Empire of Sin by Gary Krist Read Free Book Online Page A

80 for the defense—much of which was contradictory and of dubious reliability. Two key police witnesses—including Capt. William O’Connor himself, who had said good night to the chief just moments before the first shot—were for unknown reasons not even called to testify. And arguably the most important witness for the state (a painter named M. L. Peeler) was, according to some convincing defense testimony, quite likely drunk when he supposedly recognized the shooters.
    Not that the defense witnesses had been any stronger. Many were called merely as character witnesses, attesting to the “good name” of one or the other defendant; others provided alibis that were difficult if not impossible to corroborate. One defense witness seemed particularly befuddled. He claimed that he saw one of the accused men at the Poydras Market, blocks away from the crime scene, at the exact time of the ambush. When asked how he could be so certain of the hour, he insisted that he had made sure to check the market clock, knowing that he would be asked about it in court (this at a time when he wouldn’t even have known that a crime had occurred).
    And there had been plenty of other distractions to muddy the process of justice. One morning,prizefighter John L. Sullivan showed up to watch the proceedings, which were being closely followed in newspapers worldwide. He was given a seat of honor right next to the jury box, so that the great Irish boxer could ensure that the great Irish policeman would be properly avenged. Meanwhile, rumors began circulating that some of the jurors had been bribed by agents for the defense; private detective Dominick O’Malley, a known associate of defendant Charles Matranga, was soon arrested and accused of offering money to jurors in exchange for a not-guilty verdict. And as if all of this weren’t enough, one of the defendants—a non-English-speaking fruit peddler named Emmanuele Polizzi—had continually disrupted the proceedings with fits of real or feigned madness, stomping his feet, throwing himself on the floor, and even trying to bite anyone who came near him.
    What the jury had made of these courtroom antics—and of the ocean of confused and inconclusive evidence—was impossible to say. But for many of the spectators in court on that wet afternoon of March 13, 1891—and for the “immense throng” of New Orleanians crowded on the street outside St. Patrick’s Hall—there was no doubt at all: at least some of the nine defendants had to be guilty. And though the judge had given a directed verdict of not guilty for two of the defendants for lack of evidence, the rest simply must be punished;no other outcome—according to the newspapers, at least—was acceptable.
    At one thirty P.M. , a knock was finally heard at the door of the deliberation room. Sheriff Gabriel Villere hurried through the door and went upstairs to consult with the jurors. After a few minutes, as nervous murmurs swept through the courtroom, Villere reappeared and crossed the room to the private office of Judge Joshua G. Baker. And when the judge himself came out into the courtroom, ordering Villere to ring up the parish prison and have the prisoners delivered to court, there was no longer any room for doubt: The wait was over. After nearly a full day of deliberations, the jury had finally reached a verdict.
    Judge Baker ordered the courtroom cleared of everyone except members of the bar and the press; all others had to join the unruly crowds waiting outside. The excitement on the street was even greater than it had been on the morning of the chief’s death. Police Secretary Vandervoort, anticipating trouble, telephoned the Central Station for an extra detail of police to control the multitudes. The police, after all, didn’t want any harm to come to the defendants—at least, not until a proper verdict had been delivered.
    At around two thirty P.M. , the jury filed into the courtroom. Most of the twelve members were averting