PART 35 by John Nicholas Iannuzzi Page A

to imprisoned men than pinups. Alvarado rose as Sandro pointed to an interview booth.
    â€œHello, Mr. Luca.”
    â€œHello, Luis. How are you today?” Sandro noticed that Alvarado was putting on weight.
    â€œAll right. Good. How’s my case?”
    â€œComing along. I was over to Stanton Street again last week.”
    â€œOh? Listen, Mr. Luca. I was talking to a guy in church who was talking to Hernandez, and he said that Hernandez is going to court next Wednesday. Are we going to court next Wednesday?”
    Sandro thought for a moment. All he could conjecture was a severance for a separate trial, to allow Hernandez to plead to a lesser crime in exchange for testifying against Alvarado. “I’m not aware of any court appearance. I’ll check with Mr. Bemer. I doubt it very much.”
    â€œHow come that rat is going to court? He’s going to be witness against me?”
    â€œI don’t know. I’ll find out. I was speaking to Robert Soto,” Sandro went on, “The fellow whose apartment was broken into. He told me who the woman was who saw you in the station house that night. And he told me about that Asunta, who might say she saw you coming out of the building, just as you told me.”
    â€œThem peoples don’t know what they talking,” Alvarado flared. Sandro had never seen his client angry before. It was reassuring.
    â€œThe witnesses may not, Luis. But understand this. There are two worlds, one on the outside, the real world, and the other inside the courtroom. It doesn’t matter what really happened outside.”
    â€œI don’t get that, Mr. Luca. If I didn’t do this thing, they ain’t got no witnesses that says I did.”
    â€œMaybe you can understand it this way. Last year I was handling a burglary, and the woman whose apartment was burglarized came in and testified. I told the defendant she was going to identify him. He looked at me as if I were crazy. Said what you just said—she couldn’t testify to that, she wasn’t even in the apartment till he was two flights down the fire escape. Well, she testified that she saw him face to face in the apartment. The jury bought it, and he was convicted. If witnesses tell the jury you were there—even if you weren’t—and the jury believes them, then you were there. What really happened doesn’t matter.”
    â€œThe witnesses can’t say those things,” Alvarado protested.
    â€œOh, they can. They may be mistaken, but the jury doesn’t know that. I know I asked you this before, but I must ask you again. Were you there?”
    â€œI wasn’t. I really wasn’t.” Alvarado was looking straight at Sandro, his eyes pleading.
    Sandro knew perfectly well how many times he had repeated these questions. But very often the criminal, in hopes of arousing the sympathy and fighting confidence of his attorney, lies about his involvement in the crime. And the lawyer, borrowing a technique from the police, goes over the same ground again and again, searching for possible inconsistencies.
    â€œIs there anything new that you remember since the last time we spoke?”
    â€œI told you everything. Oh yes, I remember that when they were beating me, the cops, they brought Hernandez into the room. I didn’t tell you this. Well, I told you, but this is just more. They was beating on me and told me Hernandez said that I was the one from the roof. And I tolds them to bring Hernandez here. And they bringing him in and I look at him and say, ‘Chaco,’ I espeak Spanish to him. I say, ‘Chaco, why did you tell to these people what you tell them?’ And Chaco, he wink at me and say, ‘Yes, this is the man.’ You know, he wink at me like he was just telling them that. And they taked him outside and they were beating on me again. I know I was bleeding inside because when I come here one night I was bleeding in the mouth and in the ass, and