The case against Thomas Shea was proceeding apace. When court resumed on the afternoon of Wednesday, May 29, the prosecution called Harold Cannon to the stand. Under questioning by Gaudelli, the detective recounted his trip with Add Armstead to the Pilot Automotive Wrecking Company.
“I show you this,” Gaudelli said, handing Cannon a revolver, “and ask if you recognize it.”
“I do.”
“Is this the gun and holster together with the ammunition that you recovered from Add Armstead’s place of business on April 28, 1973?”
“It is.”
With Dubin’s permission, Gaudelli introduced the weapon into evidence and passed it to the jurors. As could be readily seen, it was silver, not black.
Like a majority of the previous thirty-one witnesses, Cannon was generally helpful to the prosecution. But one major problem remained. No one had directly corroborated Add Armstead’s version of the shooting itself. Thus, beginning on the afternoon of Wednesday, May 29, and continuing through the following day, Demakos gambled. Not fully confident of their ability to withstand cross-examination, he called as witnesses eight members of the South Jamaica community (all of them black), who claimed to have seen or heard events directly related to the death of Clifford Glover.
Doris Lyons of New York Boulevard testified to looking out her bedroom window and seeing Shea fire his gun the moment he stepped from the car. Jane Boolds (a bookkeeper driving home from a dance at 5:00 A.M. on April 28, 1973) claimed she saw Shea jump from his car and chase two blacks into the lot while Scott continued driving around the block without ever emerging from the vehicle. Elaine Fryer of 112th Road recounted hearing shots, looking out a bedroom window, and seeing Shea stand over the body of Clifford Glover. Marie Young of Mathias Avenue told of coming home from her job as a barmaid and getting ready for bed when she heard shots, looked out the window, and saw Armstead running across the street.
Albert Robinson of Mathias testified to hearing the same shots and seeing Armstead run into some bushes. Robinson’s daughter, Wanda, described hearing shots, seeing Armstead run into the same bushes, and then hearing one more shot fired. Helen Kelly of Dillon Street testified to seeing Armstead flag down the first police car that passed after the shooting.
An eighth community witness, Katie Robinson of New York Boulevard, appeared senile and disoriented on the stand. Her testimony was at odds with that of every other witness and included improbable dialogue as well as the statement, contradicted by all other accounts, that ten minutes elapsed between the first and last shots fired.
Four of the community witnesses—Elaine Fryer, Marie Young, Albert Robinson, and Helen Kelly—added nothing to the prosecution’s case. Evseroff was willing to concede that Shea had stood over Clifford Glover immediately after the shooting to ascertain the boy’s condition and that Armstead had crossed Mathias Avenue before flagging down the police. Nor did the defense attorney tarry with Katie Robinson, who was such a pathetic figure on the stand that her testimony fell of its own weight. However, the other three community witnesses were potentially dangerous—until Evseroff emasculated each of them on cross-examination.
Doris Lyons claimed to have seen Shea fire his gun the moment he stepped from the car. However, she was extremely vague about what had caused her to rise from bed to look out the window before the shooting started. Then Evseroff dug into his case file and produced a signed statement that Mrs. Lyons had given police investigators on April 28, 1973. The statement contained no mention of her having witnessed the shooting. Indeed, to the contrary, Lyons had told police detectives that she neither saw nor heard it because “I went to get a bathrobe.”
Wanda Robinson’s testimony was also potentially damaging to Shea because the timing of shots she allegedly heard conflicted with Walter Scott’s claim of having fired in self-defense. Scott had said the last two shots—one by him and one by Armstead—were fired in rapid succession. Wanda Robinson claimed that there was only one shot at the end and that it came after Armstead had fled the lot. Evseroff discredited her testimony by forcing the admission that she had never told anyone (including her father) about witnessing the incident until just prior to trial.
That left Jane Boolds. If her testimony that Walter Scott never stepped from his car prior to the shooting were allowed to stand, Scott’s credibility would drop to sub-zero.
“Miss Boolds,” Evseroff began, cross-examining the witness, “when did you come forth and tell anybody about this?”
“The day of the incident, I reported it to the police.”
“I see. And did anybody interview you?”
“Yes.”
The defense attorney was floundering.
“And did you ever speak to anybody in the District Attorney’s office about this?”
“Mr. Demakos.”
Sitting in the front row of spectator seats, Shea’s bodyguard Hugh Curtin began scribbling furiously on a sheet of paper.
“Did you speak to Mr. Gaudelli or any other assistant?” Evseroff pressed. “No, just Mr. Demakos.”
Curtin handed the paper to Cahill, who waved to Evseroff. Briefly the two lawyers caucused. The defense had a new lease on life.
“Miss Boolds,” Evseroff asked, returning to the witness, “did you ever hear of Patrolman Timothy Hurley?”
“Yes.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Objection,” Demakos interrupted.
“Oh, no!” Evseroff thundered. “No!”
“Counselor,” Justice Dubin intervened, “do you have a specific question?”
“Yes, I have a specific question,” the defense attorney roared. “Isn’t it a fact, Miss Boolds, that your brother is under arrest for killing Patrolman Hurley?”
“Yes.”
“I have no further questions,” Evseroff snapped. Then, shaking his head, he returned to his seat. “Woodwork witnesses,” he muttered to Shea. “Woodwork witnesses, every one of them.”
The “woodwork witnesses” had been a failure. And on Friday, May 31, Demakos returned to safer ground. Patrolman Edward Keegen, a police ballistics expert, testified that the starter’s pistol found by Detective Henry Sephton in the sewer on Dillon Street was incapable of propelling a projectile. Next, Patrolman Stephen Egger of the Manhattan Forensic Unit described dusting the starter’s pistol for fingerprints. None had been found, indicating that it had been in the sewer long before April 28, 1973. Together, the two men made it clear that the starter’s pistol was not the “black gun” allegedly passed from Glover to Armstead.
After Egger, the prosecution called Detective Frank Guigliano of the Manhattan Ballistics Unit to confirm what the jurors could see with their own eyes—that the revolver found by Harold Cannon at the Pilot Automotive Wrecking Company was not “black.”
“This is stainless steel,” Guigliano stated, inspecting the weapon. “It has a whitish finish.”
Following Guigliano’s testimony, Detective Albert Birtley of the 15th Burglary and Larceny Squad recounted combing the lot with three other officers for evidence of the bullet allegedly fired by Add Armstead.
“Did you find any?” Birtley was asked.
“No sir,” he answered. “We didn’t.”
Inexorably, the prosecution’s case was drawing to a close. However, several loose ends remained—among them the extremely important legal technicality that no one had testified from direct knowledge that Clifford Glover was dead.
On the afternoon of Friday, May 31, Eloise Glover took the stand. “Mrs. Glover,” Demakos asked, “did you have a son by the name of Clifford?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And was his name Clifford Glover?”
“Yes,” she answered softly.
“And will you tell me when he was born?”
“November 16, 1962.”
“I’m sorry,” Demakos said, straining to hear her. “You’ll have to speak louder.”
“November 16, 1962.”
In the span of a year, Eloise Glover’s world had collapsed around her. Her oldest child was dead. Her second son, Henry, was suffering from an extreme emotional disorder, fueled by his inability to cope with Clifford’s death. For long periods of time, Henry would sit alone in the rain. Once, looking at a tub of bacon scraps in a meat market, he had told the butcher, “That’s my brother Clifford all cut up in his coffin.”
“Mrs. Glover,” Demakos asked, “did there come a time on April 29, 1973, when you went to the Medical Examiner’s office in Manhattan?”
“Yes.”
“And did there come a time at the Medical Examiner’s office when you viewed a body?”
“Yes.”
“Was that the body of your son Clifford?”
“Yes sir.”
“And did you identify your son’s body that day?”
“Yes.”
The prosecutor’s examination of the witness took less than two minutes.
Following her departure, Dr. Yong Myun Rho (who had performed the autopsy on Clifford Glover’s body) was called to the stand. One item in the pathologist’s testimony was of particular note. The victim had been struck down by a bullet that entered his body one and a half inches from the center of his back.
Following a weekend recess, testimony resumed.
On Monday, June 3, a police laboratory technician named Charles Pompa told the court that a spectographic analysis of the starter’s pistol found in the Dillon Street sewer indicated that the gun could have been underwater for months.
Then, at Evseroff ‘s request, Add Armstead was recalled as a witness.
“This gun right here,” Evseroff boomed, waving the revolver found at the Pilot Automotive Wrecking Company. “Do you recognize it?”
“Yes,” Armstead answered.
“How long did you have this gun at the yard?”
“I guess about three or four months.”
“You found it originally, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Under the seat of a car.”
Evseroff’s strategy was clear. Despite its silver color, he would play the gun for all it was worth.
“Tell me, Mr. Armstead, what kind of car was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What make of car was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What year car was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was the color of the car?”
“I don’t remember.”
“When you found this gun,” Evseroff pressed, “did you show it to your boss?”
“Yes sir, he seen it.”
“Did you ever fire this gun, Mr. Armstead?”
“No.”
A crucial question was at hand.
“Did you ever bring this gun home with you?”
“Yes,” the witness answered.
Evseroff paused dramatically and looked toward the jurors, letting the fact sink in. Add Armstead was a man who had carried a gun to and from work.
“When did you bring this gun home with you?” the attorney asked at last.
“I don’t know. Three or four times.”
“Was there any special reason?”
“No reason.”
“Just brought it home?” Evseroff demanded.
“Just brought it home.”
Then, as he had done two weeks earlier, the defense attorney led Armstead through the day of the shooting, seeking additional contradictions in the witness’s testimony.
“Why were you going to your place of business at five o’clock in the morning?”
“Sometimes the crane don’t start so good. It takes a long time to start the crane.”
“Did you tell Patrolman Thomas Scott that, when you turned around, you saw a man with a gun?”
“I don’t remember,” Armstead answered. “I was scared. I might have told him that, but I didn’t see no gun.”
Demakos held his breath. The witness was doing a good job. He was following his instructions, answering only the questions asked, not over-extending himself.
Evseroff was getting nowhere trying to break him.
With great flair, the defense attorney pointed to the map of the shooting site drawn by Patrolman Charles Fox. Perhaps, if pushed hard enough, Armstead would trace a route at odds with the one he had testified to earlier.
“Mr. Armstead,” Evseroff coaxed, “would you care to come to the map, please, and show the jury where it was that you ran?”
The witness hesitated.
“Would you do that, please?” the lawyer urged.
“I can’t read a map very good.”
“You can’t read a map?” Evseroff scoffed. “Can’t you read at all?”
“No.”
There was little to be gained from further interrogation. Moments later, Evseroff’s questions ceased. Then, shortly before noon on Monday, June 3, its case complete, the prosecution rested. After three weeks of testimony from forty-seven witnesses, the initiative was about to pass to the defense.
“It’s our ball,” Evseroff said, turning to Shea and Cahill. “Let’s play with it.”