Trap (9781476793177) (27 page)

“Would you say those views were commonly held by other members of your group, including Mr. Forsling?”

LaFontaine shrugged. “Sure, the truth is the truth, if you're not too blinded by Jewish propaganda to see.”

“So, Mr. Forsling organized a protest because of Mrs. Lubinsky's book about her experiences during World War II?”

“You mean her work of fiction? Yeah, he organized the protest. He thought there was going to be a lot of media there, and even made a few anonymous calls to the television stations to let them know they should send camera crews.”

“Did he talk about inciting any violence at this protest?”

LaFontaine shifted in his seat again and grimaced in pain. “No. He wasn't much of a fighter. Now Jimmy Gerlach, God rest his soul, he'd have fought the devil if the devil was a Jew or a nigger. But Forsling was more about the publicity.”

“He ever talk about doing physical harm to Rose Lubinsky or anyone else?”

“Nah, like I said, he wasn't into the rough stuff.”

“Was there any mention of using a bomb?”

LaFontaine laughed. “I don't think he would have had the balls or the know-how to make a bomb.”

Karp left his position on the jury box rail and slowly walked over toward LaFontaine. “At some point, did Mr. Forsling's attitude toward violence change?”

The smile disappeared from LaFontaine's face. He looked angry as he nodded. “Yeah. The afternoon after he was arrested, he came into my bar, all hot and bothered.”

“Who else was present?”

“Just me, Bob Mencke, and Jimmy Gerlach, who worked for me as a bouncer.”

“Did he say why he was all ‘hot and bothered'?”

“Yeah, his mother had been killed in a fire.”

“Did he also say who he felt was to blame?”

“He thought you did it, or had it done, you and that nigger cop sitting behind you.”

Karp turned and pointed to Clay Fulton, who sat impassively. “This man?”

“Yes, the big nigger.”

Karp looked at the judge. “Let the record reflect that the witness is referring to Detective Clay Fulton.” He turned back to LaFontaine. “Did he say why he believed we were responsible for his mother's death?”

“Yeah. He said you were blaming him for the car bombing.”

“He was referencing the car bombing at Il Buon Pane that claimed the lives of Rose Lubinsky and two young women?”

“Yeah, that's the one,” LaFontaine said dryly.

“Did you think he was responsible for the bombing?”

“At first,” LaFontaine said. “I mean, when I heard about it I was like, ‘Shit, the fucker growed some real nuts.' So when he first came in, I said something like, ‘Well, here's the hero . . . good job.' Something like that.”

“Did he admit that he was responsible for the bombing?”

LaFontaine shook his head. “No, as a matter of fact, he said he didn't do it.”

Karp turned back toward the jurors, who were listening raptly. “Now, given your testimony about Forsling enjoying his growing leadership role and thinking he was ‘the big man on campus' and the ‘second coming' of Hitler, do you think he would have denied it if he'd had a role in the bombing?”

LaFontaine thought about the question. “Well, if he was smart, he'd have kept his mouth closed. If you want to get away with murder, only two people should know about it; one is the killer and the other should be six feet under. But Forsling liked to talk, and there was only the three of us in the bar, and we was all friends. Or at least we were. I think he would have at least hinted that he was responsible, and he would have probably wanted Gerlach for backup.”

“But he denied it?”

“Yeah, in fact, he was kind of angry that we thought he did it,” LaFontaine said. “And he was angry that you thought he did it and that's why you burned his mom out when he was locked up.”

“Did he ask you for something?”

“He wanted my old Luger pistol, which I kept around the place in case anyone came looking for trouble.”

“Did you also have another weapon for such an eventuality?”

“Yeah, a sweet little side-by-side twelve gauge.”

“Did you give the gun to Forsling?”

“Yeah.”

“He say what he was going to do with it?”

LaFontaine shook his head. “He said it was better if I didn't know so that Johnny Law couldn't say I helped him. He did say he was going to Idaho after he did whatever he had in mind.”

“What happened after you gave him the Luger?”

“He asked for my van.”

Karp walked over to the prosecution table and picked up a photograph that he handed to LaFontaine. “Do you recognize this vehicle?”

“Yeah, that's my van.”

“How do you know it's your van?”

“I bought it off a guy who did some welding for me, his name was Woodbury,” LaFontaine said. “You can still see Eric Woodbury and Sons Metalworks on the side.”

Karp retrieved the photograph, which he held up. “Your honor, I'd like to enter this photograph as People's Exhibit 24 in evidence.”

Rainsford looked at Mendelbaum. “Any objections?”

“No, your honor.”

Karp returned the photograph to the prosecution table and accepted another handed to him by Katz.

“Did you loan the van to Mr. Forsling?”

LaFontaine shook his head. “No, I told him that the cops could trace the van back to me and I didn't want to get tangled up in whatever he intended to do. I also said I needed it to get to work.”

“What happened next?”

LaFontaine shifted in his chair as his face grew red and angry. “The son of a bitch pointed my own gun at me and said he was going to steal it. That's when Jimmy Gerlach tried to take him, but that bastard shot ol' Jimmy in the head and that was the end of him. I tried to go for my shotgun but he shot me, too.”

“What about Robert Mencke?”

“Yeah, he put a hot one in Bob's chest.”

“What happened next?”

“He robbed my till, took my van, and left me lying in my own blood.”

Karp walked over to LaFontaine. “Do you remember talking to Assistant District Attorney Ray Guma?”

“I talked to some guy by that name.”

“Do you remember when you first saw Mr. Guma?”

“Hard to forget,” LaFontaine said. “I was lying on the floor of my bar, trying not to die, when that guy walked in from the back. He checked on me and my friends, and I heard him call 911.”

“Did he ask you any questions?”

“Yeah, he was trying to help me by putting pressure on the bullet wounds and asked if I knew who shot me and the others.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I said, ‘Lars Forsling did it.' ”

“What happened next?”

“The ambulance arrived, and as they were putting me in, he kept asking questions. I think he thought I was a goner and wanted to make sure he got his answers.”

“Such as?”

“He wanted to know if I had any idea where Forsling might have gone. I told him the son of a bitch lived with his mom and was a night watchman at some nearby construction site on the East Side. I didn't know much more than that.”

Karp nodded. “Thank you, Mr. LaFontaine. No further questions.”

Rainsford looked at the defense table. “Cross, Mr. Mendelbaum?”

“Yes, your honor,” Mendelbaum said. He rose from his seat but remained standing behind the table. “I believe your testimony is that Lars Forsling had assumed a leadership role with your group?”

“That's right,” LaFontaine said.

“And as such, organized your group's attacks on Jewish businesses in November to celebrate the anniversary of Kristallnacht?”

“Yep.”

“And it was his idea to protest the book signing for Rose Lubinsky?”

“Yes, that was him, too.”

“And I believe your testimony was that you think it's a good idea if you kill someone to not talk about it. Is that right?”

“Only dead men tell no tales,” LaFontaine said.

“Mr. LaFontaine, much has been made by my colleague, Mr. Karp, about Mr. Forsling having no previous history for violent crime. But he certainly exhibited quite a capacity for it when he shot you and your friends, didn't he?”

“Yes, he did.”

“So would you say that a man who is capable of gunning down three friends in cold blood might also be capable of planting a bomb to kill someone he didn't like?”

“Yeah, I suppose if you put it that way,” LaFontaine agreed, “you might say he was a cold-blooded killer.”

“No further questions.”

“Mr. Karp, do you have anything for redirect?” Rainsford asked.

Karp, who had been checking his legal pad, rose to his feet. “Just a few, your honor,” he said, then looked at LaFontaine. “I just want to be clear. When Lars Forsling showed up at your bar after his release from jail, you thought that he was responsible for the car bombing the night before?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And his response was, ‘I didn't do it.' Is that correct?”

“That's right.”

“And the reason he said he was agitated was that he blamed Detective Fulton and me for the death of his mother?”

“Yes, that's what he said.”

“And that we unjustly suspected him of the car bombing?”

“That's about the size of it.”

“And he wanted the gun and the van to exact some sort of revenge?”

“Objection,” Mendelbaum said. “I don't believe that there's been any testimony regarding what Mr. Forsling intended to do with the gun or the van.”

“Your honor, Mr. Mendelbaum is being disingenuous. He knows and very soon the jury will know exactly what the late Lars Forsling did and said immediately after he left The Storm Trooper bar. For purposes of establishing an accurate evidentiary chain of events, I suggest the court permit the question to stand, hear the answer, and take it subject to connection.”

“Very well, but you know the rules, Mr. Karp,” Rainsford said. “I'll overrule the objection; you may answer.”

LaFontaine smirked at Karp. “Yeah, yeah, he wanted to get even with you.”

Karp turned from the witness. “Thank you, your honor, I have no further questions.”

“Mr. Mendelbaum, do you have any further questions for Mr. LaFontaine?”

“No, your honor.”

“Then the witness may leave the court,” Rainsford said.

When he was gone, Rainsford addressed the jury. “Some of you may be wondering why I permitted this witness to utter those foul and upsetting, ugly racial epithets and vile religious references,” he said. “I allowed it so that you could be able to decide the facts of this case understanding the sometimes harsh and oppressive realities of who some of these witnesses are. I believe you will be better able now to decide the credibility of this witness having heard his testimonial utterances and observations without him being censored. Having said that, this will be a good time to take a break. We'll meet back here in fifteen minutes.”

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
K
ARP NODDED
to Fulton, who was standing by the door in the side of the courtroom leading to the witness waiting room. “Your honor,” he said, “the People call Goldie Sobelman.” The detective opened the door and poked his head inside to say something. He then stepped back, holding the door ajar.

Goldie Sobelman entered and for a moment stood transfixed and appeared to be frightened. Karp thought she looked a little like someone who had wandered into a Broadway theater from the street and found herself standing in a spotlight on a stage in front of a packed house. Her eyes searched the courtroom until they found whom she sought; she then relaxed and smiled.

Karp glanced back at the front row behind the prosecution table, even though he knew who she was looking for, her husband, Moishe. He was smiling at her and then nodded his head in encouragement. She raised her head, and began to walk confidently past him toward the middle aisle that would bring her to the well of the court.

She's going to do fine
, Karp thought. He and Marlene had invited the Sobelmans over to their loft the night before, partly to talk to Goldie about her testimony the next day, but mostly for social reasons. They hadn't seen much of their old friends since the funeral for Rose Lubinsky nine months earlier. The rush of daily life, especially with two active teenage boys, an activist attorney wife, and the exigencies of being the chief law enforcement officer for New York County and its two-plus million souls, ate time like a starving dog eats a handout.

The funeral services had been held at the Third Avenue synagogue with standing room only, and thousands more mourners packing the lobby, the outside stairs leading into the building, and the sidewalks below. Those in attendance represented a wide variety of people from the Jewish community, the association of charter schools, many of Rose's former students and teaching colleagues, and a majority of the members of the temple's congregation.

At the services, Rabbi Michael Hamilburg praised Rose's book as “cathartic both to Rose and to anyone who has dealt with the weight of their past—though in truth, I think Rose carried a far greater burden than she deserved—a testament to the power of forgiveness and love that will last on library shelves long after we have all passed.” He also talked about how her work to champion charter schools had been interrupted, “but we, her friends and those who loved her, must see to it that it hasn't been destroyed. We must all pick up the mantle and carry her work forward.”

The most moving eulogy was written by her husband, Simon, who asked Moishe to deliver it. As Goldie wept, huddled against Marlene, and Simon sat next to Karp, who kept his arm around the shaking shoulders of the old man, Moishe read:

“I was blessed to have met and married Rose Kuratowski. I thought that she was the most beautiful woman in the world the moment I first saw her, but I had no idea that the beauty on the outside paled in comparison to the beauty that resided within. My Rose was all about love; her love for books, her love of quiet walks along the beach or through Central Park; her love of people, especially her friends and children—when we lost our son she poured all of that motherly love into helping the children of other people. And I will always be grateful and humble that she loved me as well. I never felt that I deserved the love of such an angel, but I tried every day to earn it. I will miss having that challenge until the day we meet again. I love you my Rose, your Simon.”