There are few days in the long trial when the lawyers’ questions don’t have barbs, replies don’t have sharp edges, and interminable and repeated arguments over procedure and admissibility don’t tempt the least-cynical observer into thinking the entire affair might be better settled with a fistfight. The tension in the courtroom is palpable; it has been that way from the very beginning.
Most exchanges are acrimonious.
Brower: “I’ll wait until DeRobbio quits smirking before proceeding, Your Honor.”
DeRobbio jumps to his feet and replies, “Mr. Brower should be admonished by this court for that, Your Honor! I am getting tired of this.”
Giannini: “This is an appropriate place for me to bite my tongue.”
At one point, the lawyers clash over whether a witness should be allowed to elaborate on a yes-or-no answer.
Giannini sometimes has to warn lawyers to stop addressing the court at the same time, or to stop bickering and shouting at one another across the aisle.
And there is more than just talking going on across the aisle. Murphy and DeRobbio sometimes return to the prosecution table to find handwritten notes on which a friend’s address is written, or their own. There might as well be a blinking sign saying, “We’re going to get you. We’re going to get those you love.”
Tillinghast, in fact, says loudly one morning that they should beat them with a baseball bat to “straighten their heads out.”
Tarzian, at another point, pulls up a chair next to Murphy and says, “Jesus, Murphy. I was sorry to hear . . . I hope it isn’t true. Your sister’s married to a colored guy.”
“That’s right,” Murphy says. “You don’t have to feel sorry.”
“Could have been worse,” says Tarzian. “She could have married an Armenian.”
Years later Murphy remembers vividly how Tillinghast whispered to him, “Hey, Murphy. How’s it feel to have those nigger kids running around your house?”
Despite the death of his elderly father during the trial, DeRobbio is in court the following morning. Before the jury is brought in, Tillinghast says, “Hey, Al. I hear your old man died of a heart attack last night after he got a blow job.”
DeRobbio jumps to his feet and goes after Tillinghast, but a state trooper intervenes.
Paul DiMaio files a written memorandum with DeRobbio telling him that some of the defendants are asking where DeRobbio lives. He suggests DeRobbio keep his eyes open.
The law Rhode Island style—no blood, no foul.
Outside the courthouse in late June, about a dozen young people start marching before the South Main Street entrance holding signs protesting what they consider excessive state police security. They echo the complaints Tillinghast made nearly three months ago when jury selection got under way. The cops don’t pay them much attention.
At his weekly press conference Gov. Philip Noel defends the heightened security as a way to prevent Deuce’s assassination. He doesn’t name any gunmen, but says, “It is obvious that they already have tried to kill him once.
“There are several million dollars involved,” he says, referring to the stolen loot, “money that is now on the street. When you have that much money to work with, the underworld element, you know, you can spend the money to hire hit men to come in and kill these witnesses.
“Regardless of how much security you have, with that many millions of dollars in the kitty, you have a very, very dangerous situation—dangerous to witnesses, judge, and jurors.
“If you have dangerous people misbehaving and acting up in that courtroom, you have the right to put whatever kind of security is required in that courtroom.”
In Superior Court defense lawyers are haggling over certain aspects of Joe Danese’s testimony for the prosecution. “Crazy Joe” is a portrait of decorum on the witness stand. He is neatly dressed. He tells the jury that he decided to cooperate because he already has spent fourteen years of his life in prison. His answers are clear and direct.
At DeRobbio’s request, Danese steps down from the witness stand and calmly identifies all the defendants one by one except for Walter Ouimette, with whom he had no dealings. The defendants glare and sneer but remain silent.
At the start of the midafternoon recess, as the jury leaves the hot and crowded room, Tarzian tries to resist being handcuffed by one of the men from the committing squad, and a trooper rushes to help him.
Tillinghast complains that the trooper bumped his arm and interfered with his efforts to speak with his lawyer. He says his wrist has been injured.
Tarzian refuses to return to the courtroom after the recess. Brower says the man is physically and emotionally unable to continue. He worries aloud that the state police will further harm his client.
DeRobbio suggests that physicians examine both men.
Giannini has had enough. He adjourns the session for the day.
Outside, the protestors shift their demonstration to the Benefit Street side of the building so that jurors can see and hear them when they board the school bus that returns them to the Holiday Inn Downtown where they are sequestered.
The black-garbed S.W.A.T. team takes most of the protestors’ abuse.
They manage to survive.