THE ULTIMATE EVIL
An Investigation into a
Dangerous Satanic Cult
XIX
An Investigation into a
Dangerous Satanic Cult
XIX
What's Happening,
America?
Throughout the summer of 1980, Berkowitz remained silent.
True to his word, as he'd written in May, there was a muted
stillness emanating from Attica prison. For the past nine
months, he'd been concerned that his involvement in the investigation stay confidential, a position which tended to dispel the
remote analyses of some who'd earlier labeled him a publicity
seeker. Not this time, if ever. After all, Son of Sam had worked
in silence for the first five attacks. Only at the sixth, after the
police held their press conference, was a letter left. While I retreated to Davis Park on Fire Island for a three week vacation with my wife, District Attorney John Santucci's investigation continued in Queens. A file cabinet containing new evidence uncovered since the probe began decorated a corner of Herb Leifer's office. The list of suspects still alive had grown to seven, but the corroborating evidence needed to arrest any of them was still eluding the best efforts of the investigators. And in this case, there would be no arrests unless Santucci was 100 percent certain he'd obtain convictions.
One of the newest suspects was a young man named Gorman Johnson,* who had been arrested in New York City at the height of the Son of Sam siege with a fully loaded Charter Arms .44 Bulldog in his possession. The gun was purchased in Pennsylvania. A man arrested with Johnson acknowledged an acquaintance with .44 victim Valentina Sudani.
Interestingly, Johnson lived in Berkowitz's neighborhood— barely a block from 35 Pine Street. He'd also resided less than two blocks from Berkowitz when the confessed killer lived in New Rochelle. And when Berkowitz moved to Yonkers, Johnson followed suit several months later. Like Berkowitz, Johnson had driven a cab in the northeast Bronx. And the similarities didn't end there.
Yonkers arson investigator Don Starkey reported that Johnson was suspected of igniting a fire in a local apartment building where he'd worked as a security guard, two more traits he shared with Berkowitz. Also, a relative of Johnson's was a convicted arsonist, and Yonkers police believed Johnson himself participated in a murder for which yet another of his relatives was arrested and convicted. That relative, however, refused to implicate Johnson, and so he remained free.
Tom McCarthy, Leifer and I discussed Johnson's status during a late-summer meeting in Queens.
"We've got the ex-Yonkers cop Peter Shane with a .44 Bulldog," I said. "And the dead Howard Weiss supposedly had one, too. And we've got both Weiss and Shane tied to Berkowitz, who also had a .44 Bulldog. Now, right around the corner from Berkie, we've got Johnson suspected of committing crimes in just the right categories. And he's got a .44 Bulldog. Want to play those odds?"
McCarthy shook his head. "No, it doesn't take Einstein to work out that equation. But we can't prove it in court. Until we can, he just takes his place on our list. David could really help us out, but he's not talking."
"That's about it. I wrote him several times and he's not saying a thing. And the bastard wouldn't come down to the visitors' room when I went up to see him in August."
"What's going on with him? I thought he was your buddy," Leifer joked.
"He's scared, and he explained why he stopped talking. We're going to have to roll with it. I don't know what the hell else to do. Anybody else that would have been nailed by now is dead."
McCarthy had a suggestion.
"If you could dream up some way to convince him you won't blow his cover, he just might get off his ass and respond to it."
McCarthy's idea had merit. With the exception of the pamphlets he'd mailed to Lieutenant Gardner in Minot, not a word of Berkowitz's comments about the .44 or Arlis Perry case had reached the public.
"We haven't published anything in months," I replied. "We've been into the 'lie in wait' strategy, but maybe the time is now."
"It couldn't hurt," Leifer said.
At Gannett, a plan was formulated among executive editor Joe Ungaro, myself and Mike Zuckerman, a quality reporter who would later join the staff of Gannett USA Today newspaper.
Zuckerman and I would prepare a four-part series which would include the data I'd now obtained which proved Brooklyn DA Eugene Gold knew about allegations of John Carr's cult involvement and association with Berkowitz months before Berkowitz pleaded guilty. Another story would reveal that NYPD Captain John Plansker formally urged the continuation of the Police Department's aborted inquiry of the reopened case. Plansker's reports were introduced at Detective Hank Cinotti's departmental trial, after which we were able to acquire them.
In yet another article, a demonstration of trust would appear for Berkowitz to consider. Using the confessed killer as an unnamed source, the story would describe the Pine Street apartment setup. It was hoped that Berkowitz, seeing his confidentiality was protected, would respond with more facts to aid the investigation.
The series was published and received a fair amount of media coverage. But Berkowitz, who received a copy in the mail, remained silent. In this instance, no news wasn't good news. And we d already just absorbed a heavy dosage of depressing information.
Jack Graham was, at twenty-nine, fondly considered the "bearded giant" of the Minot Daily News. The husky, bespectacled, brown-haired reporter and native of Washington, D.C., had joined the Son of Sam fray with an intense passion for ferreting out the Minot links to the case. For a year, he'd worked closely with Jeff Nies and me. Among other contributions, he was instrumental in tracking down John Carr's friend Phil Falcon on the West Coast.
In August and September 1980, Jack and I worked on an investigation of Larry Milenko, John Carr's cult-connected friend who was toiling in the woods with Jerry Berg when the falling tree crushed Berg to death. In early September, at a party he'd managed to infiltrate, Jack had an angry confrontation with Milenko. "We're going to get you, you bastard," Jack told him.
Two weeks later, Jack was vacationing in Michigan, visiting his family in East Lansing and attending Jeff Nies wedding in a Detroit suburb. On Monday, September 22, he began his return trip to Minot. In the back of his Datsun were packed a number of wedding gifts he was bringing home to North Dakota for the honeymooning Nieses.
At 8:30 on the night of the twenty-second, Jack stopped to visit a Michigan friend, Neil Colburn. Jack's arrival at Colburn's home was delayed because he had car trouble on the way.
"It was stalling out on him," Colburn said. "He had road service before getting here but was still worried about it. He went out later to try the car, and came in and said it was stalling on him again."
Jack and Colburn reminisced for a couple of hours. Jack had a bottle of beer and two Irish coffees before calling it a night at about 11:45. "He was in good spirits," Colburn recalled. "He told me he caught the garter at Jeff's wedding. He said he leaped for it."
But Jack was never to know if that traditional ceremony signified an upcoming marriage for him.
The next morning, after leaving dollar bills for each of Colburn's three children on the kitchen table, Jack was on the road before dawn. Four and a half hours and about 250 miles later, his car crossed the center line on a slight curve on U.S. 2 near the small community of Vulcan, Michigan, and slammed headlong into an oncoming eighteen-wheel trailer, whose driver was unhurt.
Jack was pulled unconscious from the wrecked Datsun and rushed to Dickinson County Memorial Hospital in Iron Mountain. He didn't make it.
The call came to me from a friend of Jack's, a source who was assisting the investigation.
"You know he was after Milenko," she cried. "He said it right to his face. Michael Carr was killed in a wreck—you've got to go after this. You just can't let it go."
We didn't. I phoned Jack's roommate in Minot, a reporter who was already stupefied by the news. "Jack won't be taking any calls tonight, or ever again," he sobbed as he answered the phone.
"I know, Tom. I just heard. I don't know what to say." And I didn't. My instinct had been to act first, and feel later. I learned Neil Colburn's name from Tom and, after reaching him the next morning, reconstructed Jack's final hours as best I could.
Lieutenant Terry Gardner and I went over the itinerary in minute detail, and Gardner contacted the Michigan police to request a close examination of Jack's car. But the Datsun was virtually destroyed, and no signs of tampering were discovered. Any suspicions we may have harbored added up to nothing. It may well have been an accident.
"But if the car was rigged, it could have been done before he left Minot," I said to Gardner. "And if it conked out at a good speed, like it had been doing, Jack would have lost control for a few seconds and his concentration would have been broken."
"That's true," Gardner replied. "He was only over the center line by a couple of feet—but it was enough. There weren't any skid marks. He didn't even hit the brakes."
The matter would remain unresolved, and not being able to shake that lingering doubt was the worst result of all. Whatever happened, another person deeply involved in the Son of Sam investigation was now dead. And he'd been killed just two weeks after confronting a suspect. Jack had departed Minot several days after that party and never returned.
The investigation done, I, along with others whose lives he touched, grieved for Jack Graham. The following night, I tried to explain my churning feelings to my wife.
"There have been so many accumulated emotions because of this goddamned case—ranging from fear to anger and from elation to sorrow and frustration of the worst kind. And they never go away; the feelings just keep piling up. I just don't know where the hell to put them all anymore."
Aimlessly pacing the apartment, I finally dug out two audio tapes Jack sent me which contained interviews conducted for the investigation. Spinning, spinning, the reels erased the present. Playing them, yesterday lived.
There was Jack, in typical form, encouraging Phil Falcon to cooperate during our marathon, three-city, transcontinental conference call. But Jack's exuberant voice, filtered by the events of the past forty-eight hours, now echoed ironic and bittersweet: "It's all coming down, Phil. All coming down."
Yes, Jack, I thought morosely. You dedicated, idealistic son of a bitch. It was all coming down all right. All coming down . . .
Like a hangover from the previous year, 1981 dawned on an ominous note. As Sheena Easton's "Morning Train" rolled to the top of the charts, another diesel was lumbering down the track. It was the so-called official Son of Sam book which painted Berkowitz as a lone madman. None of those involved in the investigation was oblivious to the fact that the book, inaccurate as it was, could distort the public's perception of the case and make the presentation of the real facts a more difficult endeavor than it already was. Fortunately, we were able to offset the publication's impact.
On a talk show on WMCA radio in New York, host Candy Jones arranged for author Lawrence Klausner and me to meet. Out of that program, listeners, including Klausner's own publishers, heard that he hadn't even interviewed most of the principal characters in the case, including Cacilia Davis and Berkowitz. And although Klausner tried to cut me off at every turn with a filibuster of inanities, I refrained from revealing the Berkowitz letters, which would have blown down his house of straw on the spot. But that moment was at hand.
After the program I told Candy privately that something big was in the wind, and she invited me to appear again on her show when the day arrived. Thus began an association that would include four more interviews on her broadcast.
At the same time, Frank Anthony, the aggressive producer of What's Happening, America?, a television newsmagazine show hosted by author and former 60 Minutes regular Shana Alexander, asked me to do a thirty-minute segment on the conspiracy investigation for WHA.
Meanwhile, Berkowitz remained stone-still. I'd finally written and said that unless he began aiding the inquiry again, I'd be forced to publicize his involvement—a secret I'd held for sixteen months. There was no reply. It was quandary time. I knew that if I backed away my credibility with Berkowitz would be destroyed.
I also knew that it was important to deflate Klausner's "lone madman" thesis as much as possible. Plus, the public deserved to know what had been going on. I had withheld the information hoping Berkowitz would step forward to break the case wide open, but he hadn't done so. There was no point in holding back any longer.
But I wanted to effect a double-pronged strategy. I'd been affiliated with the Gannett newspapers for more than two years and wasn't prepared to shun an ally for television's sake. Accordingly, an arrangement was made wherein Gannett would break the story in print on March 19, and WHA would air its comprehensive presentation two nights later.
All was ready, but Berkowitz had to be advised of what was about to happen.
In a letter, I told him that because of his reluctance to cooperate further, I was going public with some, but not all, of the information he'd provided, along with confirmations to back up his assertions. I mentioned it would be clearly stated he was not cooperating with Santucci's investigation.
Unfortunately, the New York Daily News, in an honest error, published a pre-broadcast article which said Berkowitz was interviewed in his cell, and suggested that he blamed the police for covering up the case—which he didn't. He actually said he understood how, in the hysteria of the moment, important clues were overlooked or ignored. If a cover-up occurred, he didn't blame the police.
And he wasn't interviewed in his cell either. The mistakes were the result of a communications lapse between the News and the show's production staff. Berkowitz received my letter before the article reached him. He replied:
I just received your letter of 3/16, a mailgram from Denise and one from the N.Y. Post, and a letter from my conservator. Aside from your letter, all the others mentioned a program that is to be aired on 3/21.
At this time I don't know what to say and I am quite nervous about the whole thing. Things were quiet for so long and Klausner's book hasn't been all that successful, I believe. Now this. I noticed you said in your letter that it will be very clear that I am not cooperating. However, both mailgrams said that I said there was a cult and accomplices. This is the opposite of what you said in your letter. [It actually wasn't. I wrote that Berkowitz's refusal to cooperate with the authorities would be stated; not that he hadn't offered other comments.]
Maury, I cannot stop you from plodding away at this investigation. I cannot stop you from publicizing your findings. . . . As I say, whatever you do is your business. But remember that I am in a precarious position. Prison is an unpredictable place and an individuals survival rests on his reputation. And since I will probably be here for quite some time, I do not wish to lose whatever standing I have made for myself.
Whether or not your findings reopen the case is another matter. [It was open, but since Berkowitz hadn't heard anything lately, he erroneously thought Santucci had backed off.] .. . I have not heard from Pienciak or Lee Chase in ages. If they are up to something I know nothing about it. By the way, Lee and I split up quite some time ago. We're still friends, I think.
Lastly, Denise will be watching this program and will be taking notes. If anything is detrimental towards me, I will find out about it.
Sincerely,
David Berkowitz
Once again, despite his anxiety, there wasn't a single denial from Berkowitz. Two days later, after receiving the Daily News clip, his tone changed as his fear increased. Still, he made no attempt to withdraw a word. Between the lines, his brief letter spoke volumes:
I just received an article from the Daily News: "Son of Sam on TV Show, I did not act alone." Oh, really, Maury, how silly can you be. Once you make it appear that I said this or that, then the public will turn a deaf ear to you.
Society believes that every criminal is a con-artist. For a notorious criminal to admit that he didn't do this or that, the effect will be nil. The public will only feel that I am saying these things to get my sentence reduced and to take the heat off me. This isn't true, of course, but people have a different view.
The News article says that I had conversations in my cell and blame the police for covering the investigation up. No, you said this! Obviously you've put many words in my mouth. You also make it appear that I am bitter no one will believe me and that I am desperately insisting the case be reopened. Not so.
Yours,
David Berkowitz
I hadn't put any words in Berkowitz's mouth, but the mistakes in the newspaper article upset him. Even at this late hour, he'd again confirmed the conspiracy existed. And aware as I was of the credibility factor he mentioned, his letters would be bolstered by supporting evidence. However, Berkowitz knew none of this. All he had to go on was a well-intentioned, but inaccurate clipping.
In the interim, Berkowitz's friend Denise called me on his behalf to ask that I stick to the facts and not expose him to danger. I reassured her he would be treated fairly and asked her to send him a mailgram saying he had my assurance that what appeared in the newspaper article wasn't a true description of the program's contents. I also urged her to encourage Berkowitz to come forward once and for all.
"If he did, could they move him to a federal prison and make sure that I could be near him?" Denise asked.
"I'm sure they can. Santucci is ready to do everything possible."
"I can't promise what David'll say, but I'll tell him I spoke to you and ask him about coming forward," she said. "And I'll tell him you said the program is O.K."
"It is O.K., Denise," I insisted, and we said goodbye.
On Thursday, March 19, 1981, the Gannett newspapers fired the first salvo. The morning Today paper, which reached into New York City, was bannered: "SON OF SAM: I WAS NOT ALONE."
Inside, a host of articles listing some of the evidence supporting Berkowitz's statements appeared. The only alleged conspirator named was John Carr. Berkowitz's confirmation of the cult's existence also was published, but we kept the Arlis Perry case and the Michael Carr connection under wraps. In total, the articles covered nearly six pages. For Gannett's regional afternoon dailies, the process was repeated.
The report was picked up by the rest of the media. WPIX- TV, WOR and WABC-TV, along with WINS radio's John Russell—who'd followed the case all along—interviewed me; as did a few out-of-state radio stations. I was also immediately scheduled for another appearance on Candy Jones's radio show.
Santucci's office also received a host of calls, including one from WCBS radio newsman Art Athens, who'd offered information to the Omega task force before Berkowitz's arrest. Athens had maintained his interest in the investigation, but Santucci wasn't issuing any statements on the Gannett reports.
The next day, Mike Zuckerman reported in Gannett that the NYPD offered absolutely no comment in response to the articles and that the Bronx and Brooklyn district attorneys were sidestepping the issue. In Queens, John Santucci watched his counterparts dive for cover.
As a sidelight to the media coverage, the Associated Press, whose reporter Rick Pienciak was kayoed from the case by Berkowitz and Lee Chase a year earlier, did not write a word about the disclosures. There was little doubt as to why this occurred, and Gannett editors expressed their considerable displeasure to AP executives. From that point on, the AP, perhaps now aware that Pienciak conceivably had an ax to grind, resumed its coverage of the work being published in Westchester.
Saturday night, the second bomb exploded as WOR-TV's thirty-minute report aired on What's Happening, America? Along with highlights of the Berkowitz letters and supporting evidence, Lieutenant Gardner and Officer Knoop were interviewed in Minot; Cacilia Davis told her account of the Moskowitz scenario; the yellow VW story was mentioned; the Untermyer Park and animal shelter cult connections were explored; handwriting expert Charles Hamilton stated flat out that Berkowitz wasn't the author of the Breslin letter; and John Carr's drug counselor said that Carr was nicknamed Wheaties and possessed intimate knowledge of the .44 shootings.
Additionally, interviews were conducted with Mike Lauria, father of victim Donna Lauria, and Jerry and Neysa Moskowitz, parents of the slain Stacy. All expressed belief in the conspiracy's existence and called for full disclosure of the truth. Now even victims' families were lining up against the NYPD, Brooklyn DA Eugene Gold and the Bronx's Mario Merola.
Berkowitz, for his part, said nothing. As Denise assuredly advised him, his position was fairly and accurately represented.
A month later, I hosted another segment of What's Happening, America? This time, the chase of the yellow VW through Brooklyn was described and we revealed that Berkowitz had driven a borrowed yellow or beige VW while living in the Cassara home in New Rochelle. Other aspects of the case were also covered, but the focal point of this program was the disclosure of the letter Berkowitz left in his "topsy-turvy" apartment which warned that his cult planned to kill "at least 100" young people in the tri-state area. The note, we stated, was withheld from the public by Gold and top NYPD officials. (This segment would later be honored by United Press International as the best investigative report aired in the New York City area in the year 1981.)
The next day, Friday, April 24, the Gannett papers published my article about the letter. The story, like the TV presentation, emphasized that police officials and Eugene Gold suppressed the note.
This report also contained a significant about-face statement by Gold, who had now acknowledged that "pieces of a puzzle concerning a cult" had indeed existed all along—as Jim Mitteager and I formally advised his office as early as January 1978.
Gold's concession marked a point as close as he could possibly come to falling on his sword. Gone were his 1979 charges which falsely accused me of "wild hypothesis unsupported by any evidence." Gold was caught in a rising tide, a surge he could have avoided had he not attempted to whitewash the case from the outset. If he'd presumed we'd eventually just go away, he was mistaken.
A short time later Gold announced he was stepping down as Brooklyn district attorney. High-level sources in his own office —who had defied Gold by providing me with the cult letter and classified reports of the Moskowitz murder—told me that Gold's decision to retire from office was influenced by a few factors. Among them was the Son of Sam case.
In Westchester, a Today editor, tongue firmly in cheek, headlined the story of the abdication "GOLD WILL NO LONGER GLITTER IN BROOKLYN."
Twenty months after Gold retired, he admitted to a Tennessee court that he'd sexually molested a ten-year-old girl while attending a district attorneys' convention after he left office. The victim, Gold acknowledged, was the daughter of a prosecutor who participated in the conference. The charges were dismissed with the stipulation that Gold receive psychiatric treatment.
On other fronts in the spring of 1981, the newly released Son of Sam evidence continued to ripple the pond. In the Bronx, DA Mario Merola, in response to a question about the two .44 attacks in his jurisdiction, told Gannett's Mike Zuckerman: "Berkowitz was acting alone in the Bronx cases." Merola stipulated that he was referring only to the Bronx, and not to the Queens and Brooklyn shootings. While Merola was no longer denying the existence of a conspiracy, his conclusion concerning Berkowitz's sole guilt in the Bronx was greeted with considerable skepticism.
In Hollywood, too, people were nervous. The Daily News soon reported that production of a major film scheduled to be based on Klausner's book had been scrapped. As the News revealed, the movie's executives feared that the current revelations, and future ones, would render the "Berkowitz alone" scenario a fiasco.
The house of cards had finally collapsed.
John Santucci had issued no progress reports since reopening the case. And despite the concessions now acknowledged by the other DAs, no assistance was forthcoming. At the be- ginning, he received no support and was forced to go it alone. And that's the way it would remain, which was now fine with him.
For several months, the case dropped out of public view, but the backstage efforts continued. I knew that Santucci and his investigators were convinced a conspiracy existed, but I was obligated to maintain that confidence. Through Tom McCarthy I'd asked if the DA would participate in one of the two television specials. The invitation was politely declined.
"The DA doesn't want to be viewed as using this case to create a major controversy," McCarthy explained.
"That's already happened, Tom. And he joined it when he reopened."
"He reopened based on the evidence. Others created the controversy by lining up against him," McCarthy answered. "It's somewhat absurd when you think about it. We had five of the eight attacks out here—who the hell else is in a better position to make an informed evaluation of the case? And this isn't new; he wanted to resolve this in '78. But Brooklyn and the Bronx bucked him when he wanted a trial."
"Then why not ask him to talk about it now? Damn it, the time has come. Gold is on the way out and Merola's statement was so cute he could sell waffle irons. This is the guy who in '78 tried to claim Berkowitz took time out from shooting people to light three million fires at fifteen-minute intervals throughout the entire city. Even the cops shot that down as bullshit. Now he's doing the best Invisible Man I haven't seen since Claude Rains."
McCarthy chuckled. "Why don't you open the next program with that? They'd love it in the Bronx. But Berkowitz was a firebug."
"Yeah, he was a buff and he did torch a few things here and there. He's admitted that. But hell, that was part of their thing —him, Weiss and the rest. That fire log of his even had an August 2 fire written down before a July 29 fire. Did you know that?"
"No, I didn't."
"Well, he was either clairvoyant or he simply copied that log from someplace and made a mistake while doing it."
"Interesting," McCarthy said. It was one of his favorite words, one I was sure would be his epitaph someday, when he sailed off to Cagey Spokesman's Heaven.
"Look," he said. "I'll talk to the DA about the next program. When's it going to air—the end of September?"
"Yeah, and it would be great if he was part of it."
In late August, I flew to California to tape a report on the Arlis Perry murder, which we were now going to air publicly. The majority of the evidence would remain confidential, but an overview of the case, including Sergeant Ken Kahn's comments about his belief in Berkowitz's veracity, would be broadcast.
After I returned to New York, John Santucci, Herb Leifer and I had a private meeting in Queens on the Son of Sam probe.
Besides their legal backgrounds, Leifer and Santucci shared another trait. Each was always "trying to quit" smoking whenever I showed up. Translated: I usually left with an empty pack, foraged by a pair of "reformed" tobacco addicts.
Getting the preliminaries out of the way, I tossed the box of Marlboro Lights onto Santucci's desk and told him I'd just eliminated the middleman. Then it was down to business and the DA didn't mince words.
"I think they've killed before, during and after the .44 incidents," he said. "I don't doubt that for a second. Do you think they're still using Untermyer Park?"
"I don't think so, but I'm not sure. All that publicity should have driven them off. But then, a cop spotted a ritual involving German shepherds at an old estate nearby after that. They might have just moved up the road."
Santucci then ran through a list of names, most of whom have been mentioned in this narrative in one way or another.
"I think they're all part of it," he said. "And I think we've got women involved, too."
"So do we," Leifer agreed.
"Yes," Santucci continued. "But until we get a clearer picture of who the actual shooters were, we'd be risking giving immunity to a gunman if I took this to a grand jury. That's the damned law in this state. Once you put someone in front of a grand jury they've got immunity unless they waive it. And do you think any of these people would do that?"
"Not likely," I answered.
"You're right. And that's what makes this kind of investigation so damned difficult. All the district attorneys are against this law. The feds don't have it, but we're stuck with it. And I just won't take the chance of handing a free ticket to someone who might turn out to be one of the shooters."
"I was wondering what your strategy was," I said. "I think what you're saying is that we're sitting here with so-called negative proof. We can demonstrate the conspiracy exists, but doing so doesn't, by itself, result in automatic arrests of any people suspected of being part of it."
"I would agree with that," Santucci said. "We can lay out all this information and say that it shows Berkowitz wasn't alone. That's one thing. Then you look for who to arrest. You've got people identified, but you don't know which role they played, or if they played several roles. I believe there were lookouts, wheelmen and several different people who were shooters. So to try to find out who did what, you look for your witnesses. But there aren't many witnesses who can help you in this case. So where do you turn? You'd then want to put your suspects in front of a grand jury—but you can't because they've automatically got immunity once you do."
"So what do you need?" I asked.
"I need to discover who the shooters were and who ran this operation."
"We need to turn somebody," Leifer interjected. "We were hoping it would be David. But as you know, he's not talking anymore. We need an insider. We don't have much in the way of 'outside' witnesses to the shootings—people who could say, 'Yeah, I saw Joe Blow do it.'"
"Look at it this way," Santucci continued. "Using Brooklyn as an example, you could put Mrs. Davis on the stand and demonstrate that, based on her observations, Berkowitz wasn't the shooter. And you'd back up her testimony with her friend's, Zaino's, the yellow VW chase and other reconstructed events from that scene. But for all that does, it still doesn't give you the shooter's identity. We know who didn't pull the trigger, or hang out in the park, or drive the VW. But we don't know who did."
"You're depressing me," I said.
"I don't mean to. This work that's been done is very important because it exposed this operation in the first place, and it would also corroborate the testimony of Berkowitz or someone else involved," Santucci said. "But we need that someone."
"You know what Berkowitz said about having to turn over pictures of family members and all—"
"Yes. That's an added problem. We can take steps to combat that situation, but we'd first have to convince someone we could do it."
"And you can't do a thing about the Carr brothers. I mean, John was a dead ringer for the Lomino-DeMasi sketch," I said.
"It doesn't matter now in terms of prosecution, which is where we're at," Leifer answered. "Nobody can prosecute anybody who is dead."
"Speaking of John Carr, I heard recently that he was the weakest link and would have been the one most likely to break," Santucci said.
"That probably explains his untimely demise," I replied.
"And I also heard that Reeve Rockman wasn't involved—at least not directly—in the shootings. Whatever else he may have had a hand in—drugs or anything else—I don't know."
I caught the drift of Santucci's remarks. "It sounds to me like you might have a little bird on your shoulder. Perhaps a little bird who's tired of taking a fall all by himself?"
"No, not him personally. But there is someone else. You recall that Berkowitz was recently transferred from Attica, right?"
"Yes, to Dannemora."
"Let's just say I wish he was back in Attica and that I have some personal questions as to why he's no longer there."
For a moment, no one spoke. "Are you telling me that you've got an informant and he and Berkowitz were separated just as good information was coming in—is that it?"
"Yes, the move was a curious one. Let's just leave it at that."
"Do you have any other informants?" I asked.
"I'm working on that right now. It's a fragile situation, but there are a few things in the works."
"In Dannemora?"
"And elsewhere," Santucci said. "We were talking about Brooklyn. I also heard recently from an informant that Berkowitz didn't shoot Stacy Moskowitz or the Violante boy. You already put that out there pretty thoroughly. But that's Brooklyn—I need the Queens cases."
"Wait a minute—those damned boundaries don't apply to me. What did you hear about Brooklyn?"
Santucci paused for a second, deciding whether or not to reveal the information. "I was told that 'the guy from the hospital' did that shooting," he said. The district attorney then mentioned a familiar name.
"No kidding." I whistled. "He does fit into the picture."
"Yes, but I'm not sure it's him," Santucci explained. "I wasn't given the name—I was told the guy from the hospital. But we both know Max's* connections to the case, and he did work in a hospital. But it may be another hospital worker we haven't identified yet. But I wish Max would get pulled over in Queens on some violation so we could use it as an excuse to question him. We'd get nowhere just inviting him in."
"And this comes from inside?"
"Yes."
"And you think it's good?"
"I have no reason to think it isn't. I'd appreciate anything you've got on Max, because it might be him."
"Jeez, I knew the evidence was there on Brooklyn, and I know Berkowitz liked that big Moskowitz report we did. This all fits in—what about the other cases?"
"In Queens, now. I've got serious questions about the Lomino-DeMasi shootings, the Christine Freund murder and the killing of the Voskerichian girl in Forest Hills," Santucci said.
"Yeah, Ski Cap and Berkowitz were both at that scene and Berkowitz tried to claim he was Ski Cap. It's garbage. Herb and I both think Ski Cap may have been a woman."
Santucci looked at Leifer, who nodded his assent. "It's definitely possible," Santucci answered. "But as far as the other Queens cases go, I just don't know. Nobody saw anything at the Denaro wounding, and at Elephas we've got nothing on the shooter. I'm aware of that yellowish car there and of the guy with the mustache who jumped into it. He allegedly witnessed the incident and then left in the same direction as the shooter—isn't that it?"
"Yeah, and with his lights out."
"But that doesn't give us the shooter," the DA explained. "It's just another example indicating that something was going on out there involving the gunman and someone else."
"Merola had the only witness who was going to ID Berkowitz," I said. "The only one. Jody Valente—who was wounded in the car when Donna Lauria was killed."
"Well, there's no question that Berkowitz is guilty of both murder and conspiracy," Santucci replied. "He was involved in everything, and I'm sure he pulled the trigger a few times."
"He's not even trying to deny that," I said. "He's not trying to get out of anything. I'd say that helps his credibility."
"It's tough to argue with that," Leifer answered.
"What about the Arlis Perry matter?" Santucci asked.
"I just taped a piece out at Stanford with Ken Kahn, the cop on the case. It's eerie. She was put right beneath a big cross sculpted into the damned church wall. There's symbolism in everything these people do. But Kahn's on the record as saying they believe Berkowitz. How couldn't they? It's all there. . . . You know this means we've got a larger picture than what went on in New York."
"You mean the guy Berkowitz calls Charlie Manson II," Leifer said.
"Well, as I said before, I think they were active before and after the Son of Sam incidents,"
Santucci agreed. "But my focus has to remain here in Queens. This is an exceptionally complex investigation, but I couldn't ignore it. There were too many unresolved questions, important questions."
"And now?" I asked.
"We've been able to resolve a lot of them, and that's one goal of this inquiry. Arrests are another matter. We need a break, and we need some damned help from Berkowitz or someone else with firsthand knowledge. We're going to try to make that happen, but through nobody's fault here a lot of time has gone by and it won't be easy. But we'll try," the DA said.
"So you'll do the TV show?"
"Yes. I said in our opening statement that when the time was appropriate, and not before then, we'd make the findings of this office public. I know you wanted something before, but we couldn't do it. I can't go all the way, there are still things that are confidential. But I think we'll be able to contribute to the program."
On Saturday night, September 26, 1981, the What's Happening, America? broadcast was aired. Along with some basic revelations about the Arlis Perry case, Santucci said publicly for the first time that his office's investigation had convinced him Berkowitz didn't act alone. The quote most widely circulated by the wire services and reported by the rest of the media was:
"I believe David Berkowitz did not act alone—that in fact others did cooperate, aid and abet him in the commission of these crimes. In fact, it has crossed my mind that this .44- caliber pistol, which was the weapon used in the shootings, was passed around among a number of people."
"It could have been one gun or there may have been more," Santucci said afterwards. "The ballistics were inconclusive; I don't doubt Berkowitz's gun was used in some of the shootings. But since I couldn't prove more than one gun was used either, there was no purpose to be served by raising the issue then."
But since that time, other informants known to Santucci have alleged that more than one .44 was used, at least in the earlier attacks, a subject that hasn't been raised publicly until this writing. In fact, because of the NYPD's statements, it was assumed Berkowitz's .44 was the only one fired.
But the informants' revelations supported identical comments phoned anonymously to Lieutenant Terry Gardner in Minot following John Carr's death. Significantly, since none of the informants, including those whose names are known, knew about the ballistics reports, they couldn't have been aware that a lack of definitive ballistics proof existed.
I mentioned this aspect to Tom McCarthy, telling him that if I was an informant trying to lie, that was probably the last fabrication I'd try because it was challenging what people accepted as established fact.
"Wouldn't you be afraid of being discredited on the spot if you dreamt something like that up?" I asked.
"You sure as hell have to take what they're saying a lot more seriously because of that," he answered. "One of the police's techniques is to withhold certain keys so that they can gauge the value of information they get. If an informant couldn't have read about some piece of evidence, his credibility goes up. The police kept this ballistics information from the public for other reasons—not for future corroboration. So it's really ironic how it's working out."
The prison sources, incidentally, said their information came directly from Berkowitz, and it was firmly established that they were closely acquainted with him. The bottom line was that, in addition to the other conspiracy evidence and Berkowitz's own flawed 1977 confession, there were now serious questions regarding the gun as well.
"I can see why they tried to sweep this under the rug," I said to Tom McCarthy. "They were willing to let this entire thing get away rather than have the holes in the case against Berkowitz exposed."
"If so, not anymore," McCarthy said simply. "Even if we're never able to arrest anyone else, we can at least let it be known what's been found and maybe we drive these lunatics underground for a while."
McCarthy's optimism was ill founded. There was no proof that the killings had stopped, although it seemed the group's attention had been diverted to silencing its own mistrusted members. But there was still much more to come.
The morning after the TV broadcast, the Gannett newspapers published the entire Santucci interview, along with an article I'd prepared on the Arlis Perry case. In the complete discussion, which had been edited because of television's time constraints, Santucci voiced his long-standing dissatisfaction with the original .44 investigation. "I did want to see a trial because I wanted to determine whether some of these [conspiracy] questions in my mind—and certainly I think in the minds of others—could be resolved. And I think they should be resolved.
"In this case," he continued, "the sketches of the individuals —the composites—were at wide divergence from Berkowitz. That was one problem. Allegations that there was more than one vehicle involved and the time frame in the killer getting from one place to another gave us serious questions."
Santucci then cautiously enunciated a facet of the case which troubled him deeply: "If there are people out there who were involved with Berkowitz, they may be doing the same thing today. . . . And I think part of my function is to prevent things from happening—and this is the way I have to do it."
I asked the district attorney about the large number of dead suspects.
"We've looked into some of the incidents you've talked about and yes, there is an unusual number of people who are no longer living," he said. "The probe certainly would have been easier if all the principals—or all the people involved peripherally or directly—were still alive. But unfortunately, many are not."
Santucci emphasized that he was certain Berkowitz was guilty of murder—although not by himself. And regarding live suspects, he then said: "I have ideas as to who would be most valuable for me to talk to. There are also people who are no longer available to me. Where each of them is at the present time, I don't know. I also have some people in mind whose whereabouts I know—but who wouldn't be helpful to me."
The DA then addressed the original categorization of Berkowitz as an "insane loner": "The evidence I have available to me indicates that he was perfectly sane, knew exactly what he was doing, and that he did have a circle of friends he was involved with."
Santucci closed by saying that although conspiracy evidence was uncovered, arrests were another matter.
"Whether or not the probe would lead to indictments . . . is very debatable. But my principal goal is to find out, to settle the issue. .. . I would try to get enough evidence to prosecute. But that's a little more difficult than just settling the question."
Now, it was a matter of public record. And the message wasn't missed by people involved in the case. In upstate Dannemora prison, David Berkowitz heard it loud and clear, And he began talking to a number of people—inmates and others connected to the prison. He wanted advice; he was thinking of locating a lawyer to explore what might be done for him and to protect his family.
Now, too, several reporters voiced written agreement with the conspiracy determination, and information from the public began flowing again. Numerous tips were checked but most, despite their sincerity, proved groundless. However, one call to authorities was referred to me for follow-up. His name was Bob Williams,* and he lived in a small Connecticut city.
"I knew a guy named Brian Birch,"* he said. "He was fixing my car at his home in the fall of '76 and he pulled out a .44 and said, 'Don't mess with the Son of Sam.' He was standing on his staircase with the gun in his hand. I asked him what the hell he meant and he told me to forget it."
I could sense Williams was serious, but the story still sounded far fetched.
"Are you sure it was a .44?" I asked, and Williams replied he was certain the gun was a .44 revolver, model unknown.
Williams' allegation was potentially important for another reason: nobody had heard the term "Son of Sam" in the autumn of 1976. It wasn't until April 1977 that the name was used in the Borrelli letter. Williams told me he originally phoned the NYPD during the shooting spree but no one had gotten back to him.
"I know they had a few thousand names to work on, so it probably got lost in the pile. But I don't want you to think I'm just coming out of the woodwork with this," he said.
"How do you know when this incident with Birch occurred?"
"We were working together at the time. It didn't mean anything to me then, but when I heard about Son of Sam later I called the cops."
"Can we somehow prove this happened when you say it did?"
"I don't know. I just know that's when he said it. When I later heard about Son of Sam, it hit me right away. You don't forget a guy saying something like that and flashing a gun around."
Sincere as Williams was, his explanation wasn't good enough. More was needed. "You said he was fixing your car— what kind of car was it?"
"That was my Chevelle—a '69," Williams immediately said.
"How long did you keep that car?"
"I don't recall for certain. I know I got rid of it and bought a '77 Volare, the car I'm driving now."
"Did you buy the Volare when it was new?"
"Yes."
I asked Williams to check his paperwork on the vehicle purchase. In thirty minutes, he called me back. "I bought the Volare in November '76. I have the material right here."
"Then if Birch fixed your Chevelle, and made that Son of Sam comment and waved the .44 at that time, it had to be before November '76."
"Jesus, yes."
Williams was elated, and his statement was forwarded to the district attorney. Brian Birch, however, had left the area and was said to be somewhere in Arizona. He hasn't been found. Birch, although he didn't resemble the Moskowitz-Violante gunman, was a hospital worker. There were hospital and medical connections all over the case, ranging from victims' jobs to other links involving several suspects, including Reeve Rockman, who'd once worked at a Manhattan hospital. The connections were too many to be dismissed as coincidental, and more would soon surface.
Williams also said that Birch was friendly with another man named Chet Brown,* a former Bronx resident who moved to Connecticut. This information was of considerable interest because Chet Brown from that same Connecticut city was observed at the Carr home in October 1977—apparently visiting Michael Carr. I'd copied his license number at the time, and it had been in my file for four years. That Chet Brown and the one Williams knew also had the same middle initial. This information was forwarded to Queens as well. [wish we knew the real names of Birch and Brown for research DC]
Birch and Brown remain as possible suspects. And they were about to be joined by a number of others.
The Queens investigators and I were aware that the case was bigger than what we'd thus far been able to root out in New York. There was, of course, the Arlis Perry murder and the mysterious Charlie Manson II. But none of us was prepared for what was about to happen.
The Son of Sam case was poised for a huge upward leap into the ranks of monied society.
And with it would come more murders.
next
From the Belly of the Beast
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