Judge & Jury - James Patterson [22]
“Can you state your name,” Joel Goldenberger stood up and asked, “and where you currently reside?”
“My name is Ralph Denunziatta,” the heavyset man said, “and I currently reside in a federal penitentiary.”
Suddenly there was an ear-splitting boom that seemed to shake the entire building.
Everybody jumped or covered their heads. It was under-the-table time. There were several loud cries. One of the marshals made a move toward Cavello. No one knew what was happening yet. I stood up and was about to jump over the railing to protect the judge.
Then the noise came again. From the street. Maybe a demolition explosion, or a truck backfire. Everyone looked around as the nervous gasps in the courtroom diffused.
The only one who hadn’t moved was Cavello. He just sat there, looking around, concealing an amused grin. “Don’t look at me,” he said, and nearly everybody in the courtroom laughed.
The trial resumed. Denunziatta was about fifty, with a couple of double chins and grayish thinning hair; he spoke in a soft tone. Like Machia, I’d gotten to know him well. I was the one who had arrested him. I actually liked Ralphie, if you could like a guy who wouldn’t shrug to see you dead.
Joel Goldenberger stepped up to the stand. “Mr. Denunziatta, would you state your position in organized crime?”
“I was a captain in the Guarino crime family.” He spoke in a hushed tone, eyes averted.
“Ralphie D.?” the U.S. prosecutor asked.
The witness nodded. “Yes. That would be me.”
“You have a college degree, don’t you, Mr. Denunziatta?” the prosecutor continued.
“Yes, sir, I do. In business. From LIU.”
“But you never got a regular job? You chose to dedicate yourself to a life of crime?”
“That’s correct.” Denunziatta nodded again. Ralphie’s father was one of Cavello’s henchmen when Ralphie was growing up. “My father wanted me to become a stockbroker or get a law degree. But things were changing. The family was in some legitimate businesses—restaurants, nightclubs, food distribution—so I got involved with them. I thought I could avoid things, you know, the things everyone talks about—the violence, the dirty work.”
“But you couldn’t, Mr. Denunziatta, could you?” Joel Goldenberger asked.
“No, sir.” The witness shook his head. “I couldn’t.”
“And one of those things you couldn’t avoid was involvement in the murder of Sam Greenblatt?”
“Yes,” he said, locking his thumbs.
“And you pleaded guilty to playing a part in that crime, is that not correct?”
“That’s correct,” the witness said. “I pleaded guilty to murder in the second degree.”
“Why, Mr. Denunziatta? Can you describe your actual involvement in Mr. Greenblatt’s death?”
He cleared his throat. “Thomas Mussina came to me. He was a captain then. He reported directly to Dominic Cavello. He knew some people who worked for me owed the family a favor. Jimmy Cabrule—he had gambling debts. Also Louis Machia—he was looking to be made. He figured this was an opportunity.”
“By ‘opportunity,’” the prosecutor stated, “you mean that if Mr. Machia participated in killing Mr. Greenblatt, he would be rewarded with being formally inducted into the family? Is that correct?”
“That’s correct, Mr. Goldenberger.”
“So, go on, Mr. Denunziatta. Did Mr. Cabrule and Louis Machia carry out this hit?”
“Yes, they did. In front of Greenblatt’s home in Jersey. On the sixth of August, 1993.”
“You seem to know the date well, Mr. Denunziatta. Were you there?”
“I was in the area,” Denunziatta replied.
“In the area . . . ?” Goldenberger cocked his head.
“I was in a car driving around the neighborhood, maybe two blocks away. I heard the shots. I saw Louis and Jimmy C. speed by. Louie’s friend Stevie Mannarino was driving the vehicle.”
“Was anyone else driving around the neighborhood, Mr. Denunziatta? At the time Mr. Greenblatt was murdered?”
“Yes, sir.” The gangster nodded. “Tommy Moose was driving around. In a gray Lincoln.”
“Okay, Thomas Mussina was there.