Louis Eppolito, the convicted killer in the Mafia Cops corruption case, has been arguing for weeks that his lawyer failed him by not allowing him to testify at the trial.
Two months after his conviction, Mr. Eppolito got to take the witness stand. But he may have demonstrated that his lawyer had made the correct call. Mr. Eppolito's testimony, the first he had offered in the case, was a hodgepodge of stories, contradictions and excuses. He said, for instance, that his lawyer, Bruce Cutler, had ordered him at least four times not to testify and that, despite the fact he wanted to testify, he never did — because he was afraid of angering the judge.
In a particularly odd moment today, Mr. Eppolito swore — in open court and on penalty of perjury — that he would have no trouble lying, none at all, if he thought it would help his case.
The testimony came at a hearing intended to determine whether Mr. Eppolito and his co-defendant had received inadequate representation from their lawyers, Mr. Cutler and Edward Hayes, and thus deserved a new trial. The lawyers, who had been subpoenaed by their former clients, appeared in court today to address the accusations in their own defense.
If Lewis Carroll had traded in his travels through the looking glass to write about the courts, he might not have dreamed up anything as bizarre as today's hearing.
Everything was backwards. The defendants attacked their former lawyers — men they had once paid money to defend them. The prosecutors defended the defendants' lawyers — men they had repeatedly attacked over the course of the monthlong trial in Federal District Court in Brooklyn. Then again, this was a case in which the unusual became pretty standard.
At the sentencing two weeks ago, not only did a bearded man suddenly jump up to accuse Mr. Eppolito of having wrongly sent him to prison 19 years ago, but a bootleg copy of Mr. Eppolito's screenplay, "I Never Met a Stranger," was circulating quietly in court.
The trial itself included "eight bodies," insult-laden arguments, subpoenaed book deals and a wildly extravagant cast. The characters ranged from an illiterate sixth-grade dropout who kept secret for nearly 20 years that he had buried the body of a murder victim at his business, to a Connecticut accountant who stole $5 million and then made amends to the government by secretly recording everyone from the defendants to exotic dancers at a strip club called the Crazy Horse Too.
From the very moment when, freed on bail last summer, Mr. Eppolito strolled from the courthouse in a guayabera and diamond-patterned lounge pants, then lifted his hem to show reporters the monitoring anklet clamped to his leg, it was clear that the trial would be no ordinary drama. There was testimony about Mr. Eppolito's snake collection and the fact that his headshot — he turned to acting after he retired — had once hung in a Chinese restaurant. In the same vein, the jury learned that Mr. Caracappa had once been working on a deal to sell a George Foreman punching-bag machine and had, at one point, run a background check on his future wife through the police Bureau of Criminal Identification.
Arguments could certainly be made that neither Mr. Hayes nor Mr. Cutler was on his A-game at the monthlong trial in Federal District Court in Brooklyn. Mr. Cutler's defense case took 13 minutes to present (five less than it took to poll the jurors when his client was convicted). Much of the evidence he introduced was done so with non sequiturs: Exhibit W for "waffle," he said. Or Exhibit Z for "zephyr," which he described, to no specific purpose, as "a gentle breeze." But he, at least, showed up. Mr. Hayes, on his own big day, inexplicably left the state. It turned out he had gone to Los Angeles — he had another case — and left the matter of Mr. Caracappa's defense to his law partner, Rae Koshetz.
Thanks to Alan Feuer
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