Prohibition-era Chicago mob boss Al Capone's house is going up for sale in the spring, the current owner says.
The six-bedroom red-brick home in a working-class neighborhood on the city's South Side is expected to be priced at $450,000, the Chicago Tribune reported Thursday. The house, which the Capone family bought for $5,500 in 1923, stayed in the family's possession until the death of his mother in 1952.
"I've read some things about (Capone), and I've seen the 'Untouchables,' but I never really thought about this being his home," said Barbara Hogsette, 71, a retired special education teacher who has lived in the house since 1963. "This is my home. I never thought it was that sensational that he had lived here."
The exterior of the split-level house is virtually as it was when Capone called it home. Much of the interior is original, too.
Capone earned nationwide notoriety for his illegal bootlegging, gambling and prostitution businesses. Historians say he tried to avoid drawing police to the Prairie Avenue home, which was held in the name of his mother and wife. But they came anyway, in December 1927. A story in the Tribune at that time described him being trapped inside while police waited for him to step out so they could arrest him.
"It's an outrage," Capone was quoted as saying. "I'll seek the protection of the courts if I'm arrested when I leave here."
He did avoid arrest that time and it was four more years before he was convicted on tax evasion charges. He died in 1947.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Old Mobster, Nicholas Pari, Reveals Secret Burial Ground, Days Before He Enters His Own Grave
They came for the gravely ill racketeer last month, appearing at his North Providence home around dawn. His time was near, but not as near as the police officers at his door. He went peacefully.
Soon he was at state police headquarters, where veteran detectives knew him well: Nicholas Pari, once the smart-dressing mobster whose nickname, “Nicky,” had clearly not taxed the Mafia muse. Now 71, with gauze wrapped around his cancer-ruined neck: Nicky Pari.
The arrest, for running a crime ring from a flea market, put him in a reflective mood, and he said some things he clearly needed to say, including that he was dying. Still, ever-faithful to that perverse code of the streets, he seemed insulted when asked about the deeds of others.
“He wouldn’t cooperate beyond talking about himself and his past actions,” says Col. Brendan Doherty, the state police superintendent, who knew Mr. Pari from long years spent investigating Rhode Island crime, back when it was more organized.
The gaunt man did not weep, though his voice softened as he spoke with regret about a life that had fallen far short of its promised glamour and riches, a life heavy with guilt over one particular act. And in confessing this one act, Nicky Pari gave up a ghost.
“He was making an attempt at an act of contrition,” says Lt. Col. Steven O’Donnell, who also knew Mr. Pari from way back when and had listened to his old adversary’s words of regret.
That same day, detectives took the mobster for a 19-mile ride, following his directions as he zeroed in on the past. To East Providence. To the Lisboa Apartments. To a grassy backyard bordered by a listing stockade fence.
What he indicated next, whether through words or gestures or even a nod, was this: Here. Deep beneath this blanket of dormant grass, you will find him — here. Soon the claws of backhoes were disturbing the earth.
Thirty years ago, organized crime in Rhode Island was still like a rogue public utility. Raymond L. S. Patriarca, the old man with bullet tips for eyes, still ran the New England rackets from a squat building on Federal Hill. And men, from the merely dishonest to the profoundly psychopathic, still followed his rules.
Among them was Nicky Pari, who supposedly declined the honor to join the Mafia because he preferred the freelance life. If not made, he was known, in part because he had done time for helping a Patriarca lieutenant hijack a truck with a $50,000 load of dresses.
In April 1978, he and another freelancer, Andrew Merola, decided to address the delicate matter of a police informant within their ranks, a droopy-eyed young man from Hartford named Joseph Scanlon. The theories behind his nickname, “Joe Onions,” are that he made the girls cry or, more prosaically, that his surname sounded like scallion.
One morning Mr. Pari lured Mr. Scanlon and his girlfriend, who was holding their infant daughter, into Mr. Merola’s social club, in a Federal Hill building now long gone. Mr. Pari struck Mr. Scanlon in the face. Then Mr. Merola fired a bullet that shot through the man’s head and caught the tip of one of Mr. Pari’s fingers.
The girlfriend was ordered to leave the room. When she came back, her child’s father was wrapped in plastic near the door, his jewelry gone, his boots placed beside his body. A package, awaiting delivery.
The girlfriend, once described as a “stand-up girl” who wouldn’t talk, did, and the two men were convicted of murder in a case lacking a central piece of evidence: the body. They successfully appealed their convictions, but in 1982 they pleaded no contest to reduced charges in a deal that required them to say where the body was. Dumped in Narragansett Bay, they said.
Few believed this story, perhaps because it lacked the panache desired of a Rhode Island-style rubout. For years afterward, people would call the police and The Providence Journal with tips like: Joe Onions is in the trunk of a scrapped Cadillac. Check it out.
Perhaps, too, there was the inexplicable charm of Mafia sobriquets. In a state whose mobster roll call includes nicknames like “The Blind Pig” and “The Moron,” one wonders whether Joe Onions would be remembered had he been known, simply, as Joe Scanlon.
The years passed. The paroled Mr. Merola opened a Federal Hill restaurant called Andino’s, while the paroled Mr. Pari gravitated toward flea markets. They were often seen together, sitting in a lounge in Smithfield, or attending a testimonial for a mob associate in Providence, that damaged finger of Mr. Pari’s, holding a glass or maybe a cigarette, always there.
Mr. Merola died of cancer last year, leaving Mr. Pari to bear their secret alone. He went on as a father, a grandfather and, apparently, the man to see in a grimy flea market in a stretch of Providence where auto-body shops reign.
Last month the police arrested Mr. Pari and a motley mix of others for crimes of the flea market that put the lie to The Life, including the supposed trading of guns and drugs for more fungible items like counterfeit handbags and sneakers. Still, he remained bound to Mr. Merola; in arranging to sell illegal prescription drugs for a measly $320, for example, he chose to meet an undercover officer at his departed friend’s restaurant.
At state police headquarters, before that ride to East Providence, Mr. Pari expressed remorse for helping to kill Joe Onions, remorse that he admitted had deepened as he faced his own mortality. Seeing the anguish his own family was going through, he knew he could ease another family’s 30-year pain by sharing one detail that only he knew.
Don’t misunderstand, Lieutenant Colonel O’Donnell says. Mr. Pari could have shared this detail days before his arrest, months before, decades before — but he lied instead, for reasons known only to him. “It doesn’t make him a good guy,” the police official says. “But he’s a human being.”
Hours after leading the police to the place that had haunted him since 1978, Mr. Pari appeared in District Court in Providence, unshaven, diminished, in a wheelchair. Released on bail, he returned home to his hospice bed and oxygen tank.
Meanwhile, back in East Providence, backhoes mined the sandy past. They dug until dark that Monday afternoon, then returned to dig all day Tuesday, as detectives and spectators shivered and watched, as the November sun offered little warmth, as the smell of fried food wafted from a Chinese restaurant a few yards away.
Finally, late on that Wednesday, the scoop of a backhoe pulled up things of interest from more than a dozen feet below, including a boot that seemed to match a description. The mechanical dig stopped and a human dig began, with investigators using a sifting pan to separate bone from earth.
It isn’t as though you can dig anywhere in Rhode Island and find a body. But Colonel Doherty, the state police superintendent, says he will not confirm this was Joseph Scanlon until a match is made with some DNA provided by one of Mr. Scanlon’s siblings. He adds that even though 30 years have passed, among the Scanlons “there was always a hope that he was not dead.”
On a cold night late last week, an old mobster died at his home in North Providence, freed of one secret he would not have to take to the grave.
Thanks to Dan Barry
Soon he was at state police headquarters, where veteran detectives knew him well: Nicholas Pari, once the smart-dressing mobster whose nickname, “Nicky,” had clearly not taxed the Mafia muse. Now 71, with gauze wrapped around his cancer-ruined neck: Nicky Pari.
The arrest, for running a crime ring from a flea market, put him in a reflective mood, and he said some things he clearly needed to say, including that he was dying. Still, ever-faithful to that perverse code of the streets, he seemed insulted when asked about the deeds of others.
“He wouldn’t cooperate beyond talking about himself and his past actions,” says Col. Brendan Doherty, the state police superintendent, who knew Mr. Pari from long years spent investigating Rhode Island crime, back when it was more organized.
The gaunt man did not weep, though his voice softened as he spoke with regret about a life that had fallen far short of its promised glamour and riches, a life heavy with guilt over one particular act. And in confessing this one act, Nicky Pari gave up a ghost.
“He was making an attempt at an act of contrition,” says Lt. Col. Steven O’Donnell, who also knew Mr. Pari from way back when and had listened to his old adversary’s words of regret.
That same day, detectives took the mobster for a 19-mile ride, following his directions as he zeroed in on the past. To East Providence. To the Lisboa Apartments. To a grassy backyard bordered by a listing stockade fence.
What he indicated next, whether through words or gestures or even a nod, was this: Here. Deep beneath this blanket of dormant grass, you will find him — here. Soon the claws of backhoes were disturbing the earth.
Thirty years ago, organized crime in Rhode Island was still like a rogue public utility. Raymond L. S. Patriarca, the old man with bullet tips for eyes, still ran the New England rackets from a squat building on Federal Hill. And men, from the merely dishonest to the profoundly psychopathic, still followed his rules.
Among them was Nicky Pari, who supposedly declined the honor to join the Mafia because he preferred the freelance life. If not made, he was known, in part because he had done time for helping a Patriarca lieutenant hijack a truck with a $50,000 load of dresses.
In April 1978, he and another freelancer, Andrew Merola, decided to address the delicate matter of a police informant within their ranks, a droopy-eyed young man from Hartford named Joseph Scanlon. The theories behind his nickname, “Joe Onions,” are that he made the girls cry or, more prosaically, that his surname sounded like scallion.
One morning Mr. Pari lured Mr. Scanlon and his girlfriend, who was holding their infant daughter, into Mr. Merola’s social club, in a Federal Hill building now long gone. Mr. Pari struck Mr. Scanlon in the face. Then Mr. Merola fired a bullet that shot through the man’s head and caught the tip of one of Mr. Pari’s fingers.
The girlfriend was ordered to leave the room. When she came back, her child’s father was wrapped in plastic near the door, his jewelry gone, his boots placed beside his body. A package, awaiting delivery.
The girlfriend, once described as a “stand-up girl” who wouldn’t talk, did, and the two men were convicted of murder in a case lacking a central piece of evidence: the body. They successfully appealed their convictions, but in 1982 they pleaded no contest to reduced charges in a deal that required them to say where the body was. Dumped in Narragansett Bay, they said.
Few believed this story, perhaps because it lacked the panache desired of a Rhode Island-style rubout. For years afterward, people would call the police and The Providence Journal with tips like: Joe Onions is in the trunk of a scrapped Cadillac. Check it out.
Perhaps, too, there was the inexplicable charm of Mafia sobriquets. In a state whose mobster roll call includes nicknames like “The Blind Pig” and “The Moron,” one wonders whether Joe Onions would be remembered had he been known, simply, as Joe Scanlon.
The years passed. The paroled Mr. Merola opened a Federal Hill restaurant called Andino’s, while the paroled Mr. Pari gravitated toward flea markets. They were often seen together, sitting in a lounge in Smithfield, or attending a testimonial for a mob associate in Providence, that damaged finger of Mr. Pari’s, holding a glass or maybe a cigarette, always there.
Mr. Merola died of cancer last year, leaving Mr. Pari to bear their secret alone. He went on as a father, a grandfather and, apparently, the man to see in a grimy flea market in a stretch of Providence where auto-body shops reign.
Last month the police arrested Mr. Pari and a motley mix of others for crimes of the flea market that put the lie to The Life, including the supposed trading of guns and drugs for more fungible items like counterfeit handbags and sneakers. Still, he remained bound to Mr. Merola; in arranging to sell illegal prescription drugs for a measly $320, for example, he chose to meet an undercover officer at his departed friend’s restaurant.
At state police headquarters, before that ride to East Providence, Mr. Pari expressed remorse for helping to kill Joe Onions, remorse that he admitted had deepened as he faced his own mortality. Seeing the anguish his own family was going through, he knew he could ease another family’s 30-year pain by sharing one detail that only he knew.
Don’t misunderstand, Lieutenant Colonel O’Donnell says. Mr. Pari could have shared this detail days before his arrest, months before, decades before — but he lied instead, for reasons known only to him. “It doesn’t make him a good guy,” the police official says. “But he’s a human being.”
Hours after leading the police to the place that had haunted him since 1978, Mr. Pari appeared in District Court in Providence, unshaven, diminished, in a wheelchair. Released on bail, he returned home to his hospice bed and oxygen tank.
Meanwhile, back in East Providence, backhoes mined the sandy past. They dug until dark that Monday afternoon, then returned to dig all day Tuesday, as detectives and spectators shivered and watched, as the November sun offered little warmth, as the smell of fried food wafted from a Chinese restaurant a few yards away.
Finally, late on that Wednesday, the scoop of a backhoe pulled up things of interest from more than a dozen feet below, including a boot that seemed to match a description. The mechanical dig stopped and a human dig began, with investigators using a sifting pan to separate bone from earth.
It isn’t as though you can dig anywhere in Rhode Island and find a body. But Colonel Doherty, the state police superintendent, says he will not confirm this was Joseph Scanlon until a match is made with some DNA provided by one of Mr. Scanlon’s siblings. He adds that even though 30 years have passed, among the Scanlons “there was always a hope that he was not dead.”
On a cold night late last week, an old mobster died at his home in North Providence, freed of one secret he would not have to take to the grave.
Thanks to Dan Barry
Mob Hits Part of "The Complete Quincy Jones: My Journey and Passions"
Whether they were No. 1 songs for Michael Jackson or murders by the mob, hits have helped define Quincy Jones' life.
His father was a master carpenter who couldn't find work during the Depression
, so he did jobs for black mobsters who ran the South Side of Chicago.
''All I ever saw was tommy guns and stogies and two-way windows and piles of money in backrooms and dead bodies all over the street and [a black policeman named] Two-Gun Pete shooting teenagers in front of Walgreens and gangs on every street,'' Jones said in a recent interview.
The Grammy-winning artist talks about these stories in his new book, The Complete Quincy Jones: My Journey & Passions: Photos, Letters, Memories & More from Q’s Personal Collection.
Jones recalled when he and his friends broke into an armory because they'd heard there was meringue pie and ice cream inside. After they ate the ice cream and had a pie fight, Jones broke into a supervisor's room and found a piano.
'I went over and touched that piano, and that piano told me, `This is what you're going to be doing the rest of your life.' ''
Jones went on to produce music with everyone from Frank Sinatra to Michael Jackson. He produced Jackson's Thriller, one of the bestselling albums of all time.
Jones said he's sad that Jackson, who is reportedly suffering from a rare lung disorder, hasn't released any new music recently, but ``hopefully he'll figure it out, and he's probably coming to grips with a lot of things in himself.''
His father was a master carpenter who couldn't find work during the Depression
, so he did jobs for black mobsters who ran the South Side of Chicago.''All I ever saw was tommy guns and stogies and two-way windows and piles of money in backrooms and dead bodies all over the street and [a black policeman named] Two-Gun Pete shooting teenagers in front of Walgreens and gangs on every street,'' Jones said in a recent interview.
The Grammy-winning artist talks about these stories in his new book, The Complete Quincy Jones: My Journey & Passions: Photos, Letters, Memories & More from Q’s Personal Collection
.Jones recalled when he and his friends broke into an armory because they'd heard there was meringue pie and ice cream inside. After they ate the ice cream and had a pie fight, Jones broke into a supervisor's room and found a piano.
'I went over and touched that piano, and that piano told me, `This is what you're going to be doing the rest of your life.' ''
Jones went on to produce music with everyone from Frank Sinatra to Michael Jackson. He produced Jackson's Thriller, one of the bestselling albums of all time.
Jones said he's sad that Jackson, who is reportedly suffering from a rare lung disorder, hasn't released any new music recently, but ``hopefully he'll figure it out, and he's probably coming to grips with a lot of things in himself.''
Racketeering Trial to Show Mob's Grip on Ports
Authorities say the case against suspected New Jersey hit man Michael Coppola, as laid out in documents filed this month in federal court in Brooklyn, is a look into how organized crime controls the ports of New Jersey and New York, according to a report in the Philadelphia Inquirer.
Two months ago, a federal grand jury in Brooklyn indicted Coppola, 62, on racketeering charges built around the corruption of the Newark arm of the International Longshoremen's Association, and a decades-old murder of a mobster in a Bridgewater motel parking lot.
Attorneys will argue in January whether that murder case should go forward.
Two months ago, a federal grand jury in Brooklyn indicted Coppola, 62, on racketeering charges built around the corruption of the Newark arm of the International Longshoremen's Association, and a decades-old murder of a mobster in a Bridgewater motel parking lot.
Attorneys will argue in January whether that murder case should go forward.
Sopranos Actor Cleared of Murder and Weapons Charges
A former actor who specialized in tough-guy roles was cleared of murder and weapons charges last Monday in the killing of an off-duty New York City police officer who was slain in a gunfight when he confronted two suspects in a burglary at a neighbor’s home in the Bronx three years ago.
The officer’s sister, Yolanda Rosa, said after the verdict, “What message is this sending out to New York police officers today?”
Police officers applauded Yolanda Rosa as she entered a Bronx courtroom at the trial of Lillo Brancato Jr. in connection with the killing of her brother, Daniel Enchautegui, who was an officer.
A State Supreme Court jury in the Bronx found the defendant, Lillo Brancato Jr., 32, guilty of first-degree attempted burglary, a felony, but said he was not culpable in the death of the officer, Daniel Enchautegui, who was shot by Mr. Brancato’s accomplice after a night of drinking and a search for drugs.
Under the law, a person is guilty of second-degree murder in a killing that occurs in the commission of another felony. But the law provides for mitigating circumstances in a defense. In Mr. Brancato’s case, the jury apparently accepted his contention that he did not directly participate in the killing, was not armed and did not know that his accomplice had a gun. The jurors left without commenting on their verdict.
The accomplice, Steven Armento, 51, was convicted by another Bronx jury on Oct. 30 of first-degree murder in firing the fatal shot into Officer Enchautegui’s chest. He was sentenced last month to life in prison without the possibility of parole.
Mr. Brancato faces 3 to 15 years in prison for attempted burglary, but has been incarcerated for more than three years since his arrest and could be credited with that time. Justice Martin Marcus set sentencing for Jan. 9.
Mr. Brancato, a slight man in a dark gray pinstriped suit and a maroon tie over a white shirt, stood with eyes closed and hands clasped as the verdict was read. Afterward, he patted his lawyer, Joseph Tacopina, on the back before court officers handcuffed him and led him out. His mother sobbed.
Mr. Tacopina, surrounded by members of Mr. Brancato’s family, later called the officer’s death a tragedy, but said, “It would have been a bigger tragedy to convict Lillo for something he didn’t do.” He said a minimum sentence “would be appropriate.”
Officer Enchautegui’s sister, Yolanda Rosa, was grim. “I waited three long years for this,” she said. “I’m disappointed. What message is this sending out to New York police officers today?”
Officers who had attended the trial sat in silence. “We’re obviously frustrated today that the jury did not see what was plain and simple,” said Patrick J. Lynch, the president of the Patrolmen’s Benevolent Association. “This would not have happened if it was not for him. We’re asking today that this judge sentence him to the max of 15 years.”
Police Commissioner Raymond W. Kelly said, “On this day of disappointments in court, we hope that the family and friends of Daniel Enchautegui find some comfort in the fact that at least one in the pair responsible for his death was convicted of murder.”
The case had drawn wide attention, not only because of the actions of the officer, who confronted and shot both burglars despite being mortally wounded, but also because of Mr. Brancato’s background as a moderately successful actor who had appeared in “The Sopranos”; Robert De Niro’s 1993 coming-of-age film, “A Bronx Tale”; and a dozen other films, often as an aspiring mobster.
In a trial that began on Nov. 24, prosecutors charged that Mr. Brancato and Mr. Armento, residents of Yonkers who were winding up a night of drinking in the early hours of Dec. 10, 2005, went to a house on Arnow Place in Pelham Bay to get drugs from a friend who had provided them before. But the friend, Kenneth Scovotti, had died months earlier and the doors were locked.
The second-degree murder charge appeared to turn on what Mr. Brancato did next. Prosecutors said he kicked in a basement window, trying to commit a burglary, which exposed him to guilt on the murder charge. But Mr. Tacopina contended that Mr. Brancato was unaware Mr. Scovotti was dead, assumed he was asleep, and broke the window accidentally when he kicked it to get Mr. Scovotti’s attention. He said the men did not enter, but went to another friend’s home nearby seeking drugs. Failing that, they returned to the previous house.
By then, Officer Enchautegui, 28, who lived in a basement apartment next door, had heard glass breaking and called 911, was outside. He had drawn his pistol, a Kahr semiautomatic, and confronted the suspects, shouting, “Don’t move! Don’t move!” according to prosecutors.
They said that Mr. Armento, who had a record for burglary and weapons and drug possession, fired his gun, a .357 Magnum, first, striking the officer once in the left chest. The officer returned fire, striking both suspects, who were captured by arriving officers.
Mr. Brancato testified that he did not know how a screen on the ground came to be removed from the window and that neither he nor Mr. Armento had worn the latex gloves that investigators found at the scene. Experts testified that both men’s DNA were on the gloves.
Mr. Tacopina said after the verdict that his client was being treated for drug addiction and had found a “second chance in life.”
Thanks to Robert D. McFadden
The officer’s sister, Yolanda Rosa, said after the verdict, “What message is this sending out to New York police officers today?”
Police officers applauded Yolanda Rosa as she entered a Bronx courtroom at the trial of Lillo Brancato Jr. in connection with the killing of her brother, Daniel Enchautegui, who was an officer.
A State Supreme Court jury in the Bronx found the defendant, Lillo Brancato Jr., 32, guilty of first-degree attempted burglary, a felony, but said he was not culpable in the death of the officer, Daniel Enchautegui, who was shot by Mr. Brancato’s accomplice after a night of drinking and a search for drugs.
Under the law, a person is guilty of second-degree murder in a killing that occurs in the commission of another felony. But the law provides for mitigating circumstances in a defense. In Mr. Brancato’s case, the jury apparently accepted his contention that he did not directly participate in the killing, was not armed and did not know that his accomplice had a gun. The jurors left without commenting on their verdict.
The accomplice, Steven Armento, 51, was convicted by another Bronx jury on Oct. 30 of first-degree murder in firing the fatal shot into Officer Enchautegui’s chest. He was sentenced last month to life in prison without the possibility of parole.
Mr. Brancato faces 3 to 15 years in prison for attempted burglary, but has been incarcerated for more than three years since his arrest and could be credited with that time. Justice Martin Marcus set sentencing for Jan. 9.
Mr. Brancato, a slight man in a dark gray pinstriped suit and a maroon tie over a white shirt, stood with eyes closed and hands clasped as the verdict was read. Afterward, he patted his lawyer, Joseph Tacopina, on the back before court officers handcuffed him and led him out. His mother sobbed.
Mr. Tacopina, surrounded by members of Mr. Brancato’s family, later called the officer’s death a tragedy, but said, “It would have been a bigger tragedy to convict Lillo for something he didn’t do.” He said a minimum sentence “would be appropriate.”
Officer Enchautegui’s sister, Yolanda Rosa, was grim. “I waited three long years for this,” she said. “I’m disappointed. What message is this sending out to New York police officers today?”
Officers who had attended the trial sat in silence. “We’re obviously frustrated today that the jury did not see what was plain and simple,” said Patrick J. Lynch, the president of the Patrolmen’s Benevolent Association. “This would not have happened if it was not for him. We’re asking today that this judge sentence him to the max of 15 years.”
Police Commissioner Raymond W. Kelly said, “On this day of disappointments in court, we hope that the family and friends of Daniel Enchautegui find some comfort in the fact that at least one in the pair responsible for his death was convicted of murder.”
The case had drawn wide attention, not only because of the actions of the officer, who confronted and shot both burglars despite being mortally wounded, but also because of Mr. Brancato’s background as a moderately successful actor who had appeared in “The Sopranos”; Robert De Niro’s 1993 coming-of-age film, “A Bronx Tale”; and a dozen other films, often as an aspiring mobster.
In a trial that began on Nov. 24, prosecutors charged that Mr. Brancato and Mr. Armento, residents of Yonkers who were winding up a night of drinking in the early hours of Dec. 10, 2005, went to a house on Arnow Place in Pelham Bay to get drugs from a friend who had provided them before. But the friend, Kenneth Scovotti, had died months earlier and the doors were locked.
The second-degree murder charge appeared to turn on what Mr. Brancato did next. Prosecutors said he kicked in a basement window, trying to commit a burglary, which exposed him to guilt on the murder charge. But Mr. Tacopina contended that Mr. Brancato was unaware Mr. Scovotti was dead, assumed he was asleep, and broke the window accidentally when he kicked it to get Mr. Scovotti’s attention. He said the men did not enter, but went to another friend’s home nearby seeking drugs. Failing that, they returned to the previous house.
By then, Officer Enchautegui, 28, who lived in a basement apartment next door, had heard glass breaking and called 911, was outside. He had drawn his pistol, a Kahr semiautomatic, and confronted the suspects, shouting, “Don’t move! Don’t move!” according to prosecutors.
They said that Mr. Armento, who had a record for burglary and weapons and drug possession, fired his gun, a .357 Magnum, first, striking the officer once in the left chest. The officer returned fire, striking both suspects, who were captured by arriving officers.
Mr. Brancato testified that he did not know how a screen on the ground came to be removed from the window and that neither he nor Mr. Armento had worn the latex gloves that investigators found at the scene. Experts testified that both men’s DNA were on the gloves.
Mr. Tacopina said after the verdict that his client was being treated for drug addiction and had found a “second chance in life.”
Thanks to Robert D. McFadden
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)