Honor Thy Father (51 page)

Sandler stopped reading, and asked Torrillo: “The ‘he’ in this answer—was that Mr. Perrone?”

“Mr. Sandier, to be perfectly honest with you,” Torrillo replied, “I got lost.”

“I am reading
your
answer, Mr. Torrillo,” Sandler said.

“Oh,” Torrillo said, “could you pick out…”

“Didn’t I make that clear?” Sandler asked.

“I think,” Phillips said, “the witness should be permitted to look at the answer.”

“Fine,” Sandler said, “I agree with you. I think Mr. Phillips made a very good point.” After handing Torrillo a copy of the transcript and pointing to the place where the long quotation appeared, Sandler asked Torrillo who the “he” was in the statement “he had a nice way about him.”

“Perrone,” Torrillo answered, after handing the transcript back to Sandier.

“And did Mr. Perrone have a nice way about him?” Sandler asked.

“In a derogatory sense, yes,” Torrillo replied.

“I am sorry?” Sandler said, surprised. “Oh, you were being sarcastic when you said that?”

“Yes,” Torrillo said.

“And the transcript does not reflect that, does it?” Sandler asked.

“Exactly,” said Torrillo, in a voice suddenly sharp and aggressive, revealing an attitude that Torrillo had until now concealed from the jury.

O
N THE FOLLOWING MORNING
, S
ANDLER CALLED HIS
client Peter Notaro to the stand. Notaro, heavily built, thick-armed, with a workman’s rugged features but soft brown eyes and thinning gray hair, sat straight-spined in the chair. His dark suit, white shirt, and tie seemed almost too tightly drawn around his thick neck and broad shoulders, and he was so soft-spoken as he began to testify that the judge and Sandler both urged him to speak more forcefully—he could not be heard in the courtroom, they said, and it was apparent by the manner in which the spectators leaned forward that they wanted to hear what he had to say. It was not often that a man identified in the press as a Mafia soldier, a don’s bodyguard, appeared in court to testify. The spectators wanted to hear every word; and from the way that Sandler began his examination, he too seemed interested, for whatever reason, in documenting Notaro’s biographical background in the courtroom record.

“How old are you?” Sandler began.

“Fifty-six.”

“Are you married?”

“Yes.”

“When were you married?”

“1948.”

“And where do you live with your wife?”

“Tucson, Arizona.”

“You have a child?”

“Yes.”

“And is that a girl or a boy?”

“Girl.”

“How old is she?”

“Eighteen.”

“Does she go to college?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“State University.”

“In Arizona?”

“That’s right.”

“Does your wife work for a living?”

“Yes, she does.”

“How does she work for a living?”

“Waitress work.”

“And has she worked for a living all of her life?”

“Yes, she has.”

“Where were you born, Mr. Notaro?”

“New York City.”

“Where in New York City?”

“The Lower East Side.”

“And where did you go to school in New York City?”

“P.S. 114 on the East Side.”

“How far did you get in school?”

“Eighth grade.”

“What did you do when you left school?”

“I went to work for my father.”

“What kind of work did he do?”

“Wholesale and retail produce.”

“How long did you work for your father?”

“About three, four years.”

“Did you then do something else?”

“Yes.”

Walter Phillips, who had been displaying signs of impatience for several seconds, finally stood and said, “Your Honor, I am going to object at this time. I think we ought to get to the point here rather than going through the entire life…”

“Overruled,” Judge Mansfield said. “This is just background.”

Sandler continued, “What did you then do?”

“I bought a truck off my father.”

“How much did you pay for it?”

“One hundred dollars.”

“Thereafter, were you in the trucking business for a number of years?”

“Yes, I was.”

“How long?”

“Thirty-seven years.”

“And is that your own business?”

“That’s right, yes.”

“And what did you do yourself in connection with your business?”

“I drove a truck.”

“Did there come a time when you had more than one truck?”

“Yes, there was.”

“What was the most you ever had?”

“Six.”

“And do you recall about when you had six trucks?”

“Oh, around 1950, ’51.”

“Did there come a time when your business began to recede, contract?”

“Yes.”

“Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“About when was that?”

“Oh, about ’60, ’61. The year of ’60 or ’61.”

“Did there come a time when the business was reduced to two trucks?”

“Yes, there was.”

“Do you recall when that was?”

“That’s around ’62, the year of ’62.”

“And thereafter, did it require less of your time?”

“Yes.”

The questioning continued in this manner for several minutes, with Phillips barely containing his impatience. The judge, leaning back in his chair, rocking softly, listened without comment. Bill Bonanno also listened, becoming more interested when Notaro reached the year 1964 and Notaro testified that he had been introduced to the Bonannos through a cousin, the late Joseph Notaro. Then, after admitting to the court that his trucking business had delcined in 1968, Peter Notaro told of the trip to Tucson that he had taken with Bill Bonanno in February 1968, adding that as he left New York he had no idea that Bill carried Torrillo’s card, that he had never heard of Torrillo at that point, and that he certainly had not—contrary to Torrillo’s previous testimony —gone to Torrillo’s home with Perrone to procure the credit card. Notaro told the court that he first became aware of the card after Bonanno, who had been driving all day and wanted to rest, asked Notaro to take over for a while, and to use the card which was in the sun visor, “in case you need gas…”

“I object to this as being hearsay,” Phillips said.

“Overruled,” Judge Mansfield said. “I will allow it.”

“Did you see the name on the card at that time?” Sandler asked.

“Yes,” Notaro said.

“What was the name on the card?”

“Don Torrillo.”

“Did you speak to Mr. Bonanno about that?”

“Yes, yes, I did.”

“Objection to what Mr. Bonanno said,” Phillips called in a loud voice, “anything Mr. Bonanno said, Your Honor.”

“It seems to me that we are getting into an area here of hearsay,” the judge agreed.

“I thought I was questioning the man about his criminal intent, Your Honor,” Sandler explained.

“Yes,” Judge Mansfield said, adding, “I will instruct the jury as follows: I am going to admit this evidence not to prove the truth of what Mr. Bonanno said, but simply to prove the fact that it was said to this witness. I think you ought to grasp the difference there,” the judge continued, now turning toward the jury. “It is not being received in evidence to prove that what Mr. Bonanno said was true, because Mr. Bonanno would have to be cross-examined on that. It is being offered simply to prove that it was said to this witness.”

“If Your Honor please,” Krieger said, standing, seeming almost indignant. “I would like to make an objection at the sidebar. May I?”

“Yes.”

With Sandler and Phillips standing next to him at the side of the judge’s bench, Krieger said, “If Your Honor please, I have no quarrel with the instruction as given in that it is, in my understanding, a correct statement of the law. But what bothers me here is that it may well be construed as a comment upon the failure of the defendant Bonanno to testify and to expose himself to cross-examination here. I think that my obligation requires me to move for a mistrial under these circumstances, Your Honor.”

“It certainly is not intended as any such comment,” Judge Mansfield said. “If you desire in the instructions or at this time an instruction to the effect that the failure of the defendant Bonanno to take the stand does not constitute a basis for any inference or presumption against him, I will give it.”

“Well,” Krieger said, “I had assumed, Your Honor, that you would so charge in the main body of your charge. I think, Your Honor, at this time I would request that you instruct this jury now that in their consideration of the charges against Salvatore Bonanno that they are to specifically exclude from their consideration—they are to draw no inference one way or the other as to the fact of his failure to testify and not to construe any of your remarks as a comment on that, etc., without waiving any rights which may have accrued as a result of the original statement.”

“I am not going to add that last,” said the judge.

“No, I am adding that as far as the record is concerned,” Krieger said.

The judge turned to the jury, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the defendant Bonanno has rested without taking the witness stand. Under the law he has the right to do that and I think I will instruct you more completely when the time comes. At the present time, however, I give you this statement which will be repeated in my instructions to you. No inference or presumption whatsoever is to be drawn against the defendant Bonanno because of his failure to take the witness stand or to testify in his own defense. He is not required to do that and any comment made by me with respect to an evidentiary question here was not intended to imply that any such inference should be drawn.”

With a nod from the judge, Sandler resumed his examination of his client, and Peter Notaro told of his first months in Arizona during which he resided at the elder Bonanno’s home, dined often with Bill Bonanno in restaurants where Bill occasionally used the card, and Notaro also described the day that he had accompanied Bill to the Tucson airport and, because Bill could not find a parking place, Notaro had gone to the ticket counter to sign Torrillo’s name to a voucher, doing as Bill had asked, and Notaro told the court that he had no idea at that time that he was committing fraud.

Finally, Walter Phillips had his chance to cross-examine Peter Notaro, holding in his left hand a pack of Diners’ Club receipts signed in the name of Don Torrillo.

“Are you familiar with the Statler Hilton in Tucson, Arizona?” Phillips asked.

“Yes.”

“Have you ever been to the Statler Hilton, have you ever stayed there or had dinner there?”

“I have had dinner there.”

“Did you have dinner there with Mr. Bonanno?”

“Yes.”

“And at that time was the Don Torrillo credit card used to pay for the dinner?”

“This I don’t remember.”

“I show you Government Exhibit 14A in evidence,” Phillips said, handing a piece of paper to Notaro. “Does that refresh your memory?”

“No, I don’t remember how he paid it.”

“Are you familiar with the Tucson Desert Inn in Tucson?”

“No, I don’t remember it.”

“You don’t remember the Tucson Desert Inn?” Phillips repeated, seeming surprised.

“No.”

“You don’t remember ever going there?”

“I can truthfully say no, I don’t remember going there.”

“I show you Government Exhibit 15 in evidence,” Phillips said, handing it to Notaro. “Would you look at that and see if that refreshes your memory at all.”

“No,” Notaro said, “I don’t remember this.”

Reverting back to the New York—Tucson trip of February 1968, Phillips asked, “Do you remember if you stayed at the Catalina Motel in Indianapolis, Indiana?”

“No, I don’t remember the name of the motel, no.”

“I show you Government’s Exhibit 17 in evidence. Would you look at that for a minute.”

Notaro squinted at the small piece of paper, saying finally, “No, I don’t remember the hotel.”

“Do you remember eating at a place called the Zeno’s Steak House in Rolla, Missouri?”

No, said Notaro.

The Imperial Motel in Las Cruces, New Mexico?

No.

The Airport Travel Lodge in San Diego?

No.

“When you went over to the travel agency [in Tucson] to purchase those tickets from Montreal to Tucson, you went at Mr. Bonanno’s direction, is that correct?” Phillips asked.

“He told me if I would do him a favor to go and get them for him.”

“And he gave you the Don Torrillo credit card, is that right?”

“He did,” said Notaro.

“When you arrived—you went over there with Mr. Pasley, is that right?” Pasley, co-owner of a cocktail lounge, was a friend of Bill Bonanno’s.

Notaro admitted going with Pasley, saying that it was Pasley who had asked the travel agent, Ruben Serna, for the tickets.

“And Mr. Serna then made a telephone call, did he not?” Phillips asked.

“Yes, he did.”

“And while he was on the telephone, did he turn to you and ask you, ‘How do you spell your name?’ ”

“Yes.”

“And you pulled out the credit card and you spelled Torrillo?”

“No, sir, I didn’t spell it. I showed him the card.”

“You showed Mr. Serna the card?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you hear Mr. Serna testify here that you spelled the name for him?”

“But I didn’t spell the name for him,” Notaro insisted.

“You have a distinct recollection of that event, is that right?” Phillips asked.

“That’s right.”

Judge Mansfield turned toward Notaro and asked, for clarification, “When you showed him [Serna] the card, you were indicating that you were Torrillo, isn’t that what…”

“He introduced me as Don, Your Honor.”

“Well, when you were introduced by Mr. Pasley to Mr. Serna, the travel agent, in March of 1968, you were introduced as Mr. Torrillo, weren’t you?” asked the judge.

“Not to him I wasn’t,” Notaro said. “I was introduced to Ruben [Serna] as Don. Then when he says, ‘Which credit card,’ that’s when I gave him the card and that’s when he knew I was Don Torrillo. I was introduced to him as Don and that’s all.”

“But you understood, did you not,” Judge Mansfield asked, “that you were being introduced as the person Torrillo shown on the card, whether or not the word Torrillo was used?”

“Yes, this I know,” said Notaro.

“Well now,” the judge said, “when that happened, you knew, did you not, that you were not Don Torrillo?”

“Yes,” Notaro said, “I knew that.”

“Did you turn around and say to Mr. Pasley or anybody, ‘Look, I’m not Torrillo’?” asked the judge.

“Mr. Pasley knew that because he knew me,” Notaro said.

There was laughter in the court, but Judge Mansfield, unsmiling, continued: “Had you prior to the entry of Mr. Ruben Serna’s office discussed this matter with anyone?”

“No,” Notaro said, “because there was nothing to fear. The card was good. There was nothing to fear.”