CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
First thing in the morning, Butler was back at the government table. “Now can I tell my client what’s happening? She’s entitled to know. She wants to know.”
Before Nora could answer, Judge Whitney came through the door and swept to the bench, smiling at the jury as Butler retreated to the defense table. “Good morning, everybody. I trust you had a restful night.” Dropping the smile, he turned to look at Nora. “Call your next witness.”
As Nora began to stand, a slight twinge of anxiety hit her stomach. It was very unusual for federal prosecutors to call a surprise witness.
The door to the witness waiting room opened before Nora could announce the witness, but Gina didn’t need the name, because stepping into courtroom 318 was the handsome man who had been her lover since high school.
“The government calls Conor McCarthy,” Nora announced as he reached the witness stand.
Benny was staring at Gina the entire time. Her demeanor didn’t change when Conor walked in, but some of the color drained from her face. Butler looked confused and repeatedly turned his head to Gina, then to the stranger entering the courtroom. But from Gina, nothing. Now that’s kinda impressive, Benny thought. Crazy cold, but impressive.
As the clerk administered the oath, Nora walked to the podium, pausing to hand Butler a copy of the 302 Jessica wrote after their interview with Conor and a copy of his testimony at Kyra Burke’s trial. Butler slid the documents to Gina, who picked them up and leaned toward his ear, whispering energetically. Several times he held up his finger to quiet her before she finally stopped. Then he stood up.
“Mr. Butler?” Judge Whitney said.
“May I approach, Your Honor?”
“Certainly,” the judge said, sliding his chair to the side of the bench.
The sidebar was theoretically out of the jury’s hearing, but Butler was hot and very loud—clearly hoping both the jury and his client would hear him.
“Judge, in a clear violation of law and practice, I was given this witness’s 3500 material as he walked into the courtroom. I have had no chance, zero, to review that material and prepare my cross-examination. I object to the government’s devious tactics and move for a mistrial or, in the alternative, a continuance of at least several days to address the extreme prejudice.”
Judge Whitney had finally stopped having strong reactions to Butler. Instead he just looked at Nora. “Ms. Carleton?”
“It’s true that we just now gave Mr. Butler this witness’s 302, which includes a list of the times we met to prepare him to testify, as well as a copy of his brief testimony in state court. For a variety of security-related reasons, we thought that appropriate and it is exactly what 18 USC Section 3500 contemplates, although I recognize our office’s normal practice is more generous. The material consists of a five-page summary of his interview, which largely tracks what he will testify to today, and his thirteen-page public testimony in state court. Mr. Butler could read it in ten minutes, but we have no objection, given the hour, if Your Honor wishes to give him a reasonable amount of time after the direct to read it and prepare for his cross-examination.”
“Very well, that’s what we’ll do,” the judge said. “Mr. Butler, your objection is noted but the court believes a brief continuance will remedy any prejudice you perceive. We will complete the direct today and your cross will begin at ten tomorrow morning. The court has unrelated matters to attend to, in any event. Now step back, please.”
Back at the podium, Nora went for it right away.
“Mr. McCarthy, do you know Gina Cufaro?”
“Yes, I do.”
“How?”
“We’ve been close since we started dating in high school.”
“Your relationship has been a romantic one to this day?”
“Yes, you could say that.”
“Is she in this courtroom?”
“Yes, there,” he said, pointing to the defense table. Gina just stared back. If looks could kill, Benny thought, his eyes never leaving Gina.
“Your Honor, may the record reflect that the witness has identified the defendant?”
“It will,” Judge Whitney answered.
“Mr. McCarthy,” Nora continued, “did you spend a night at the Lucerne Hotel here in Manhattan the evening before Tony Burke was killed?”
“I did.”
“Were you alone?”
“No, I was with Gina.”
Nora nodded to Jessica, and the monitor screens came to life.
“Mr. McCarthy, I’d like you to watch what has been admitted into evidence as Government Exhibit 70.”
The video compilation played, showing the journey of the blonde killer from the elevator at the Lucerne to Central Park West and back.
When he finished watching, Conor looked up. Nora paused until the jurors did the same, then asked, “Who is that in the video?”
“Gina,” he answered, sounding sad.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I know her. I’ve known her walk, her body, almost my whole life. She’s obviously wearing a wig, but that’s her.”
“As you look at the video, does she resemble anyone else you know?”
“Yes, Kyra Burke, Tony’s wife.”
Nora then paused and, almost as if beginning again, asked a new series of questions so Conor could introduce himself to the jury—his working-class Bronx upbringing and falling for Gina at the Catholic high school they both attended.
“You mentioned that your mother worked cleaning hotel rooms for over twenty years and your father was a doorman in Manhattan. What did Gina’s father do?”
“Objection,” Butler shouted.
“No, I’ll allow it. Overruled,” Judge Whitney replied.
“It wasn’t clear to me, at first,” Conor said. “He just seemed to spend a lot of time sitting in front of a social club just off Arthur Avenue. Lots of people would come and go, talking with him all day long. He seemed important and respected in the neighborhood.”
“Did there come a time when Gina told you what he did?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“Objection,” Butler shouted again.
“Overruled,” Judge Whitney replied. “Calls for a statement by your client, Mr. Butler.”
“She said he was in the Mafia, a big guy in it.”
At that, Butler let out an audible “Hah!” and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. Judge Whitney abruptly moved his head toward the sound and appeared to be about to speak, but Butler quickly looked down and the judge turned back to the witness.
Nora ignored the noise. “Did you come to know her father better?” she asked.
“I did. I hid it from my own folks, but I got along well with Mr. Cufaro and would sit and talk with him a lot at the club. He would send me to do errands and pay me for it.”
“What kind of errands?”
Butler was on his feet again, objecting. He was clearly trying to break up this testimony.
“Overruled,” Judge Whitney said. He was done giving reasons.
“Just going to pick up an envelope from a guy, or deliver one, that kind of thing.”
“You said you hid it from your parents. Why?”
“They didn’t like Mr. Cufaro—or his world, at least—and didn’t want me hanging around him. I used to tell people it was because the Irish didn’t like the Italians, but it was more than that.”
“And how did you explain the money you were making?”
“Told them I got a job at Macy’s downtown.”
“Was that true?”
“No. I was hanging out at the club.”
“You told the jury what your parents thought. Did you like Mr. Cufaro?”
“Yes, very much. I liked Gina most of all, but I also thought he was a cool guy. He talked all the time about how much potential I had. As a kid, I think I craved that affirmation and my family didn’t have any extra money, so it made a big difference when he paid me for jobs.”
“Objection, relevance,” Butler called out.
“Overruled.”
“What did you understand him to mean by your ‘potential’?”
Butler was up again. “Your Honor, I’d like to have a continuing objection to this witness’s testimony.”
There was no such thing in federal criminal procedure but Judge Whitney was tired of Butler, so he nodded. Thinking he had his “continuing objection,” Butler sat back down and remained seated.
“He was never specific about his expectations for me,” Conor said. “He didn’t talk about his work, but Gina explained that only men could join his thing, and it had to be men with an Italian father. So we were both out. Still, he used to talk all the time about the great things I could do with my life to make myself useful and he really pushed me to go to a great college. He told me that the guys in suits with fancy degrees ran the world and made big money. He made me want those things.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Go to a great college?”
“Yes, definitely. I applied to a bunch of schools and got into Yale, which was my top choice.”
“How could you afford Yale?”
“Mr. Cufaro was really excited about it and said he would pay. And he did.”
“What did your parents think about that?”
“Nothing. I told them I was getting scholarships and could cover the rest with on-campus jobs. So they never knew.”
“Did Gina go to college with you?”
“No, she stayed home and commuted to Iona, which is a Catholic college in New Rochelle, not far from their house.”
“Did your relationship continue?”
“It did, although it got kinda tense for a while. Gina had this idea that I was gonna have Ivy League girls all over me or something. I would actually see her on campus following me sometimes, like to check up on me. We had a couple bad arguments over it. Finally, I decided I would just tell everyone at school I was not looking for any kind of relationship. Told my parents the same thing.”
“Was that true?”
“No, of course not, because I was in one with Gina, but it was the best way, actually the only way, I could think to handle the situation. I cared a lot about Gina—still do—and she was getting really upset. It was making her dad crazy too—and he was paying my tuition. So that took care of it. She was actually really touched by me doing that. Made us closer, which was good.”
“What did you major in at Yale?”
“Political science.”
“What did Mr. Cufaro think of that?”
“He said he loved the idea and pushed me after graduation to get a job with a politician and start working my way up in that world.”
“Did you get that kind of job?”
“Yes, with a state legislator named Tony Burke.”
“What did Mr. Cufaro say about that?”
“He loved it. He used to say, ‘That guy’s goin’ places and he’s gonna take you—and us—with him.’”
“Did your parents approve?”
“Yes, very much. I used to joke it was because Burke was an Irish name, but they loved it. And I loved it. Felt like I was doing something good.”
“What did Gina do after graduating from Iona?”
“Her dad set her up in Florida—Palm Beach Gardens. She got a realtor’s license so she would have a legit job to point to.”
“What do you mean by a legit job?”
“Well, she was going to continue doing stuff for her dad, but that’s not the kind of stuff where you get a W-2. She needed something to explain her income.”
“Why didn’t Gina stay in New York?”
“The sexism of the mob drove her crazy. Believe it or not, it bugged her dad a little, too, that she couldn’t be an official part of the Family because she was a woman. So they came up with the idea to have her move away from it but still be part of his crew.”
“What did being ‘part of his crew’ involve?”
“I didn’t know. Never really knew, and actually didn’t want to know. It was one of those things you didn’t ask.”
“Did there come a time when Mr. Cufaro wanted something from you in connection with your work with Tony Burke?”
“Yes. After I’d been there a few years, he started asking to meet local New York politicians I knew. And he wanted to meet Tony Burke—who was a state senator by then.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I didn’t feel comfortable doing that.”
“What did he say?”
“He got really angry. I had seen him mad at other people before but this was the first time it was directed at me. So I actually remember it pretty clearly. He said, ‘Well, this ain’t about your feelings. F your feelings’—except he said the curse word. ‘This is about you owing me and you doing the right thing. Capisce?’—which means understand in Italian.”
“I did, very clearly. I made the introductions, including to Tony, but I also made it clear that my help didn’t go beyond introductions. I didn’t want to know what came next, with any of them.”
“Did you continue working for Tony Burke when he first ran for governor?”
“I did, although I went on the campaign payroll, so I wasn’t a state employee for that part.”
“What difference did that make?”
“He was able to pay me a lot of money. And he did. The campaign had a lot of cash coming in—I think from a lot of the connections I helped make—and—”
Butler stirred, apparently deciding his “continuing objection” may have expired.
“Objection to his speculation, Your Honor.”
“Sustained,” Judge Whitney said, turning to Conor. “Only testify to what you know.”
“I know the campaign had a lot of money,” Conor said, “and they paid me a ton, which I saved and invested. Then I went back to being a state employee when he was reelected.”
“What did you do with the money from the campaign?”
“Like I said, I held onto it and tried to grow it. Also used some of it to help my parents so my mom could stop working on account of her arthritis. Tried to get my dad to retire, too, but he loved his work. He still works in the same building to this day.”
“What was the nature of your relationship with Gina during this time?”
“Still romantic, I guess. It wasn’t what you would call a normal relationship, but we loved each other and enjoyed our time together. But then her dad died, from cancer, and things got harder between us.”
“What do you mean?”
Conor looked down to his folded hands in his lap and spoke more quickly—with new emotion in his voice. “After he died, she never wanted to come to New York anymore. Always wanted me to come see her in Florida. She said that I was the only man she cared about now that her father was gone. I had to come at least once a month or she would get really angry. She told me she wasn’t involved with her father’s crew anymore and that she was just a realtor now.”
“Was that true?”
Conor looked up, his eyes filling with unshed tears. “I don’t know. I always avoided knowing and never asked questions. But I did know she started making big money after her dad was gone and also started traveling, which I never understood—for a realtor to travel. I felt us growing apart, like I didn’t know who she was anymore.”
“At any point after Mr. Cufaro died, did you consider ending your relationship with Gina?”
“I thought about it but I couldn’t. It’s hard to explain. I knew I should but I also cared about her a lot. She’s literally the only woman I’ve ever loved.”
“Do you still love her?”
Conor started to answer, then stopped and looked down, drawing deep breaths through his mouth.
Benny never took his eyes off Gina, who responded to Conor’s evident emotion by dropping her head heavily, as if overcome by her own feelings.
Judge Whitney pushed a box of tissues across the top of the bench and nodded to the witness. Conor turned and took a tissue from the box, wiping his eyes. When he looked up, they were wet.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking, “can you repeat the question?”
Gina now looked up, her face still a piece of stone. You can’t even fake it, Benny thought.
“Yes,” Nora said, “I was asking whether you still loved Gina Cufaro.”
He sniffled again. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I know what love is anymore, but our relationship hasn’t been okay for quite a while.”
“Were you ever afraid of her?”
“Sure, sometimes, especially after her dad was gone and she got angry a lot more often. But she could also be so kind to me. Always said she was sorry after she got mad.”
“What happened to your job after Tony Burke finished his second term as governor and left office?”
“I still had a job—he wanted me as his chief of staff, for him as a private citizen—but I thought my political career was over.”
“Why?”
“Well, all kinds of bad stuff came out around the time he left office about his treatment of women. Mistreatment, I should say. He denied it all to me and I believed him at first. But then people I really trust came to me with proof of his bad behavior and I knew it was completely over for him. But he was still talking about running for president, again, which was crazy.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing right away, but a couple weeks before he died I finally worked up the nerve and went to tell him he couldn’t run for office anymore, that he had too much baggage—I think I said ‘too many sexual skeletons in the closet’—and that he was finished as a politician. I told him I was going to sign up with another candidate. I didn’t tell him at the time but my plan was to go with his son, Edward Burke, who I’d known for years and who didn’t have Tony’s issues.”
“He got very angry and said that I was the one with the skeletons. Then he called me ‘Mr. Nostra Amico,’ and said I should ‘shut the F up.’”
“What did you understand him to mean by ‘Mr. Nostra Amico’?”
“It was a reference to the Mafia. They refer to someone who is part of a Mafia Family as a ‘friend of ours’—nostra amico in Italian. I wasn’t, but that was the reference.”
“What did you take that to mean?”
“I took it as a threat, to reveal stuff about me and the people I introduced to him and other politicians. He was going to ruin me if I didn’t stay with him.”
“What did you do next?”
“I was down at Gina’s that weekend and I told her what he said.”
“What, if anything, did she say?”
“She offered to talk to him. She had met him a few times when he was in Florida for fundraisers and he knew who her father was. I said there was no way he would want to see her, especially not in New York.”
“What happened next?”
“Gina was really insistent, as she can be, saying she wanted to help me keep my career going and that it was also important that her father’s business remain confidential. She said she would just ‘stop by’ and tell the governor to apologize to me, quit politics, keep his mouth shut, and retire. She said I deserved to have a career and she could make Burke understand that. She believed he would listen to her. Eventually made me believe it too.”
“So what did you do?”
“I said, ‘He’ll never let you in,’ but she said to just give her the elevator code to his place and she asked me about his schedule. She came up the day before, stayed at the Lucerne, like you saw. I told her he was always home after six P.M. during the week. I assumed she would distract or pay off the doorman, then use the code to get upstairs, have a quick conversation, convince him, then leave. All good.”
“Did she tell you she would dress up to look like Kyra Burke?”
“No, most definitely not.”
“To your knowledge, did Gina know Kyra Burke?”
“She knew who she was, because Kyra and I have been friends since college—and Kyra was one of the people Gina was initially jealous about, which was crazy—but to my knowledge they never met.”
“Did you speak to Gina Cufaro after her visit to Tony Burke’s penthouse?”
“Yes, I think we talked on the phone that night, before she went back to Florida.”
“What did she say?”
“That the conversation had gone well, although she was worried about Tony. Said he seemed really worn down by all the accusations against him. He’d told her he knew he was finished and that I had to move on—everybody had to move on from him. His time was done, he’d told her. That’s what she said.”
“Did there come a time when you learned he was dead?”
“Yes, I got a call from the police late that night. They were looking at it as a suicide, which was horrible but didn’t surprise me, after what Gina had said.”
“When did you learn the police viewed it as a homicide?”
“I don’t remember, exactly; in the week after or so.”
“Did you tell the police that you knew Gina had been to see him the night he died?”
“No,” Conor answered, his voice beginning to crack.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to believe she’d done anything, so I did what I’ve always done—just pushed it away.”
“You’re aware Kyra Burke was charged by the local authorities with killing her husband that night.”
“I am.”
“In fact, you testified at her state trial.”
“I did. They asked me questions about a prenuptial agreement Tony and Kyra had.”
“Why didn’t you tell them you knew who had done it?”
Conor answered rapid-fire as he began to cry, his words running into each other. “Because nobody asked and I really care about Gina and I’m also afraid of her and I didn’t know she had done it and I still don’t to be honest. I told you the truth when you asked about Gina, but the rest . . .”
Conor’s voice trailed off. For a moment he dropped his head, shoulders jerking, breath audible. Then he looked up, tears running down his face, and seemed to speak to the defense table. “Tony Burke was so good to me, and Gina is like a piece of me, or me of her. I still don’t want to think these things.”
Judge Whitney reached over and nudged the tissue box even closer to the witness.
Nora paused and looked down at her notes.
“Anything further, Ms. Carleton?” Judge Whitney asked, turning a concerned glance toward the witness, who was now visibly crying on the stand.
Nora said, “If I could just confer with cocounsel, Judge.” She walked to the government table and leaned down to Carmen. “Miss anything?” she asked.
Carmen shook her head “no,” but tapped her pen to alert Nora to a Post-it note stuck to the table. In Benny’s handwriting, it read, Rico Faraci’s body found in the Gowanus Canal. Fredo Corleone? Nora immediately understood the reference to the murder of the unreliable brother in the movie The Godfather.
Whoa, she thought, life imitating art in a really dark way. She stood up straight and said, “No further questions, Your Honor.”
Judge Whitney explained to the jury that he was taking the afternoon off to deal with unrelated cases and sending them home. They were off until the morning.
The team gathered back at Carmen’s office to hear Benny’s report on Faraci, which wasn’t much more than the Post-it note had said—NYPD pulled his body out of the heavily polluted two-hundred-year-old canal running from New York Harbor up into the heart of Brooklyn, cause of death not yet determined. “Could be ’cause of the stupid shit he pulled with you two,” Benny said. “Or it could be somethin’ unrelated, or could be it all just piled up to a point that he had to go. Hard to say right now.”