CHAPTER 22

NOW BACK IN ERIE, DOMINICK DIPAOLO PULLED ALL THE ORIGINAL crime reports from the Erie Police Department’s Central Records room and began comparing notes on the jobs Dorler had detailed. Dorler’s confession, DiPaolo soon confirmed, became a lesson in professional criminal activity not ever taught in any university criminal justice program. Amazing, the cop thought of Dorler. He had definitely been around the block and back. The police records confirmed all that Dorler had spoken of – and more. And they would provide a surprise even DiPaolo could not have imagined at the time.

The first robbery had occurred on April 19, 1982, a short time after Dorler’s initial, get-acquainted meeting with Caesar Montevecchio at the Holiday Inn. Jack Miller, an Erie bookie and owner of a local beer distributorship, had been robbed at his home. Miller, his wife, Jean, and son, Grant, were bound by two robbers who had used guns to gain entrance, then telephone cords to tie them. Dorler had been right in every detail of his account of the Miller robbery, including Grant’s comment about the tickets. There were more as well: Less than a month later on May 7, 1982, apparently the same two men robbed Louie Nardo in his home. Nardo and his girlfriend, Evelyn Frye, were bound and placed in a bathtub. Nardo actually saw one of the robbers, and heard other voices as well. Gold watches, cash and jewelry were stolen from his house. Added together, the robbery take was reportedly worth more than $100,000.

But it was the third robbery that would prove to be the eye-opener for the Erie detective. Five days after the Nardo job on May 12, police records again confirmed Dorler’s account of what had transpired. Frank Scalise, a grocer and reputed gambler, was driving his van home when he was held-up by two armed men. Somehow, Scalise managed to drop his four moneybags to the ground and subtly kick two of them underneath the van when exiting the vehicle. The two armed robbers viciously pistol-whipped Scalise into submission, then fled with two cash-filled bags, leaving the bloody Scalise at the scene, and, of course, the two additional moneybags still out-of-sight under the van. In the Scalise robbery report, however, something remarkable caught DiPaolo’s trained eye that obviously had been earlier overlooked, or, at least the significance of the discovery had not been appreciated.

DiPaolo was incredulous as he read in the initial offense report that the uniformed officers at the crime scene found one live round of ammunition beneath Scalise’s van, along with the two hidden moneybags undetected by the robbers. It was a bullet. More precisely, it was a .32 caliber automatic Norma brand bullet.

A chill ran up DiPaolo’s spine. He immediately understood that it was only the second time in his long police career that he had heard or read the name “Norma” as it applied to ammunition. The first time, he recalled with almost youthful, joyous excitement, was at Bolo Dovishaw’s home in early January of 1983. That bullet was found in very close proximity to Dovishaw’s cold, dead body. For a moment, DiPaolo sucked in deep gulps of air. Then he held his breath.

What was in reality a very short period of time seemed to take forever. DiPaolo immediately directed the ID Section to send the live Norma round found under Scalise’s van, along with the shell casing DiPaolo discovered at Dovishaw’s house, to the Pennsylvania State Police Ballistics Laboratory for scientific comparison testing. The evidence was designated as “priority” and “rush.” And then he waited impatiently for the return of the ballistic comparison results.

When the report returned and DiPaolo ripped open the manila envelope, his eyes rested on the only word that mattered: “Match.” Both the Norma live round found under the van and the shell casing from Dovishaw’s house had the same ejection markings. The live round had been inside the .32 pistol used to beat Scalise, the impact causing the round to accidentally pop out, leaving ejection marks on it. The same identifying marks were found on the shell in Dovishaw’s home. Thus, both bullet and casing had come from the same weapon. It was an extraordinary discovery, one that could not be mere coincidence, the cop knew. DiPaolo now had solid physical evidence linking not just Dorler and Bourjaily to Frank “Bolo” Dovishaw’s killer, but also Erieite Caesar Montevecchio, thanks to Robert Dorler giving up a few local robberies.

DiPaolo already knew Bolo’s hit involved an A.C.P. Norma brand .32 caliber bullet from an automatic pistol. He now also knew beyond any doubt that Miller, Nardo and Scalise were all robbed by out-oftowners, working with Caesar Montevecchio, who apparently used the same weapon months earlier. For murder.

Caesar, DiPaolo thought. It was Caesar’s M.O. from day one.

And the enormous break in the Dovishaw murder had been handed to DiPaolo by criminal figure Robert Dorler without Dorler even knowing it. Or did he?

Once again, however, the existence of a real-life municipal police detective manifested itself in the reality of an unrelenting caseload. Crime, like life, went on. Crime didn’t stop while detectives cleared their caseloads. Wouldn’t it be terrific, DiPaolo often fantasized, if detectives could be assigned just one case at a time and work exclusively until it was solved?

As usual, luxuries of working one case at a time didn’t happen in DiPaolo’s world. DiPaolo’s plate was not just overflowing; it was buried. For those reasons, shortly after his amazing interview in Cleveland with Robert Dorler, just as the cop began the tedious process of verifying this new ballistics information in the Bolo Dovishaw murder case, an informant’s telephone tip led him in another direction. Even that direction was not too far afield from the ongoing Dovishaw probe.

“You still want to some make arrests in the Pal Joey’s arson fire?” the informant had asked. Pal Joey’s. Arson. Joe Scutella. Oh, yeah. DiPaolo found himself compelled to temporarily shift gears, at least slightly, from the murder probe to the arson investigation, which had stalled. Yet the detective knew anything involving the Scutellas would not be a waste of time. “All the usual suspects,” as Casablanca’s Captain Louis Renault was fond of saying, as well as the many cases they were involved in, they seemed overarching like concentric circles.

DiPaolo mentally reviewed the facts of the unsolved arson case. On February 1, 1985, Pal Joey’s Restaurant at 11th and State Streets in downtown Erie was destroyed in a spectacular conflagration. Determined by fire marshals to have been the work of an arsonist, DiPaolo was assigned the case even as he labored over Dovishaw’s murder. DiPaolo ascertained the failing restaurant business, run by some members of the Scutella family and suspected wise guys and wise guy wannabes, was hemorrhaging money and therefore dying. Always suspect and suspicious, especially when it came to some of the Scutellas, DiPaolo had arranged for the insuring company to have the huge claim payment held back.

When the informant called DiPaolo with the tip, the Scutellas were in the process of filing a lawsuit against the insurance carrier to force payment on the business’ $600,000 policy. Although no one was officially connecting the family with the fire yet, DiPaolo was continuing to advise the carrier, Donegal Insurance, that the Scutellas were under investigation in connection with the arson. Since DiPaolo could not prove his suspicions at that moment, and not yet in court, he advised the carrier to hold off on its payment for as long as possible while police developed and collected new evidence. As a result, Donegal continued to deny the claim and the Scutellas filed suit in Erie County Court to collect on their policy.

The confidential informant, a fellow wise guy in the know when it came to Erie’s slimy dark side, confidently assured DiPaolo that it was Ricky Cimino, a low-level bit player in the local underworld’s grand scheme, who actually set the fire on orders from the Scutellas. Furthermore, the source insisted, it was Darrell Steiner, another in Erie crime’s unheralded low-life cast, who drove Cimino to and from the scene. It was also claimed that Cimino had been accidentally severely burned as he attempted to flee what had become a raging inferno that February night. He had dashed out of the building screaming, the back of his clothing still smoldering, and disappeared into a waiting car, or so DiPaolo was told. The informant told DiPaolo that word on the street was that the Scutella family was behind the arson.

That the Scutellas were involved in destroying their own business for the insurance money came as no surprise to the veteran detective. Just a day after the blaze, a source from one of Erie’s television news departments told police he’d picked up reliable information about the Scutellas’ likely involvement in the Pal Joey’s fire.

DiPaolo knew the TV news source to be reliable, and considered vital the information provided: Ron Nuara, director of the news programs at WJET television, Erie’s ABC affiliate, was at the time dating Kelli Scutella, one of Joe Scutella’s daughters. Nuara, who since married Scutella, told station employees that Kelli’s brother, Danny, had called her at midnight, February 1, shortly before the destructive fire, instructing her to bring the key to the building’s second floor “right away.” Soon after she delivered the key, the restaurant and the entire building went up in flames and smoke. DiPaolo would include all of the information in his official police reports, and also later testify in open court about the information he received from the confidential sources, and ultimately, so would Cimino.

The information did not provide hard evidence that DiPaolo would need, but enough to at least initially connect some members of the Scutella family to the arson fire, while further holding up the insurance pay-out. And besides, there was a link to Caesar Montevecchio. Wasn’t there always? DiPaolo mused to himself.

DiPaolo knew both Ricky Cimino and Darrell Steiner by reputation, and from his personal police investigatory experience.

Cimino long had had cocaine connections with Joey Scutella and with Merchie Calabrese, Jr., and Merchie’s kid, John. The connection, it came as no surprise, was Caesar Montevecchio. But DiPaolo was having difficulty ascertaining exactly where Steiner fit in. He had arrested Steiner several years earlier on a theft charge, so the detective was at least familiar with Darrell as a member of Erie’s vast, but relatively insignificant, criminal underbelly. DiPaolo would not have previously speculated that the garden variety low-life Steiner would have been involved with Montevecchio, Scutella or Calabrese. But it didn’t take long for DiPaolo to make the all-important connection between Ricky Cimino and Darrell Steiner.

After checking with his street informant sources, DiPaolo learned that Cimino was running an after-hours dive called the Pickwick Club at the time of the Pal Joey’s fire. Steiner tended bar at the Pickwick Club. That connected the two of them. It was that easy.

Next, DiPaolo learned another wannabe wise guy, Peter Vella, a convicted felon with a criminal history dating back several decades, was now running the Pickwick. Vella had taken over the club’s management responsibilities immediately following the fire. It coincided with the time Cimino and Steiner dropped off everyone’s radar. The Pickwick was shut down late in 1985. Cimino and Steiner seemed to have vanished. Flipping a coin to decide between which of the two he would actively pursue, DiPaolo chose the less-connected and thus more easily intimidated Darrell Steiner. It was a plan that worked.

Before setting out to find Steiner, DiPaolo learned that the night of the fire – January 31, 1985 – just before midnight, Joe Scutella and his much younger girlfriend, Donna Costello, were seen by many at The Sports Page. Scutella had hardly ever frequented “The Page,” but this night he was buying drinks for other patrons.

Bill “Dutch” Senger, a school teacher and a legend in Erie high school basketball and baseball, and star at Findlay University, was moonlighting, along with John Aquino, as a bartender at The Page. He got a $100 tip from Scutella as Scutella and his comare (“girl on the side”) left the establishment. There was no doubt in DiPaolo’s mind that Scutella was making extra sure of establishing an alibi the night of the fire. In Erie, who could forget a C-note left as a bar tip?

To find Steiner, DiPaolo cast around in his collection of sources and informants until he located one who clicked. It was an elderly woman who had known Steiner, a friend of Darrell’s family. First time luck, she provided the detective with the answers he was seeking. Steiner, she said, had moved to Miami, Florida, shortly after the fire in February 1985.

What a coincidence, DiPaolo thought. A State Street building landmark that had once housed the popular Erie Restaurant burns to the ground and Darrell Steiner simultaneously skips town. It only took several calls to the Miami Police Department for DiPaolo to locate Steiner’s whereabouts. The Erie man was living in a not quite life-threatening residential area of Miami.

Serendipitously for DiPaolo, Miami police patrol officers had ticketed Steiner for running a red light just a week earlier. He hadn’t paid the ticket within the time period allowed, resulting in police issuing a warrant for Steiner’s arrest. Lucky break or perfect timing, DiPaolo didn’t care. It was all working to his advantage.

A short time later, DiPaolo and a special agent from the Pennsylvania Attorney General’s Office in Pittsburgh caught a red-eye flight to Miami. Miami police, extending all the professional courtesies expected between law enforcement agencies, were helpful and cooperative, even transporting the two Pennsylvania law enforcement officials to Steiner’s new digs.

Unfortunately for them at the moment, it appeared Steiner was out. And DiPaolo had no way of knowing for how long. But Lady Luck struck again, this time in the person of an elderly female neighbor who helpfully volunteered that Darrell Steiner had earlier walked to the nearby Publix Supermarket. The friendly neighbor told the officers she knew Steiner would be returning from the store directly because Darrell was picking up groceries for her as well.

The officers parked their vehicle just a short distance from Steiner’s Miami residence and watched – and waited – a mini stake-out of sorts. DiPaolo was no stranger to long and boring stake-outs. Although he would have waited for hell to freeze over, this one turned out to be one of the shortest of his entire career. Five minutes after parking the car, the Erie cop spotted Steiner strolling along the street ironically named “Lucky Lane.”

Nonchalant and carefree, Steiner was dutifully toting what appeared to be a brown paper bag chock full of groceries from the popular Publix supermarket. The officers started the car and slowly edged out onto Lucky Lane. When they pulled up alongside Steiner as he walked, the Miami cop asked, “Darrell Steiner?”

Steiner slowed somewhat. “Yeah?” It was more of a question than a confirmation.

“I have a traffic warrant for your failure to appear in court,” Miami Police Sergeant Mary Santorma said. Peering deeper inside the car, Steiner broke out into a nervous laugh.

“What the fuck! Dom DiPaolo comes all the way to Miami from Erie to help you serve a traffic warrant? No fuckin’ way. I want a lawyer!”

It was much more than a simple demand for legal counsel, DiPaolo knew. Steiner, despite his bravado, had guilt written all over him. He was scared. Good.

Although it was an inauspicious means toward an end, DiPaolo thought, at least it was a start. Darrell Steiner would be as good a place as any to begin. And now DiPaolo had Steiner in his sights.

DiPaolo and the other officials allowed the transplanted Erieite Darrell Steiner to deposit his groceries in his Miami apartment and then hand over milk and bread to his elderly, friendly and helpful neighbor lady. Then police drove Steiner to the main headquarters building of the Miami-Dade Metro Police Department. In the car, the officers’ intentional silence became deafening for Steiner. Finally, he asked, “Dom, c’mon, man, what’s up?”

“At the station, we’ll talk,” the tight-lipped DiPaolo said.

When they arrived at police headquarters and led Steiner to an interrogation room, Sergeant Santorma told Steiner, “I’ll hold off on booking you on this warrant. I’ll let Sergeant DiPaolo talk with you first. Then we’ll see what happens.”

After ticking off from memory in quick order the all-so-familiar Miranda warnings, DiPaolo got straight to the point with Darrell Steiner.

“Are you willing to talk with us about the arson fire at Pal Joey’s Restaurant in Erie on February 1, 1985?” he asked, skipping the unnecessary lead-up to the big question.

“Oh, so that’s why you’re here?” Steiner simultaneously asked and stated, not showing too much surprise.

“Sign the waiver. Then we talk.”

“If I do talk, do I get a deal?”

“Just sign the waiver,” DiPaolo instructed, his poker face stern, yet unrevealing.

Now Steiner was starting to actually show the fear he was feeling. It was clear he wanted out from under the pressure that initially sent him scurrying to the Sunshine State. And he wasn’t going to be too particular about negotiating a deal for himself. Wow! the Erie cop thought to himself. This was one of the quickest breakdowns and confessions in Dominick DiPaolo’s vast array of knocking out, figuratively, confessions. DiPaolo could only shake his head in amazement. If only they all could be this easy, he thought.

Darrell Steiner was as candid and forthcoming as anyone who was facing potential felony accomplice charges had ever been with the police. He laid out for authorities the Pal Joey’s arson fire in the greatest of details that even Detective Sergeant DiPaolo could not have anticipated.

Ricky Cimino, Steiner began, had needed a driver to take him to and from Pal Joey’s on that night. In return for the rides, Ricky promised Steiner half – some $12,500 – of the 25 grand Cimino would be getting from the Scutellas to torch their restaurant. Late the night of January 31, Steiner said, he drove Cimino to the restaurant, parking the car on East 11th Street, not far from Pal Joey’s. Cimino left Steiner waiting in the car, while Ricky first went in the restaurant’s front door, then came out, going straight to the building’s side door leading to the second floor. But the door was locked. So he went back to the front door and entered.

A short time later, Cimino came out, motioned for Steiner to get out of the car and approach him. From there, they walked to the nearby Plymouth Tavern, where Cimino explained to Steiner that the side door leading to the second floor was locked and nobody there had a key. He also told Steiner that a call was made to Kelli, Joe’s daughter, and she was coming with the key. Some 15-to-20 minutes after that, the two left the Plymouth and walked north on State Street until they got to Pal Joey’s. Cimino went inside while Steiner walked directly to his car.

When Cimino came out, Steiner continued, he went to the side of the building and immediately entered through the now unlocked door. Five minutes later, he said, the bar and restaurant lights went out and three people emerged from the front door. One locked the door and all three left the building in the dark. Steiner, unfortunately, could not I.D. any of the three. Within moments, Steiner heard two distinct explosions from nearby, then watched red flashes of light coming from the building’s second floor windows. Seconds later, flames were shooting from those same windows.

Almost immediately, a panicked – and flaming! – Ricky Cimino sprinted from the same side door he had earlier entered. Ricky was on fire! But he at least had the presence of mind to roll himself, crazily, in the snow to extinguish the flames that were wildly shooting from his clothing. Steiner, previously mesmerized by the horrific scene unfolding in front of him, suddenly concluded it might be a good idea to rescue his burning buddy. Stepping hard on the gas pedal, Steiner accelerated the vehicle, navigated the car the short distance to where Cimino was still repeatedly rolling in the snow, then got out and helped to ease the smoldering Ricky into the car.

“Ricky just kept screaming that he was burned,” Steiner said. “His back, neck and hair were all singed.”

DiPaolo, at one point, bit his lip to keep from grinning. It was such a visual description that the cop was able to imagine the scene well. Another scene from The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight, the cop thought as he again bit down on his lower lip.

Steiner continued. His first impulse was to drive Cimino to nearby Hamot Medical Center, just a few blocks away from Pal Joey’s burning restaurant, for treatment.

“I was going to drive him to the hospital and just dump him off there,” Steiner said.

“But he was screaming, ‘Take me to Cindy Northrup’s.’ That was some broad that he was seeing at the time. She lived at 26th and Sassafras Street and late at night I was able to get us there in just minutes.”

Once they arrived at Cimino’s girlfriend’s apartment, Steiner said, “I helped him into her house. She was there with Tammy Winiecke, the girl she lived with, and they were both screaming as they took off whatever was left of Ricky’s still smoking clothes.” (Later, both women lied about it when brought before a Grand Jury. Later, they were charged with and pleaded guilty to perjury.)

When the women took Cimino to a second floor bedroom, Steiner remained in the living room listening while Cimino continued to scream out in pain. Steiner quoted Cindy as repeatedly yelling at her boyfriend, “Ricky, please let Darrell take you to a hospital.” But Cimino, fearing being identified as the arsonist more than he feared the burning pain, steadfastly refused. After another hour of yelling and screaming, Steiner could take no more and left Ricky at the apartment in the care of the two impromptu nurses.

“He was on his stomach when I last saw him. His back and ass were all burned and he had salve or something all over him. That and wet towels. He was a mess.”

Joseph Scutella, Jr. caught 15-to-30 years in prison for masterminding the arson fire at his family restaurant, Pal Joey’s, the sentence to be served on top of his 25-year term for dealing cocaine. (Courtesy of Erie Police Department)

Daniel Scutella, a convicted felon, assisted his father in the arson fire and was sentenced to serve seven-to-18 years in prison. (Courtesy of Erie Police Department)

Rick Cimino was hired by Joseph Scutella, Jr. to torch Pal Joey’s restaurant. Set up by Scutella, Cimino received only third degree burns for his efforts. (Courtesy of Erie Police Department)

Darrell Steiner, Cimino’s wheelman the night of the fire, turned state’s evidence as an unindicted co-conspirator. (Courtesy of Erie Police Department)

John Fasenmyer (middle facing camera), said to be a wannabe wise guy, tried to steer DiPaolo away from Cimino by bribing the officer. Fasenmyer was charged was bribery and illegal wiretap, and ultimately pleaded no contest to the wiretap count in return for prosecutors dropping the bribery charge. (Courtesy of Erie Police Department)