’s surrender-represented McManus. Murray, brother of Archbishop of St. Paul-Minneapolis Gregory Murray, wasn’t flashy, but he was brilliant-“as clever as a cat,” an associate once remarked, “and will jump like a flash the minute he spots an opening. You can’t turn your back on Murray for a second.” Brilliance-plus Jimmy Hines’s money and muscle-was a tough combination to beat.

Especially when facing a prosecution that lacked the will to connect the considerable number of dots they possessed-or that downplayed their significance. Call Ruth Keyes to the stand to paint a word picture for the jurors as to just how drunk and out of control George McManus was that night? Nah. Jim Murray already conceded their presence in Room 349-no need to summon Mrs. Keyes from Chicago.

Or consider this. The murder weapon, a vital link to Room 349, was thrown through a window screen in that room and found in the street below. Assistant District Attorney George N. Brothers deliberately cast doubt on his own train of evidence, saying in his opening argument: “whether this pistol was thrown out of the window or thrown in the street by some one in flight we don’t know [emphasis added].

Or thrown in the street by some one in flight? The revolver had not been tossed away by anyone on foot or in a speeding automobile. It landed with such force-thrown as it were from a third-story window-that police ballistics experts had to straighten out its barrel before test firing it.

In any murder case, it is solicitous to establish motive, all the more so in one relying so highly on circumstantial evidence. In his halfhour, frequently interrupted, opening statement, Assistant District Attorney Brothers promised to “show that ill feeling resulting from this game [at Jimmy Meehan’s] was the cause of the shooting of Arnold Rothstein.”

Reasonable enough, except that every witness he produced-Nate Raymond, Sam and Meyer Boston, Martin Bowe, Titanic Thompsonnow swore there were no hard feelings. Meyer Boston portrayed his friend George as a cheerful loser, who laughed at setbacks and never displayed the slightest hint of anger. So spake them all, especially Red Martin Bowe:

MURRAY: Was the loss of this money anything to McManus?

BOWE: An everyday occurrence.

MURRAY: And was this a large sum for him to lose at one time?

BOWE: Well, I never knew him to lose over $100,000 at once, but he lost over $50,000 on a race once, I remember. . He always paid his losses with a smile.

So much for motive.

Banton’s office managed to produce one surprise witness, Mrs. Marguerite Hubbell, a Montreal “publicity agent.” She registered in Room 357, just five or six doors from McManus. Around 10:00 P.M., she heard a very loud noise, much like a gunshot, followed by excited voices in the hall. She convinced herself it was just a truck backfiring and returned to her newspaper. Well-spoken, conservatively dressed in a dark suit, she was a credible witness. Murray did little to challenge her story.

Gray-haired Mrs. Marian A. Putnam of Asheville, North Carolina, occupied Room 310. Leaving her room to buy a magazine she, too, heard a terribly loud noise, as well as loud, profane arguing. In the corridor she saw a man clutching his abdomen, his face contorted in pain, looking “mad.” He didn’t ask for help. Trying to avoid him, she offered none.

Murray crucified Mrs. Putnam. His investigators had peered into every aspect of her life-and there were a lot of aspects to peer into. The fortyseven-yearold triple-divorcee had officially registered at the Park Central with a “Mr. Putnam.” But no current “Mr. Putnam” existed, only a Mr. Perry-and he was not her husband. Murray entered that into the record and raised questions of liaisons with other men, alleged larceny, and Volstead Act violations back in Asheville.

Detective Dan Flood testified that Mr. and Mrs. Sydney Orringer, a young honeymooning couple in Room 347, heard no shots. The unreliability of Flood’s police work was proven the following day, when Sydney Orringer testified. Yes, he and his bride heard no shots-they hadn’t been present when they rang out, not returning until 2 A.M. the next morning.

A fairly significant-but ignored-witness was young Walter J. Walters, former doorman at McManus’s 51 Riverside Drive apartment house. He testified that shortly after 11:00 P.M. on the night of the shooting (A. R. was first noticed in the service corridor at 10:47), he saw Willie Essenheim enter the building, rush upstairs to his boss’s apartment, and return with a heavy new overcoat.

The prosecution actually possessed a reasonable circumstantial case against McManus-or, at least, thought they had. Room 349 was McManus’s room. A call from there summoned Rothstein to his death. Lindy’s cashier Abe Scher could identify George McManus as the voice on the other end of the phone. Jimmy Meehan told investigators that A. R. showed him a note confirming that fact. Chambermaid Bridget Farry placed McManus and Biller in Room 349 at 9:40, just an hour before Rothstein was found shot and more significantly just thirty-two minutes before Abe Scher picked up the phone-and according to the New York Sun’s account eight minutes after the call. The switching of the nearly identical overcoats placed both Rothstein and McManus in Room 349 at the time of the shooting. The murder weapon, found by cabbie Al Bender on Seventh Avenue outside Room 349, helped tie the weapon to that room. McManus’s and Essenhelm’s visit to McManus’s apartment to retrieve a new overcoat-just half an hour after the shooting-simply reinforced everything else.

But the prosecution’s case crumbled rapidly. Key witnesses recanted previous testimony. Park Central telephone operator Beatrice Jackson, who previously had identified McManus’s call as occurring at precisely 10:12 P.M., now could no longer pinpoint its time. Abe Bender had informed Detective Dan Flood that the revolver he found on Seventh Avenue was still hot when he picked it up. On the stand he denied stating anything of the sort.

It was a small point, just enough to cast doubt on the prosecution’s timeframe. What followed was far worse. Lindy’s cashier Al Scher refused to identify the voice on the other end of the phone as McManus’s.

Wednesday, December 4 saw two of history’s worst prosecution witnesses testify. Jimmy Meehan told a patchwork of lies-about not fearing prosecution for weapons possession (his lawyer, Isaiah Leebove, had obtained immunity), about never having talked with Murray (Murray admitted it to Assistant D.A. Pecora), about A. R. showing him a slip of paper about seeing McManus at the Park Central.

Most significantly, he lied when he said A. R. had another gun the night of the murder. To investigating police and the grand jury, he told a simple story. A. R. gave Meehan his pistol and traveled unarmed to meet McManus. Now, Meehan told an exasperated prosecution team that Rothstein had two revolvers (Q: “Isn’t this the first time you ever mentioned a short-barreled gun?” A: “I believe it is.”). Meehan now claimed A. R. gave him a long-barreled gun but carried a short-barreled revolver, much like the murder weapon, to the Park Central.

Surpassing Meehan’s performance was Bridget Farry’s. She not only denied seeing McManus in Room 349-odd, since he admitted being there-but refused to admit identifying him in the Tombs lineup. Worse, she now swore McManus had checked out of the hotel, just after 10:00. She exhibited a furious, if comic, hostility to the prosecution-at one point accusing it of tendering her a $10 bribe (for cab fare after she had vociferously complained about the cost of riding down from the Bronx). Trying to avoid photographers as she left the Criminal Courts Building, Farry tripped in her green chiffon dress, and rolled down the steps into a parked car.

Farry’s perjury caused Chief Assistant District Attorney Ferdinand Pecora to snap:

But take this matter of hostility on the part of our witnesses. That’s the sort of thing we’re up against all the time. We’ve got to put them on the stand to prove certain things. When they testify we can’t very well control them. The men we’ve had up here so far, the two Bostons, Martin Bowe, Titanic Thompson all spoke with marked esteem of the defendant and seemed hostile to us. That’s the way they’ve been all the time-even when they talked to me in my office last winter. It isn’t that they’re afraid of McManus, who sits twenty feet in front of them. They are his friends. They all like him. They think he’s a pretty good fellow. And in that crowd I suppose he was-in his bluff way. And yet I believe he killed Rothstein.

Assistant District Attorney Brothers announced that his remaining witnesses would be police officers testifying regarding McManus’s flight (placing in the jury’s mind the question of why he fled), and police firearms expert Detective Henry Butts testifying about the murder weapon (making the point that the murder weapon had most likely been tossed from a room rented by the defendant; i.e., that Rothstein had not been shot in the service corridor). Judge Nott threw Brothers a double roadblock:

If the defense denies the flight of the defendant the State can put in its evidence on this point, through the police officers, on rebuttal. It now appears, however, sufficiently clear that this defendant was absent from his home between Nov. 4 and Nov. 27. Unless this absence is denied there does not seem to be any reason for the testimony of the police officers, since testimony on his absence has already been introduced.

Now as to the pistol experts. To be very frank with you, I am at a loss to see that you can get very far even if you prove that the bullet found in the deceased was discharged from a revolver which was found in the middle of Seventh Avenue. There is no doubt that the deceased was shot by a bullet from some gun.

It all seemed neatly choreographed. Both judge and prosecutor were striving mightily to convey to the public that they were really, really, really trying their best to serve justice. Now, the next morning, it was Assistant D.A. Brothers’ turn. As George McManus leaned forward to listen, Brothers threw in the towel:

If the court please, the adjournment was taken until this morning to allow us to determine the advisability of calling certain experts as to the identity of the bullet as compared with the weapon found in the street. We have concluded not to call the witness.