The Law of Second Chances (42 page)

“It’s a nine-millimeter Parabellum, commonly known as a Luger cartridge,” Tony told him. “As you can see, it’s not in very good shape. It’s distorted. Once a slug like this hits bone, it starts to break up a little.”

“Were you able to establish the type of gun that this bullet was fired from?”

“Yes.”

“How do you do that?”

“It’s a little technical, but I’ll try to explain it as best I can. Each gun has distinctive markings in the barrel. They’re called lands and grooves. The grooves are cut into the barrel of the gun in a spiral; the lands are the spaces between those grooves. When the gun is fired, the spiral grooving makes the bullet spin so that it flies straight. The heat inside the chamber makes the slug softer and makes it conform to the spiraling and the grooves in the barrel. If the slug is not damaged too badly you can examine those impressions and determine the make and possibly the model of the gun.”

“Was the slug that you retrieved from the deceased’s cranium in decent enough shape to make that examination?”

“Barely.”

“And did you make that examination?”

“I was present when it was done. I’m no longer a full-time firearms examiner, but I was present when this examination was made.”

“And did you determine the make and model of the gun that killed Carl Robertson?”

“Yes. It was a Glock nine-millimeter semiautomatic weapon—probably a Glock 17. It’s a handgun manufactured by the Austrian company Glock. It has a unique barrel groove, and we could see that in this bullet even though it was distorted considerably.”

“What does the term
semiautomatic
mean?”

“It means that the gun can be fired like an automatic weapon—that is, it can fire multiple rounds rapidly—but unlike a true automatic weapon you actually have to pull the trigger each time.”

“In this case, from the evidence presented, how many rounds were fired?”

“One.”

“How do you account for that with this semiautomatic weapon?”

“The person firing only pulled the trigger once.”

“Thank you, Detective Severino, I have no further questions.”

“Cross-examination, Mr. Tobin?”

“Yes, your honor.” Jack walked to the podium and looked at Tony Severino.

Trials were often won or lost on how an attorney cross-examined key witnesses. In Jack’s mind, Tony Severino was a key witness in the case. It was very difficult to make a prosecution witness your own, especially a seasoned police detective who had hundreds of hours of courtroom testimony under his belt. One mistake and the whole process could backfire.

Jack was not a seasoned criminal lawyer, but he understood the art of cross-examination better than most other trial attorneys on the planet. You had to lead the witness down the road without letting him know where he was going—keep the pace up, cut off exits, until eventually he found himself on a dead-end street with no way out. He was about to try to do that with Tony Severino.

“Detective Severino, you told Mr. Taylor that the motive for this murder was robbery, is that accurate?”

“Yes.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“We think he stole ten thousand dollars from Mr. Robertson’s inside jacket pocket.”

“You do concede, however, do you not, that Ms. Vincent cannot say for certain whether Mr. Robertson had that money on him on September 1, 1998?”

“Yes, she said that.”

“And there is no other evidence to establish Mr. Robertson had that money on him that night, correct?”

“That is correct.”

“There were three individuals who immediately went to their windows after they heard the shot and saw someone kneeling over the deceased’s body, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“And two of those individuals, Mr. Cook and Mr. Frazier, identified that individual as the defendant, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Ms. Holloway could not?”

“No, she could not.”

“Is it also accurate that nobody saw this individual take anything from the deceased’s body?”

“Yes, that’s accurate.” Tony was beginning to look bored. This was all set out very clearly in the police reports that were already in evidence.

“How do you square that with what you just testified to—that he took the money out of Mr. Robertson’s inside jacket pocket?”

“He took it before they got to the window and looked out.”

“And nobody saw this individual carrying a gun—this Glock 17 that you just told us about, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And he certainly didn’t drop it at the scene because you didn’t find a gun at the scene, did you?”

“No, we didn’t.”

“And you never found the gun—the murder weapon, is that accurate?”

“That’s accurate.”

“In your analysis, what did he do with the gun?” Spencer couldn’t object to this line of questioning even though it was speculation. He had put Tony on the stand in part to explain how the murder occurred. He would be annihilated in each juror’s mind if he now objected that his own witness was speculating on that exact issue.

“He probably tucked it in his pants or a pocket. It’s not a particularly large weapon.”

“Before the three individuals saw him from their windows?”

“Sure.”

“And is it accurate that there is no other physical evidence linking the defendant to this crime—no DNA evidence, no fingerprints, no hair fibers—other than the fact that he was present on that street and was seen kneeling over the victim after he was shot?”

Tony Severino took a deep breath. He didn’t want to answer the question. “Do you mean other than the fact that he was the only person in the area when Carl Robertson was murdered?”

Jack didn’t waste time arguing with him. He went directly to the judge.

“Your honor, I asked a question that calls for a yes or no answer. Would you instruct the witness to answer the question?”

“Answer the question, Mr. Severino.”

“No. There was no physical evidence other than the fact that the defendant was identified leaning over the body moments after Carl Robertson was shot.”

“Thank you, Detective. In your analysis of the crime scene, did you assume that the murderer was close to the deceased at the time of the murder?”

“Yes.”

“How close?”

“Within a few feet.”

“How did you determine that?”

“The witnesses came to the window immediately and he was already kneeling over the deceased. He had to be very close. There was no time to come from somewhere else.”

So far it was plausible to think that Benny could have shot Carl, taken his money, and stashed the gun before any of the three eyewitnesses reached their windows and looked out and saw him. Anything else would have been implausible in that short a time. Jack looked at the jury just to make sure they were still awake. They were listening intently; they wanted
to see where this was going. Only Jack knew that he now had Tony Severino on that dead-end street.

“The bullet that you showed the jury and that counsel introduced into evidence as exhibit number 6, I believe, was taken from the deceased’s skull—is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“Now, that bullet before it is fired is in a shell casing, right?”

“Right.”

“And when it is fired from that Glock nine-millimeter the shell is ejected, right?”

“Yes.”

“And it lands in the immediate area where the gun is fired?”

“Usually, yes.”

“I’m not sure I understand that answer. It pops right out, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but it could roll away if the surface was uneven or something.”

“Was the surface of Seventy-eighth Street and East End Avenue uneven?”

“Not that I noticed, no.”

“You searched the immediate area for that shell casing, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t find a shell casing, did you?”

“No.”

“Did that lead you to any conclusions?”

“Yeah. He must have picked it up.”

“Who’s ‘he’?”

“The defendant.”

“Let me see if I understand this. A shot rings out. Three people hear it and go to their windows immediately and they see a man kneeling over the deceased. From their observations, he doesn’t have a gun, he doesn’t take anything off the deceased, and he’s not searching on the ground for an empty shell casing. It is your theory that before all three of those
people got to their windows and looked out, he had found the money, taken it and stashed it somewhere on his person, concealed his gun somewhere in his clothing, searched and found his empty shell casing, and also concealed it in his clothing. Is that accurate?”

“That’s pretty much it.”

“Pretty much it, or is that it? We want to be precise here, Detective. This is a murder trial.”

Spencer Taylor finally caught wind of the fact that his witness was floundering.

“Objection, your honor. He’s badgering the witness.”

“Overruled. Answer the question, Detective.”

The objection had given Tony Severino time to think. He tried to squirm out of the trap Jack had set for him.

“There is a possibility that he didn’t look for the shell casing and we just couldn’t find it.”

It was too important a point for Jack to let go unchallenged.

“How many police officers did you have there that night?”

“I don’t know exactly. A lot.”

“A lot?”

“Yes.”

“How many of them searched the area with you?”

“I don’t know for sure. Several.”

“Is several the same as a lot?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I’d say a lot of officers were looking for that shell.”

“You testified just a few moments ago that it was your conclusion that the defendant searched for the shell, picked it up, and put it in his pocket, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Then you said there was a possibility that the defendant
didn’t
look for the shell casing and you and your officers couldn’t find it, right?”

“Yes.”

“Are you changing your opinion here today in court, Detective Severino?”

The jurors were on the edge of their seats waiting for the
answer. Even the judge was leaning over watching the witness intently.

“No. I’m not changing my opinion.”

“And your opinion was that the defendant took the time to look for the casing, found it and put it in his pocket?”

“Yes.”

“Because you and a lot of other police officers combed the area and no shell casing was there, right?”

“That’s right.”

“No further questions, your honor.”

“Redirect, Mr. Taylor?”

“Yes, your honor.”

Spencer Taylor knew his witness had been beaten up pretty badly. He didn’t want to make things worse on redirect by going back over the same ground, but he did have one point to make.

“Detective Severino, what did both Mr. Cook and Mr. Frazier tell you the defendant did when he saw them?”

Both Cook and Frazier had already testified to these facts in court, so Jack couldn’t object on the basis of hearsay.

“He fled.”

“He fled from the scene of the crime?”

“Yes.”

“No further questions.”

It was lunchtime when Tony Severino slithered from the stand and the judge recessed the proceedings. Jack stayed in the courtroom to go through Dr. Wong’s exhibits in detail. He knew the coroner was probably coming up next, and he wanted to be ready. Luis stayed with him.

“You were right, Jack,” Luis said. “This is your courtroom. You owned that man today. I don’t know why I ever doubted you.”

“Don’t get your hopes up too high, Luis. We still have a long way to go. Trials can turn on a dime—it’s the nature of the beast.”

Jack had subpoenaed all the prosecution’s witnesses before the trial started as a precaution. It was a habit he’d gotten
into a long time ago as a civil defense attorney. He’d sent along a letter telling them that if they called and left a number where they could be reached during the day, they wouldn’t have to appear in court the first morning that testimony began and hang around potentially for days until they were called. Everyone always rang—the incentive was too great not to. The number Jack had given was Dorothy’s, Henry’s aunt.

Jack phoned Dorothy—who among other things was doing an excellent job as his temporary secretary—and asked her to get in touch with Nick Walsh and tell him to be at the courthouse at nine o’clock the next morning. If Spencer rested at the end of the day and Henry wasn’t back with witnesses, he needed a warm body to put on the stand. Maybe Nick Walsh would give him something he didn’t expect. Frankie O’Connor had told him that Nick was a legend in the police department. Joe Fogarty had said he was one of the best homicide detectives the department ever had. He was Tony Severino’s partner. Yet Tony never mentioned his name during his entire testimony.
Why?

Leland Pendergast had been the coroner of the City of New York for twenty years. He knew every politician in the state and walked and talked with an air about him that suggested power and influence. His favorite attire were expensive, custom-made suits that padded his shoulders and tapered his waist—efforts on his part to hide most of the fat on his beefy, six-foot frame. He couldn’t hide his face, though, and those thick jowls.

Leland Pendergast strode confidently into the courtroom on the afternoon of the fourth day of Benny Avrile’s murder trial and took the stand. Spencer led him through his extensive and very impressive qualifications before honing in on the substance of his testimony. Not surprisingly, Spencer spent very little time on how the murder had occurred and the cause of death. Their little tragic opera was all about photographs, twenty in all—extremely graphic pictures of the bloody corpse. Each image was six feet tall and three feet wide, and Leland
Pendergast stood in front of each one with a pointer—like a teacher leading a classroom discussion—explaining its significance to the jury.

Jack objected to each photograph, initially on the grounds of prejudice and eventually on the grounds that the evidence was cumulative and prejudicial.

“Judge, how many photographs does the jury need to see to understand that Carl Robertson was shot in the forehead? The prosecution is just trying to inflame the jury,” Jack argued at sidebar. But his objections were overruled.