Author: Tonya

Friday was another short day. There was only one witness, another CSU detective, Michael Cunningham, whose testimony really only pertained to the reckless endangerment counts against Detective Cooper for the bullet that went into the Air Train station, and Detective Oliver for the bullet that went into the house on Liverpool Street.

Cunningham returned to the scene in June 2007, over six months after the shooting, to try to re-do all of the measurements and create a new map of the trajectories of the bullets that pierced the Air Train station, Mrs. Rodrigues‘s living room window, and Mr. Hernandez‘s fence. Cunningham had to do this because, after examining measurements done by prior CSU detectives, he realized there was no way some of the previously projected trajectories could be correct. For example, according to Detective Anzalone‘s measurements and trajectory tracings of the bullet that pierced the Air Train station, the shooter would have had to been standing several blocks further South from where the shooting actually happened (unless he was the 14-foot-tall shooter from previous cross examination testimony).

The problem is, by the time Cunningham returned to the scene to re-do the measurements, things were very different: the Air Train station’s windows had been fixed (so, obviously, the original bullet holes were gone), and Liverpool Street had been re-paved, making the curbside, street levels, and other measurements different from what they had been at the time of the shooting.

Nevertheless, Cunningham tried, using photographs of the scene and video stills from Anthony South‘s footage. He took more measurements and, using Crime Scene Unit computer software, drew some 3-D diagrams of the whole scene which were shown in court.

Cunningham found another bullet impact mark in the Air Train station, and traced its path to a point on Liverpool Street, this one on the block of the shooting. But this new placing is in a location nowhere near the point where Cooper said he shot from (and we know it’s his bullet which pierced that Air Train window). Not that Cooper couldn’t have exaggerated his position, been wrong about it, or even have outright lied, but the new placing doesn’t make much sense; according to the 3-D diagram, it was out in the middle of the street, not near any car, or any place where Cooper would have had cover. Cooper said he had crouched down inside the Camry, opened its door, stepped out with one foot, and, peeking around the car door using it for cover, fired at Bell’s Altima’s back window. But according to Cunningham’s new measurements, as shown on the 3-D diagram, Cooper would have been standing up, out in the middle of the street, shooting. Shell casings were found both in the Camry and in the street.

The diagram also showed the path of Oliver’s bullet that pierced Mrs. Rodrigues’s window. According to that diagram, its trajectory was a straight line to a point smack in the middle of the block, where no one was supposedly standing, far away from where Bell’s Altima was. I’d thought — and I thought that CSU detectives had surmised as well — that that bullet missed the Altima and went into her house instead, but according to this diagram, her house was nowhere even close to Bell’s Altima. Cunningham had no explanation for this. When asked on cross examination whether that bullet could have ricocheted from another point, after hitting some kind of hard surface, then changed direction and gone into her window, he said it was possible. Either that’s what must have happened — the bullet ricocheted, someone was shooting at Benefield as he ran down the street (which none of the eyewitnesses have testified happened, but we haven’t heard from Benefield yet), or else the diagram simply isn’t accurate.

In any event, the CSU evidence all seems to have created more confusion than answers. And people are angry at what seems, at best, to have been careless investigatory work all the way around. Advocacy groups, like 100 Blacks in Law Enforcement Who Care, are asking whether the NYPD may have even intentionally botched this investigation. Retired NYPD Detective Graham Weatherspoon, head of that group, said that Cunningham is known as a very good investigator, but was called in way too late. So, why wasn’t he called in to examine the original crime scene?

Today was short and boring. Everyone is trying hard to be patient in waiting for the testimony of the two main witnesses: Joseph Guzman and Trent Benefield, which the guards outside had told us last week was supposed to happen this week. I hope the prosecution’s not running behind.

Today the court heard only from two witnesses: an optometrist who examined Sean Bell’s eyes about six months before the shooting, and a ballistic expert who compared bullets and shell casings he received from CSU people to bullets from the five detectives’ guns to try to determine which bullets came from which gun.

Dr. Daniel Friedman, a 79-year-old Queens optometrist, examined Sean Bell’s eyes in May 2006. Sean had come to him at that time to possibly buy a contact lens for his right eye. Without a correction, Sean’s vision in that right eye was poorer than 20/400, making him extremely nearsighted in that eye, with an astigmatism as well. The vision in his left eye, however, was 20/30, so only slightly nearsighted. Legal blindness, according to the doctor, was vision worse than 20/200. So, without the correction Sean would have been legally blind in the right eye but not the left. The Department of Motor Vehicles only mandates that one’s vision must be at least 20/40 in one eye, so, because of his left eye, Sean would have been able to obtain a driver’s license and drive legally without a correction. He never bought any corrective lenses from Dr. Friedman.

(But, remember, most of the action in the car that night was happening on Sean’s right side). Also, darkness and alcohol may impair ability to see, as was elicited on cross.

Detective James Valenti, a firearms operability and identification expert, went through painstaking detail listing each of the 89 pieces of ballistic evidence — whole bullets, deformed bullets, bullet fragments, and shell casings (which are discharged near the shooter when the bullet ejects from the weapon) — that he was given by Crime Scene Unit detectives, and which of the detectives’ guns each one likely came from. Valenti was able to identify 15 bullets and 46 casings; 28 bullet fragments were too small for him to be able to perform tests on. Looking cursorily through my vast notes, I count — no, forget it, it’ll take me all night to do that — suffice it to say the vast majority of recovered shell casings and bullets were fired from Oliver’s gun — hardly surprising given that he fired 31 of the 50 shots — the next highest number from Isnora’s, and a couple each from the weapons of Detectives Headley and Cooper and Officer Carey.

One thing Valenti said that caught my attention was that Glock guns — the type used by Detectives Isnora and Cooper — only needed 5 1/2 pounds of exertion on the trigger in order to discharge bullets. But under the current New York Trigger Policy, weapons must have at least 10 pounds of exertion on the trigger in order for them to fire. The current Trigger Policy was enacted in order to prevent accidental discharge. It doesn’t seem like there were any accidental discharges here, but in any event, why is the NYPD still using the Glocks if they’re not compatible with current trigger policy and can fire accidentally?

Also, on cross examination by Paul Martin, Detective Cooper’s attorney, Valenti, who has some training in firing weapons, said he was trained to fire both with two hands and with only one, that latter done in certain circumstances (which he didn’t specify). That’s important since it goes to the reckless endangerment charge against Cooper (for the bullet he fired into the Air Train platform). It made me realize there hasn’t yet been testimony presented by the prosecution on how officers are trained to fire their weapons, which I really want to hear. With Cooper, that kind of testimony is necessary, to show that he didn’t comply, that he was therefore reckless, and that’s why his bullet went askew.

But more generally, I really want to hear how officers are trained to identify a threat and how they’re supposed to deal with it. I’m sure the court is going to get some of this testimony in the defense case, but the prosecution has the burden of proof and should be trying to show that the detectives not only fired, but that they did so in a way that was inconsistent with their training and thus reckless. As I mentioned before, a black female spectator from the NYPD said to me early on in the trial while we were waiting outside, “We need answers; I know how it’s done and this is not it.” At this point, I’m hoping the prosecution plans on trying to show what she said.

Yesterday was relatively mild compared to the day before. The court heard only from two witnesses: the surgeon who performed Sean Bell’s autopsy, Dr. Michael Greenberg, and another of the eyewitnesses to the shooting, Jean Nelson, a seemingly honest man whose testimony was similar to that of Mr. Henkerson, who testified the day before, but with added details.

Sean Bell sustained four wounds, one to the right side of his neck, one to his right shoulder, one to his right torso, and one to his right arm. When Dr. Greenberg began going over the path of each bullet and which organs they penetrated, Mr. and Mrs. Bell and other members of the family left the courtroom, Sean’s mother in tears. The two bullets that caused Sean’s death were the first and third listed above, the one that went into his neck, piercing his larnyx and lodging in his upper arm bone, and the one that went into Sean’s torso, fracturing his rib, abdomen, liver, lung, and lodging in his spine. These numbered bullets, by the way, were randomnly assigned by the doctor; it can’t be determined which struck Sean first. Sean sustained five additional abrasions, but the cause of death was the two gunshot wounds to his neck and torso.

Greenberg also testified that he didn’t see any gunshot residue on any of Mr. Bell’s clothing, which means that the gun’s muzzle must have been fired from over three feet away. An “intervening obstacle,” such as a window, would have prevented any such residue from forming on his clothing (although, as the defense attorneys pointed out on cross, if the passenger-side window was blown out, it wouldn’t have stopped the residue from congealing on the clothes). Mr. Bell’s blood alcohol level was 0.16 grams per deciliter, twice the legal limit. There was no presence of illegal substances in his blood.

Jean Nelson, 28 and married with three children, impressed as sincere and direct; he was there to tell it like it is. He had one prior felony conviction, from 1999, for possessing a firearm, which he had for protection. He also had three misdemeanor convictions, all for marijuana possession. Speaking of which, he was the owner of the bags of marijuana found down the street from the scene.

Mr. Nelson, who wore his hair in an impressively intricate pattern of cornrows (just something I noticed because, seriously, the design was like artwork), had known Sean for 5 or 6 years, meeting him through Mr. Henkerson, whom he’d known all his life. He was a member of the musical group the defense is so interested in, which he and the others had formed to make some money.

He’d gone to a club in Manhattan, “Eugene’s” (where he bought the marijuana), earlier in the night on the 24th, returning to Queens around 3:00 a.m., and meeting up with Henkerson, to go onto Sean’s party. He and Henkerson arrived at Kalua at 3:30, too late to go inside, as the bouncer told them the club was about to close. So the two waited outside for their friends. Soon Coicou pulled up in his SUV and a bit later, the club let out. When Sean left, he and Nelson walked toward the edge of the club where Sean urinated before realizing he’d left something in the club and returned to retrieve it.

When Sean emerged from the club, Nelson heard Coicou say to him, “You can’t do this like that. I got money in there.” Sean asked him what he meant. Soon, Nelson saw Coicou back up with his hands in his vest saying “I’ll shoot you.” James Kollore said, “We’ll take that gun from you.” Sean echoed Kollore, saying, “Yeah, we’ll take that gun from you.”

Nelson walked up to Sean, saying, “come on, you’re getting married tomorrow. You don’t need none of this crap. Let’s go.”

Nelson remembered seeing Detectives Isnora and Sanchez in front of the club, but he paid no attention to them.

Nelson, Sean, and the rest of the group walked down the street to their cars, on Liverpool. On their way, Coicou in his SUV passed them very slowly, stopping at the corner to eye them all. As soon as he passed, he sped up down the street and turned at the next corner. Guzman and Sean proceeded to Sean’s Altima and got inside.

Nelson remembered Lt. Napoli‘s Toyota Camry pass by them and stop mid-block, a little after Sean’s car. Nelson noticed two white men in that car, who looked at him, and he concluded they were police. He remembered the minivan driving onto the street too, and concluded that carried police as well.

He then saw Isnora (whom he’d remembered from the front of the club) walk up to Sean’s Altima, holding a gun in his right hand, pointing it downward. “Yo, let me holla at you,” Isnora said to Sean and Guzman, which, to Nelson, meant, “Let me talk to you.” Though Nelson realized the men in the Camry and the minivan were police, he didn’t assume Isnora was as well.

Sean tried to pull out, nearly running over Isnora. Isnora hopped onto the hood to prevent being “squashed,” and went over the car, landing on the other side. Sean crashed into the minivan, then backed up, running into a wall behind him, before coming forward again, hitting the van. It looked like the Altima was just coasting at that point, and bumped into the van. Nelson then heard shooting. He began running South, dropping his marijuana (which he said was only for personal use) on the way. He looked back once before coming to the corner, and when he did he saw another man, a white man, near the passenger-side door of the Altima pointing a gun at that passenger door.

Nelson continued running, hearing someone behind him say, “oh shit.” He heard bullets piercing the fence of the house he ran past. A couple blocks away, he ran into Kollore and Henkerson, and they returned to the scene, now seeing Benefield on the ground, on his stomach, handcuffed.

On cross, Nelson remembered telling prosecutors during an interview on December 2, 2007, that he thought Sean was drunk, and when he’s drunk he’s “hyper.” He also told them Sean doesn’t like people talking to him “in a smart way.”
Defense counsel Anthony Ricco (Isnora’s attorney) asked Nelson on cross whether it made it a bit “tough” to go back to his neighborhood since his perceptions were “a little different” from his friends’. He said “yes.” After he finished cross examination, Ricco said, “thank you very much and good luck to you.” I’m glad he wasn’t hard on Nelson; there was no reason to be, since he seemed so truthful. So now, after getting so upset with him the day before, I like Ricco again.

Today the court heard from Johmell Henkerson, the brother-in-law of Nicole, Sean Bell’s fiance, and an eyewitness to part of the shooting; and the Grand Jury testimony of defendant Detective Michael Oliver, the detective whom the press has focused on the most, as he fired 31 of the 50 shots, though he was not the first to fire.

Up front, I just have to say, I find it unsettling how the prosecution witnesses are being villified. While a witness’s prior convictions are fodder for cross-examination (because legally the judge may use such priors to determine the witness’s overall credibility), the defense attorneys are questioning, and very harshly, about kinds of inflammatory things that have little to no relevance to this case: the witness’s belonging to a rap group in which he created songs about “thug” life (since when is art criminal?); a witness’s long-ago possession of a gun; a witness’s general lifestyle; here, a shooting victim’s vaguely possible criminal activity in that shooting, where charges haven’t even been filed. The issue here, at least regarding the top charges, is whether the detectives were “justified” in shooting. Justification is legalese for self-defense. So, whether they believed deadly force was about to be used against them, and whether that belief was reasonable, from the point of view of a person in the same or similar circumstances. So, making the eyewitness friends of Sean Bell and Joseph Guzman out to be general “bad guys” who have experience with guns has nothing to do with whether the detectives felt threatened right before they shot and whether that threat was reasonable from a person in their shoes. They didn’t know Guzman and his friends beforehand, so it wasn’t like they knew he had a reputation for violence, which could have informed their fear. This was the first time Isnora and Oliver had ever seen Guzman.
Anyway, Johmell Henkerson: he talked slowly and quietly and it was a bit hard to hear him. He also seemed on the verge of tears throughout much of his direct testimony. 30 years old, he’s a medical technician who assists patients with kidney problems, and his wife, Shelby, is Nicole’s sister. He’s known Sean since 2000. Henkerson has two prior felonies, 10 years old — from the mid nineties — one for possession of a controlled substance and one for unlawful imprisonment, and two misdemeanors for loitering.

He met Sean earlier in the evening of November 24th, when they’d celebrated with some egg nog and brandies. Henkerson left to go watch his children while his wife attended Nicole’s bachelorette party. (Another thing made a big deal of on cross: that party was cancelled because the male stripper couldn’t make it, as if hiring a male stripper for one’s bachelorette party has anything to do with whether the detectives thought Guzman had a gun…) Anyway, later that evening, Guzman called him and he picked him up in his Mercedes SUV and brought him to Kalua for the party. However, Henkerson then had an underage cousin with him, who was denied admission to the club. He left to take the cousin home, leaving Guzman there.

Later, he met up with his friend Gene Nelson, and the two of them went back to Kalua, except they arrived so late that it didn’t seem worth paying the cover to go in. So he and Nelson waited outside to meet up with the Bell party. He parked around the corner from the club and he and Nelson walked up to the front entrance and waited for everyone to leave. He noticed Isnora and Sanchez standing to his left, talking. Isnora was wearing a “skull cap,” he said. Soon, Coicou arrived with his big black SUV, the music blaring.

Shortly thereafter, his friends — Hugh, Larenzo, Benefield, Guzman, Bell, and Kollore — all emerged from the club. Bell went back inside because he’d forgotten his hat. When he came back out, he “exchanged words” with Coicou. At one point, Coicou and Bell were standing very close to each other and their body language changed; Sean had been in a good mood when he left the club, but Henkerson now saw that their discussion had “elevated to another kind of situation.”

Coicou had his hands in his pockets, and with one hand, he pointed out at Bell as if he had a gun (Henkerson demonstrated this in the courtroom — he pointed his finger out, through the pocket, as if making clear there was a gun in that pocket and Coicou was aiming it right at Bell.) Henkerson couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but heard either Bell or Guzman say “I don’t give a fuck who you waiting for,” “fuck that bitch you waiting for,” and “I don’t care where the fuck you from.”

Henkerson walked up to Bell and put his arm around him, telling him this guy wasn’t worth it and “let’s leave him alone.” (I have in my notes that Henkerson nearly started to cry at this point, saying, “Sean was in a great mood the whole month; I was trying to bring to him the reality of the situation”). Henkerson also told Guzman they should leave. Henkerson said to Guzman and Bell that Coicou was “holding himself out like he got a gun on him.”

Guzman was mad but decided to let it be and all men began walking toward Liverpool Street. When they got to the corner, Henkerson looked back at Coicou, noticing he was pulling out; he looked at Coicou to “make sure he wasn’t going to do anything.” Coicou drove up to the corner, driving slowly, then turned and made a right onto Liverpool Street, passing them. He then turned right on the next street and was gone.

The men were deciding where they’d go for food, to continue the party. Henkerson had planned to keep Bell with him for the night, until his wedding, so that he and Nicole would next see each other at the ceremony. As Bell and Guzman got into Bell’s Altima, Henkerson spoke with Bell at the window, determining where they’d go next.

Henkerson then saw the Camry driving down the street, carrying a black driver, a white passenger, and a black guy in the back. Before it passed, Henkerson stepped aside, to his right, so that the Camry passed between him and Bell’s car. The men inside all looked at Henkerson, driving slowly and “observing” him, “looking hard” at him. (Had they been looking in the other direction, at Bell’s car, they might have seen Isnora motioning them to the Altima — Isnora had just told them the men in question were getting into a car — but apparently they found Henkerson more suspicious. Why, I don’t know: Henkerson, very slim, almost wiry-limbed, didn’t look the least bit threatening. But not seeing the Altima or Isnora, the Camry continued on).

Anyway, Henkerson looked back at Bell after the Camry passed. He then saw Isnora, the black guy in the skullcap he’d just seen in front of the club. Isnora was walking up (“like he was creeping from somewhere”) behind the Altima. He had a gun drawn.

Henkerson “put two and two together,” realizing the men in the Camry were cops (why else would a white guy be traveling with two blacks in this neighborhood at 4 in the morning?). And cops plus a guy with a gun was a recipe for disaster. “Things could get really ugly,” he thought. He said, “Oh shit, he got a gun.” (On direct he testified he’d said this to himself, but on cross admitted he’d told the Grand Jury he’d said it to Bell and Guzman as well). He did not think Isnora was an officer.
Henkerson decided he and Sean had better “get off the block.” As Bell pulled out, he figured Bell would be okay since he was in his car. Henkerson started running down toward the end of the block. Behind him, he heard an engine revving up, tires screeching, and then gunshots (“a nice amount” of them). When he got to the end of the block, he heard a pause and began to come back, but then the shots started up again.

He turned the corner, and ran in the opposite direction of his car, down a few blocks, winding back up to Liverpool. He’d found Nelson and Kollore on the way. The three men arrived at the top of Liverpool to see Benefield lying on the ground belly down, wearing handcuffs, screaming that he couldn’t feel his legs. The men tried to go back down to where Sean’s Altima was, but were prevented from doing so by officers, who eventually told them which hospital which shooting victim was being taken to.

Henkerson called a cab since “he was in no condition (emotionally) to drive.” The men caught up with Bone, and cabbed first to Jamaica Hospital, where Henkerson (who was crying in the courtroom when he testified to this) saw Bell being operated on, then to Mary Immaculate to visit Benefield and Guzman, then back to Jamaica, where he was told Bell had died. Henkerson then took a cab back back to the club and retrieved his car.

On cross it was brought out that Henkerson had possessed a gun in the past, in the 1996 unlawful imprisonment case. Henkerson said he’s since “moved on with his life.”

It was also elicited on cross that he had been shot in April 2007 on the street of Far Rockaway as he left a restaurant. When asked several questions about that, he noted that he didn’t know what that had to do with this case. One defense attorney asked him why he hadn’t talked to police about that case, and whether it was because he’d had to get an attorney for that case because he was involved in criminal wrongdoing. Defense counsel asked him whether he was testifying in this case to curry favor with the prosecutors so they wouldn’t prosecute him on that case. The judge sustained repeated objections by prosecutors. Defense counsel asked Henkerson if his Mercedes was ever searched on the night of this shooting; Henkerson said no. Defense counsel asked him if the reason he didn’t drive his car to the hospital was not because he was too emotionally disturbed to do so, but because he didn’t want it to be searched. He said no.

At this point, a woman who I assumed was his wife left the courtroom. Words like “bullshit” emanated from the prosecution spectator section.

Later, another defense attorney continued with the line of questioning about Henkerson’s being shot in April 2007, asking him if he had a gun at the time of that shooting. At this point a woman on the prosecution spectator side said something which I couldn’t hear but which was audible to the judge. Cooperman stopped proceedings and called out, “whoever asked that question, leave the courtroom.” The woman got up and left, cursing as she went.

Henkerson seemed genuinely confused whenever asked any questions about the April 2007 shooting or about his own car and why he didn’t drive it.

This is the first time I really got angry with the defense. I think the attorneys are doing a good job of bringing out inconsistencies between witnesses’ trial testimony and their earlier Grand Jury testimony or their prior statements to district attorneys during interviews, getting witnesses to admit things were a lot more nuanced than they’d represented on direct (or, in Coicou’s case, completely different). But, the rap song stuff, the insinuations that Henkerson had some involvement in his own shooting — a case which hasn’t had any kind of disposition, and no discernable relation to this case whatsoever, and the stripper at the bridal shower crap — they have nothing to do with the issues here, they’re meant only to badger and make the witness look like a “bad guy” in general, and those kind of tactics don’t bode well for anyone with any sympathy whatsoever for the Bell family — and you’d have to be heartless not to be one of those people. They really beat up on this witness, a member of the Bell family, and there was no reason to do so. He presented as honest, serious, vulnerable and upset, and not interested in a fight (unlike Coicou, whom they had every reason to go after). Plus, Henkerson’s testimony was not very damaging to the defense.

Okay, briefly Detective Oliver’s Grand Jury testimony:
Oliver, 35, started with the NYPD in 1994, first in patrol as a uniformed officer, then in the narcotics bureau. He’d worked only in Manhattan all the way up to August 2006, when he was assigned to the Social Club Enforcement Unit, first in Chelsea (after Imette St. Gillen was killed), before being transferred to Queens South in October 2006, a month before the shooting. He’d been trained to be an investigator, not an undercover officer, and only in drug buys. In Manhattan, the club initiative’s aim was to close down clubs under the Nuisance Abatement Laws, by conducting drug buy and busts. All activity in Manhattan was centered around drug busts; nothing else.

He had never been to Kalua Cabaret before 11/24/06, the night of the shooting. The undercovers there were primarily to conduct prostitution busts. At the team meeting earlier in the evening, Oliver was assigned to drive the “prisoner van,” with Officer Carey in the passenger seat. Since he’d never been in the area before, Carey told him where to park and directed him around.

When they first arrived in the vicinity, around 12:15, they ate fast food, before proceeding onto the club area, parking a few block away from it. Around 1:15, he saw Sanchez, one of the undercovers, walk by him, toward the club. This signified the operation was beginning, which was confirmed by a radio call from Lt. Napoli, in charge of the operation. He and Carey simply sat in the van until nearly 4:00 a.m., making personal phone calls on their cell phones. At one point, Detective Headley drove by with Napoli, in the Camry, and they exchanged small talk, but he didn’t remember what they said.

Around 3:45, Napoli radioed and said Detective Isnora was in the club and there was a man inside of the club with a gun. That man was wearing a White Sox cap and was heavyset, either black or Hispanic. Oliver waited for further instructions.

Around 4:00, Napoli radioed again saying the man in the White Sox cap with the gun would be exiting the club soon, and for everyone to “move in closer. Keep in tight.” Oliver pulled around the corner, nearer the club, and put on his vest and police shield, which he wore on a chain around his neck. He was nervous: a prostitution operation was one thing; now they were being told someone had a gun, a much more dangerous situation.

Around 4:15, Napoli radioed that the man wearing the White Sox hat was exiting the club and the team should “move in, we’re going to grab him.” Oliver began driving toward the club. Napoli then radioed a third time commanding, “move in, field team.” Oliver proceeded down past the club, and as he did so, looked at the people outside the club for a heavyset black or Hispanic man in a White Sox hat. He didn’t see anyone fitting that description.

At the end of the corner, Oliver made a right onto Liverpool Street. He drove slowly, looking to his left for the White Sox man. He didn’t see him, but instead saw Isnora on the side of the street standing in front of a car. Suddenly, Oliver heard tires screech, and the car ran into him, hitting him head on. He was “in shock.”

He saw three men in that car — two in front and one in back.

That car then reversed and backed into Isnora, causing Isnora to jump. He now saw Isnora had his gun drawn. The car came back at Oliver’s van, hitting him again. Isnora yelled, “He’s got a gun, he’s got a gun.”

Oliver saw the car’s passenger side window blow out. He heard shots. He put his van into park, and got out of the van yelling, “police, don’t move.” He approached the passenger-side door of the car. He saw Guzman begin to raise his right arm, lowering his left shoulder at the same time, as if he was reaching into his waistband. Oliver said he was scared, he didn’t want to die. He shot. Then he had no shots, and he didn’t know why there were no shots firing from his gun. He loaded another magazine into it. He didn’t want to die. It all happened so fast. He shot with the new magazine, and continued firing until he had no more shots left, and no more magazines.

He focused all of his initial shots on Guzman, but at one point, saw the rear window of the car blow out. He then believed the man in the back was firing at him or his colleagues. So, he finished off his rounds shooting at the man in the back, Trent Benefield. He never shot at the driver, Sean Bell.

After the shooting stopped, he told Carry to “cover” him, and he ran to the van and got the radio. He called the central unit telling them shots were fired and “two perps were shot,” and asking them for ambulances and backup units to be sent to the address, which he knew. That radio call was played in the courtroom. He sounded very frantic, but gave a better address and description of where they were than Sanchez had on his 911 call.

Oliver didn’t hear any shouting from Isnora before hearing the Altima’s tires screeched. He may have had music on in the van, but he usually turned off the radio when in pursuit. He never saw Isnora fire.

Oliver said he re-assessed the situation while he was re-loading his weapon. The threat remained, as Guzman was still trying to get his hand up. If he got his hand up, Oliver felt he would be killed. The entire thing happened within seconds. He felt he had no time to take cover from one of the vehicles on the street once he’d left his van.

He never did see Guzman’s hands. It never occurred to him that his fellow officers could have fired. Oliver had only ever fired at the shooting range, never at a person.

“I am trained to eliminate the threat,” he said. “The way to eliminate the threat is to shoot at center mass. Some people die. I have to live with this for the rest of my life. It was the last thing I ever wanted to do.”

Thursday the Court heard the Grand Jury testimonies of both Detective Gescard Isnora, the Undercover who was the first one to shoot, and Detective Marc Cooper, charged with reckless endangerment for firing the bullet that went into the Air Train station. We also heard from another eyewitness, James Kollore, a friend of Bell’s and Guzman’s, whose account differed from the earlier testimony of Marseillas Payne, the other eyewitness to testify thus far.

First Isnora, since his testimony most goes to the heart of this case. Overall, Isnora seemed to be a very frightened, nervous, fragile man who, in my opinion, should never have received this kind of undercover assignment. He stressed repeatedly how dangerous it was to be an undercover, how if your cover is blown you could really be in trouble. Just looking at him in court, it’s hard for me to believe he’s ever gone into a strip club and soliticited prostitutes, he looks so meek.

Isnora’s Grand Jury testimony was read by the supervisor of Queens County court stenographers, Michael Cascone. Isnora, 28, unmarried, and nicknamed Jess or Jessie, joined the NYPD in July of 2001. His first assignment was as a uniformed patrol officer in Brooklyn, where he served for three years until moving into the Brooklyn narcotics division to work as an undercover. A year later, in October 2006, a month before the shooting, he was transferred to the Queens narcotics unit to work in the same capacity. But when he arrived for his assignment there, he was told he would instead be temporarily entering the Vice Unit’s Social Club Task Force, geared toward investigating clubs in which there have been community complaints of weapons possession, violence, prostitution and drugs. It seems to me, he ended up with a pretty different job than he was expecting…

Three days before the shooting, Isnora successfully solicited a prostitute and bought cocaine at Kalua Cabaret, which resulted in two arrests. His assignment on November 24th was, along with Detective Sanchez, to try to do the same. He and Sanchez parked their unmarked car a few streets away from the club, arriving around 1:00 a.m. Sanchez went into the club first to see if the two women who’d been arrested on the 21st were there; if they were, they’d very well recognize Isnora and tell everyone he was a cop. As soon as Sanchez called telling Isnora the women weren’t there, Isnora went inside and sat with him near the front of the bar. On his way in he was frisked “lightly” by the bouncer.

Throughout his testimony, Isnora kept apologyzing to the District Attorney, saying he was nervous.

Soon a woman approached Isnora and asked him to buy her a glass of champagne, which he did. He engaged in small talk with her and asked her what she was doing after work. Another woman walked up and asked for a drink, and he did the same, asking her what she was doing after she left. Both women hinted they “don’t do that kind of thing.” While Sanchez went into the back to explore the club, leaving Isnora alone up front, a woman dancing at the pole asked him why he was alone, making Isnora nervous. If you’re a new face admidst regular, people assume you’re a cop, he said. So, he called the team leader, Lt. Napoli, to have him send Cooper in. He felt safer with two team members around. Cooper arrived and sat next to Isnora.

Soon Isnora saw one of the dancers grab the arm of a man wearing a White Sox cap and a white shirt, telling him another man, “that mother fucker over there,” was harassing her, and pointed at him. “Him over there?” Isnora heard White Sox guy reply. If he keeps it up, White Sox said, let him know and he’d “take care of it.” When he said this, he took the woman’s hand and placed it on his right hip waistband area. Isnora saw a bulge right where the woman placed her hand. He told Cooper he thought the man had a gun. The White Sox guy then went into the back. Cooper went outside and called Napoli, telling him what Isnora had just said. As soon as Sanchez returned, Isnora told him about the White Sox man and Sanchez went into the back of the club to look for him.

It was soon closing time, so Isnora excited the club and walked to the corner of the street. He thought Sanchez was behind him, but when he turned around, couldn’t see him. At the corner, he called his field team. Napoli told him to go back to the club and ghost (ie: watch over) Sanchez, as he waited for White Sox man. Isnora asked a fellow officer to meet him at Liverpool and 94th Avenue so he could retrieve his police shield and gun before returning to the club. “It was just me and the ghost now on the street; the field team’s several blocks away. You never know if people think you’re someone they’ve had a problem with before,” Isnora explained.

Isnora returned to the front of the club and looked for Sanchez. About two minutes later, Coicou drove up in his SUV, exited it and stood in front of its passenger-side door, as if he was waiting for someone. Sanchez emerged from the club and phoned Napoli. Napoli told him and Isnora to wait for White Sox man to leave. A group of 7-8 men, including Guzman and Sean Bell, exited the club and hovered in front of its entrance.

Isnora suddenly heard a “loud commotion.” He saw that a woman in that group was arguing with two of the men, saying she wasn’t “going back with” them. “I’m not doing you guys,” she yelled.

Coicou then had some words with Guzman. Coicou kept “fidgeting” in his jacket pockets with his hands. Coicou looked nervous. Isnora couldn’t hear what they were saying, but suddenly Guzman called out to his group, “Get my gun, get my gun.” Guzman said the words loudly and emphatically. Sean Bell walked up to Coicou and said “let’s fuck him up.” The group then began walking down the street at a fast pace, “like they were going to come back.”

Sanchez phoned Napoli and told him what was happening. Sanchez gave Isnora his phone and told him to follow the men and tell Napoli where they were going and what they were doing. Isnora did as he was told, following the men but not closely. He didn’t want them to think he was associated with Coicou.

As he rounded the corner of Liverpool and 94th, Isnora took out his police shield and clipped it to the right area his collar. He held his hand over it until he passed a small group of men who stood at the corner looking back down at the club. As soon as he passed them, he removed his hand from his collar and pulled out his service weapon.

He saw Guzman and Bell getting into an Altima. He thought perhaps the men were getting into the car so that they could do a “drive-by” of Coicou. Isnora told Napoli the men were getting into a car on Liverpool Street. They were the only men around at that point, so they should be noticeable to Napoli, Isnora said. Napolic told Isnora he and the team were on their way, were “moving in.” Isnora couldn’t remember who exactly was the arresting officer for that evening, but thought it was Cooper, who was riding in Napoli’s car. (Normally, the arresting officer, as the name implies, does the “arresting,” not the undercover).

As soon as Isnora saw Napoli’s Camry begin to drive down the street, he looked at Napoli and motioned toward the Altima, nodding toward the car as if to say “that’s the one.” But the Camry continued driving down the street failing to stop, perhaps not seeing Isnora.

Isnora looked back at the Altima. He now saw Guzman, in the front passenger seat, looking right at him. He said, “Police, don’t move,” and pointed his gun at Guzman. Seeing only Guzman, Isnora again said, “Police, don’t move.” He was standing about one foot away from the car at that point. Suddenly, the car lurched forward, as if the driver had “floored” the ignition. The Altima hit Isnora in the leg. Isnora fell onto its hood, then walked backward and regained balance. The Altima went on and hit head-on the unmarked police “prisoner” minivan (driven by Detective Oliver, who, under Napoli’s orders, was following Napoli’s Camry.) The Altima then quickly backed up, right into Isnora’s path. Isnora jumped out of the way. The Altima ‘s rear crashed into a gated area afront a building. The Altima sped forward again, trying now to go around the minivan. But it didn’t make it, and the passenger side of the Altima smashed into the passenger side of the minivan, where it stalled.

Isnora could see only Guzman in the car. He had “tunnel vision”; couldn’t take his focus off Guzman because he was the one who’d told somone, “go get my gun.” Locking eyes again with Guzman, Isnora said again, “police, don’t move.” He said the same words several times, he claimed. He also thought he saw Guzman eye his collar, bearing the police shield.

Isnora thought he saw Guzman reaching into his waistband, to withdraw a gun. “It all happened so quick,” he said. “I yelled ‘gun’ when I saw his arm going to his waistband. I thought if I waited he would fire at me. It was the last thing I ever wanted to do. In my mind, I knew he had a gun, so I fired. It was the last thing I wanted to do.”

Isnora never knew when his fellow officers got out of their cars. He could only focus on Guzman. Everything besides Guzman was “blurry.” He was about 6-7 feet from the car. He knew he was the first to fire, and when he did so, he heard glass shatter. The passenger-side window blew out. He fired all 11 rounds within a couple of seconds. After his magazine fell out of his gun, he didn’t reload. He was trained to “shoot center mass” — the center of the torso — because that was where most vital organs were, in order to stop a threat. All of his shots were directed at that area on Guzman. He was so “scared” and “nervous,” he never paused to assess the threat.

After a grand juror asked him why he continued to fire if he didn’t know whether there were shots coming from the Altima, Isnora said “I can’t answer, I can’t explain, it was all continuous. Once I fired, I just didn’t stop.” Another juror asked why he didn’t take cover. Isnora answered that he was in the middle of the street, a wide-open space; there was no cover to take.

After firing had ceased, Isnora saw Benefield emerge from the back passenger seat of the Altima and run down the street. Detective Headley (who was driving the Camry, which was now stopped down the street, after hearing the shots), ran after him, not wanting Headley to be left on his own. After he saw Headley grab Benefield, “taking him down,” Isnora called 911 for an ambulance and backup units.

After giving his narrative of the events, the prosecutor questioned him. During this kind of “cross examination,” Isnora said after the Altima lurched forward, crashed into the gate and sped back forward again into the minivan, Isnora yelled, “police, don’t move,” along with “police, show your hands.” He said both “don’t move” and “show your hands” several times. The prosecutor asked him if he felt those commands were contradictory. Isnora said he didn’t know; it all happened so quickly.

Isnora said he’d been robbed before working as an undercover. He’d been in fights. But he’d never before fired his weapon. He’d never before even thought about firing his weapon. Isnora said he prayed for everyone, “for the individuals that this happened to and for what happened that night. I wish the vehicle would have stopped. I felt I had no choice.”

During lunch I overheard several spectators saying if only Sean had driven the other way, had not tried to pass the minivan, but instead made a left; it was a two-way street.

Okay, on to Detective Cooper.

Cooper, 39 and married with three kids and with the NYPD since 1989, told the Grand Jury he went into Kalua, and joined Sanchez and Isnora at the front of the bar. He remembered a dancer with a tattoo “Crime” on her shoulder talking with a man wearing a White Sox hat and a white jacket. Isnora told Cooper he’d seen that man point to his waistband and say something like, “I got this,” in response to something the woman said.
Around 3:00 a.m., Cooper phoned the team and told them there was “nothing else going on,” and he was leaving. He left the club and the Camry picked him up a few streets away. When Cooper got in, Napoli was on the phone with Isnora, who was telling him about a fight outside between a man in front of an SUV and a group of men. Cooper put on his bullet-proof vest and picked up his weapon and police shield, but stayed in the car, which drove into a nearby Long Island Railroad parking lot and waited for word from Sanchez about White Sox guy. As soon as Isnora called again saying someone in the group had threatened the SUV guy by saying he was going to go get his gun, Napoli radioed the minivan, saying “let’s move in on this.”

Napoli told Headley, who was driving, and Cooper, that Isnora’d just told him the threatening group was getting into a car on Liverpool Street. Cooper didn’t remember there being any specifics as to how many men were in this group. When the Camry began driving down Liverpool Street, Cooper saw the men getting into the car, but Headley passed on by. “I guess he wasn’t sure if that was the car,” Cooper said. Cooper, who was sitting in the rear passenger side seat (farthest from the Altima), didn’t see Isnora at that time, and didn’t hear any shouting.

Suddenly, Cooper heard the revving up of a vehicle, followed by a crash. The Camry stopped, and Headley began to get out. Cooper opened the rear passenger-side door and began to get out too, but right when he did so a barrage of gunfire began. Realizing he had no cover, Cooper crouched behind the car door, one foot in the car, one foot out, peeked out from behind it, and with his right hand only, fired in the direction from which he thought the gunfire was coming — the blown-out rear window of the Altima. He admitted he did not use his left hand to steady his weapon, making his aim unbalanced and unstable.

Seeing Benefield run by, Cooper yelled out for him to stop and chased after him. Cooper thought the gunfire had stopped by then, but wasn’t sure. He didn’t see anything in Benefield’s hands, so didn’t shoot. Once he caught up with Benefield, he saw that Headley and a uniformed officer had placed him under arrest.

Cooper said he believed he’d fired 1-3 rounds in total. But when he’d spoken with the Queens DA, Cooper’d told them he was certain he’d fired only one round. He now knew he was incorrect about that, and fired about three rounds. When told there were four rounds missing from his supposedly (according to NYPD dictates) loaded firearm, Cooper said he could have fired four. He fired all shots at the rear windshield of the Altima.

Finally, James Kollore also testified. 32 years old and nicknamed “Quick,” Kollore showed up in court dressed professionally in a suit. Overall he impressed as polite and honest (he admitted he was “probably” selling crack while on the lam for another crime), while somewhat lacking in observational capacity during the shooting (he needed glasses but wasn’t wearing any, and he was standing on the opposite side of the street from the Altima).
Anyway, Kollore had two prior felonies from long ago — 1991 and 1993, the first for possession of crack cocaine, the second for possession of a firearm. He was sentenced to a short prison term, which he didn’t serve until 1995 because he’d gone “on the lam” by which he meant he simply didn’t show up to court and no one came looking for him. He was only found when arrested for loitering and gambling, and the police found he had an open warrant. He also had a few misdemeanor convictions from 2002, 2003, and 2004 for trespass, possession of burglar’s tools, and possession of a loaded firearm.

Kollore had only met Sean Bell in 2002, but had known his friends, Benefield and Guzman, for about 15 years. They all lived in the same neighborhood.

Kollore arrived at the club to celebrate Bell’s bachelor party around 11-12 midnight. He’d come in Bell’s car, which was stopped briefly by a uniformed officer. The group proceeded to the rear of the club, where they sat near the stage.

After the club closed, Kollore left with the rest of the group, who congregated outside in front. He noticed Coicou standing in front of his SUV from which loud music was blasting. Kollore began walking toward Bell’s car when he turned around and saw Bell “having words” with Coicou, who had his hands in his pockets. The conversation turned loud with “shouting back and forth,” “angry facial expressions,” and at one point Bell and Coicou were “face to face.” Kollore thought Coicou may have a gun in his pockets, as indicated by his body language. Kollore walked over the Bell, put his arm around his back and told him to “come on.” He didn’t remember saying to Coicou, “I’m going to take that gun from you” but admitted he may have said that.
Kollore and Bell began walking down the street toward Liverpool, followed by Guzman and the others. As they rounded the corner onto Liverpool, the SUV drove by slowly. After passing them, it sped on.

Kollore walked to his friend’s car, parked across the street from the Altima, while Bell and Guzman got into the Altima. Kollore saw the Camry drive by.

When the Altima pulled out, it smashed into a van coming around the corner just then. At that point, Kollore said, the minivan’s passenger-side door opened and a white man with dark hair emerged (who was presumably Officer Carey, not charged here), holding a gun. Kollore heard gunfire and saw a flash from Carey’s muzzle. Bell’s car backed up and collided with some kind of railing surrounding a building behind it. Bell then pulled back out and tried to drive around the minivan, but didn’t make it, and crashed into it again. Then there was more gunfire. Carey fired several times, kneeling down on one knee.

When a bullet pierced a car he was standing next to, Kollore took off, running down the street. Eventually, he met up with two others in the group, and they tried to call Benefield. But Benefield didn’t answer his phone. When they got back to 95th and Liverpool they saw why: Benefield was lying face down, handcuffed.

After being told by a paramedic that the three shooting victims had been taken to various hospitals, they proceeded first to Jamaica, to visit Bell, and after they were told to go home, proceeded on to Mary Immaculate to visit Benefield and Guzman.

The gunfire lasted about a minute. Kollore heard no police commands and saw no shields.

On cross examination, Anthony Ricco asked Kollore why he hadn’t called 911, instead calling Benefield. Kollore just stared at him, as if it was the craziest question in the world, as if it never entered his mind to call the police. Just another clash of cultures. If I’d just witnessed a shooting, the first thing I’d do is call 911. Of course. And when the officers arrived, I’m sure they’d all have nothing but pity for the hysterical white girl, never ever suspecting me of being involved. If I was in Kollore’s shoes, I’d likely think a lot differently.

Kollore said he’d possessed a gun in 1993 for protection. He never carried it on the street with him while selling drugs.

A good deal of cross examination was taken up with questioning about Kollore’s belonging to a rap group, along with Guzman and Larenzo Kinred (but not Bell or Benefield) in 2001. The group produced a CD containing songs about the hustling life. Titles included “We Be Thuggin'”, “Let Off A Shot”, and “Gangsta.” I didn’t really see this testimony as probative of anything (are those former Oscar-winners for best song, pimps because of their number, “Life is Hard For A Pimp” — or whatever it was called?), but maybe the judge might have thought something of it, since he let it all in. On the way out of the courtroom, several prosecution-side spectators were very angry that ADA Testagrossa hadn’t protested more to its admission. One woman said, “he did, but the judge overruled it. What’s the point of continuing to object?”

“That’s right!” someone sitting on the prosecution side of the spectator’s area shouted out on Wednesday after key witness Fabio Coicou (a/k/a, the all-important “SUV guy”) said the above quoted words. Coicou was responding to defense attorney Anthony Ricco’s question about his prior convictions. But Ricco was allowed to ask the question not in order to turn the tables and put a prosecution witness on trial, but to call into question his credibility. I.e.: if someone has previously been convicted of a crime, that shows a certain willingness to put his interest above society’s, and possibly to lie under oath. Anyway, legally legitimate as Ricco’s question was, it also made sense to me that Coicou (and other prosecution witnesses who’ve testified and been questioned about their priors), felt the tables were being turned, fingers were being pointed back at them instead of those who pulled their triggers. And that obviously made sense to the person in the spectator seats as well.

Regarding Coicou, though, his testimony and personality were very unreadable, very all over the place and in the end, inscrutable. I couldn’t figure out if he was trying to be a smartass and rile up the spectators, of if he genuinely was worried he was going to get into trouble (he was, after all, the person who got into a contentious argument with Sean Bell, making the detectives fear there was going to be a shoot-out between the two parties) and was giving off this false bravado as a defense mechanism.

Anyway, here is his testimony. I’ll break it down into direct and cross. Direct first.

Coicou is 30 years old, originally from Haiti, and moved to Brooklyn with his family at age 10. He later moved to Far Rockaway, Queens, where he lived in November of 2006 and where he still lives with his ex-wife and their two young children. Coicou is a certified emergency medical technician and has worked as a funeral director. He had no prior felony convictions, but did have two prior misdemeanors — one for a petit larceny he committed in Nassau County in 1998; the other, a 2006 conviction for criminal trespass in Georgia.

Coicou had been to Kalua Cabaret before November 24th; he’d been there the previous Sunday. LaToya Oliver, his girlfriend, was working in the club as a dancer. On that Sunday, he’d driven her to the club, and as she danced, he parked around the corner and slept, then returned after the club closed to pick her up and take her home. He didn’t go inside the club with her since the club’s owners frowned on the presence of dancers’ boyfriends because it may lead to jealousy. His vehicle was a black 1998 Ford Expedition with customized just about everything (tail, skirt, rims, windshield visor, grill, headlights, scoop, hood, shades, etc. etc.).

On November 24, 2006, driving his 1998 Ford Expedition, he took LaToya to Kalua, and, as he did before, dropped her off, then drove around the corner to nap. Around 1:00 – 2:00 a.m. (before the club had closed), he went in. Before doing so he was thoroughly checked for weapons.

The club was packed and there were a lot of men drinking and looking at the female dancers, particularly in the back of the club. He later learned the group in back included Sean Bell, Joseph Guzman, and Trent Benefield, but hadn’t known any of them at the time.

Around 3:40 a.m., Coicou left, retrieved his SUV, parked in front of the club, waited for LaToya. There were many people now standing outside; it looked like “the whole club was in front of the place.” Coicou stepped out of his SUV and stood at its rear passenger door. Sean Bell, followed by Benefield, walked back into the club.

When Bell walked back out, Coicou claimed he said, under his breath, that alcohol was taking control of the situation. As Bell and Benefield passed by Coicou, Benefield said to Coicou that he was not letting alcohol take control of the situation. Bell got “chest to chest” with Coicou and also said he was not letting alcohol take control. Coicou backed up, then said to Bell, “I have money inside the club; I have bread in there,” referring to LaToya. He said he called her “money” because she is “taking care of me”. Bell gave him “a look like he understood,” then began talking a group of about 7-8 friends.

Bell again approached Coicou and asked him where he was from. Coicou responded, “A.” Bell asked what “A” was and Coicou said, “Atlanta Georgia.” Talking to the whole group, Coicou said he was now staying in Far Rockaway and this SUV was his vehicle in case they see him again. He held both hands in his vest pockets and said, “I’m not here to fight.” Guzman said “I’m from Far Rockaway too, from O.V.”, which Coicou took to mean Ocean Village, a part of Far Rockaway. Coicou said “Oh.”

Bell and Guzman and their group then began walking away.

And that was the end of that.

Coicou noticed two guys standing behind the Bell group, who were clearly not with them. One guy, a bald man (whom he later learned was Detective Sanchez), was “playing with his phone.” The two men didn’t go anywhere, but stood there making cell phone calls. Coicou had seen Sanchez in the club before.

The Bell group “scattered.” A few members of the group stood at the end of the block, looking back toward the club; others had gone around the corner. Wondering why the group had dispersed so quickly, Coicou got into his car and thought, “let me get out of here.” He drove down to the end of the block, and, before rounding the corner, saw Guzman, about to cross the street. Guzman directed him to go ahead, so Coicou drove on and circled the block, before returning to the club and parking again in front of it. While waiting there, Coicou saw someone, whom he thought was a woman, run up the block and jump into some bushes in a nearby backyard. He never saw her again. Soon LaToya emerged from the club and got into the car. She told him someone had just been shot. When they got home and watched the news, Coicou realized the people who’d been shot were the ones he’d spoken with in front of the club.

Coicou insisted he never heard any threats, never heard anyone say they were going to get a gun or a “gat”. The police had come to speak with LaToya but she refused to talk to them, feeling too much pressure. She soon returned to Atlanta because of the pressure.

Okay, now Coicou’s testimony on cross.

As mentioned at the top of the post, Anthony Ricco, defense counsel for Detective Isnora, began to ask about Coicou’s prior convictions, when Coicou quickly shot back, “yes, but I’m not on trial here.” Ricco decided not to ask the judge to direct Coicou to answer with a simple ‘yes or no’ and instead moved on to his Grand Jury testimony. Before reading Grand Jury testimony into the record, Ricco asked Coicou, “you swore to tell the truth, both to the Grand Jury and today, correct?” — a typical introductory question to the elicitation of Grand Jury testimony which is likely going to differ in some way from what the witness has just claimed at trial. Instead of saying “yes,” Coicou said, “and your point is?” which drew laughter from the spectators, but not from Justice Cooperman. Moments later when Ricco began another question, and Coicou opened his mouth, Cooperman said in an annoyed tone, “Just listen to the question.”

Such a clash of cultures. I have no idea what a jury would think if there was one — obviously it would depend who was on that jury — but an older white judge is going to have absolutely no patience with witnesses who smart off, who seem to disrespect the system. I don’t know if any judge would, actually. But then, maybe Coicou just didn’t get the system. Maybe it just doesn’t seem to serve him.

I overheard people on the defense / police side say thank god a judge is hearing the case; you don’t ever take a jury unless you’re guilty. I’ve never heard any attorney advise their client to forego their right to a jury trial. But then, I only know public defenders, who represent the poor, largely black, population. Who represent the Guzmans and the Coicous. I’ve handled plenty of criminal appeals; I obviously only got an appeal if there’s been a conviction (otherwise there’s nothing to appeal). So, juries do convict when the evidence is there. But juries also — usually — look very carefully at all of the evidence, deliberate at length, consider the charges separately, and take their role seriously. If the attorneys are good and the system is fair, there will be a good cross-representation of society on the jury. Something tells me a good many jurors would also understand where witnesses like Coicou are coming from – the fear and distrust of the system, of attorneys and police, the eagerness to mouth off when you feel like you’re the one in trouble and are being treated unfairly. But while they’d understand anger, I still think they’d be critical of inconsistencies and contradictions.

When Ricco continued on, asking him about his criminal background, Coicou again said “I’m not on trial here,” to which the woman in the spectator area said, “That’s right,” followed by mumbles and unrest on both sides of the courtroom. Interestingly, neither the judge nor any of the courtroom officers quieted down the room.

Coicou had a gun in Atlanta, but obtained a permit for it, possessing it legally. He has no permit in NY for a gun, and hence, doesn’t carry one. He didn’t have a gun that night. He held his hands in his pockets, he maintained, to demonstrate peace, so the group would leave him alone. “Uh-HUH,” declared a female spectator. More unrest. Still no demands to “quiet down.”

Ricco asked him if he knew what a “gat” was; Coicou said, “no, what is it?” and told Ricco to get a dictionary.

If you listen to Coicou’s Grand Jury testimony, it seems like he was a lot more scared of the Bell group that night than he wanted to admit at trial, which makes no sense since he’s not friends with them. Ricco read some of that Grand Jury testimony: “I said to them I’m not here to fight. I had my hands in my pockets because I was trying to tell them to calm down. People don’t like to be told to stay calm.” He “thought they looked impatient, rowdy” and that they were “making a scene.” There was “a lot of drinking involved, and if you talk to a drunk person the wrong way … I was trying to hint we are grown men, there’s no reason to act this way.” He was trying not to have a “situation” with them, he was trying to hint to them that the bald guy might be a police officer. He was concerned that if something went wrong, a bunch of people would jump on him, outnumber him, “just like in the situation here, with a bunch of lawyers.”

Coicou also claimed he never saw anyone peeking around the corner, but his Grand Jury testimony belies that. “I got into my car because of the people peeking at the corner. I got concerned. If I didn’t move, someone might come around the corner.” He felt the group’s splitting into two parts — those who went around the corner and left his sight and those who stood “peeking” back at him — could have been “a diversion.” He “was concerned because he didn’t know where they went.” He thought they “were going to get whatever to do whatever.” So, he drove around the block, past the “people who were still peeking.”

Coicou also met with the Assistant District Attorneys on January 17, 2007, shortly after the shooting and before he testified before the Grand Jury. He gave them a statement then, which also contradicted his trial testimony. He claimed at trial that he didn’t recall ever telling the ADAs then that he worried the men were coming back for him, that some of them were peeking around the corner, that he was worried they were “going to go get whatever to do whatever,” or that anyone said, “we’ll get my gat.” However, the ADA’s notes reflected that Coicou did indeed tell them all of those things at the meeting, including, most importantly, the “we’ll go get my gat,” to which the DA stipulated.

Ricco tried to discuss further Coicou’s thoughts that the group splitting up might be a “diversion.” Coicou said that when he drove around the block, he saw nothing was up, so there was obviously no diversion; he “didn’t see anyone doing the diversion.” I guess the way he said this sounded funny because there was some laughter in the courtroom, and Ricco said, “Mr. Coicou, isn’t it true you sometimes use big words you don’t know the meaning of?” Coicou retorted, “I guess so. I’m just trying to be like you.” More laughter. Ricco looked dumbfounded.

Coicou clearly had a thing for Ricco; he would not stop taunting that attorney. Once Mr. Cullerton (Detective Oliver’s attorney) began questioning, Mr. Coicou gave him very little crap. Perhaps he was just tired by that point. But Mr. Ricco is black, Mr. Cullerton white. And when Mr. Martin, (Detective Cooper’s attorney) who is black as well, did his cross, Coicou’s snappishness returned. Martin asked him if, with all this talk of his girlfriend being his “bread” and his “money”, he was in fact her pimp. Coicou asked for a definition of pimp, then asked Mr. Martin if he was one. More laughter in the courtroom. At this point, one guard hushed people.

On redirect, Coicou stated he had absolutely no interest in either side of this trial. He didn’t know anyone involved, didn’t know Bell and his family or friends. And, his brother is a police officer.

Additionally, Dr. Daniel O’Connor, the orthopedic surgeon who operated on Trent Benefield and Joseph Guzman, testified. Benefield had two gunshot wounds to his right buttock — one where the bullet entered, one where it exited. He likewise had two bullet wounds — entry and exit — to his right calf. He sustained one bullet wound to his left calf, and that bullet struck and lodged in his tibia bone, fracturing it. O’Connor repaired the fracture by placing a metal rod into Benefield’s leg. X-rays of Benefield’s leg with the metal rod and screws holding it together were shown in court. Heads shook in disgust on the prosecution side of the spectator area. O’Connor said it would have been difficult for Benefield to have run on the leg following the shooting, but with a rush of adrenalin, he could have hopped on his right leg and dragged the left along.

Guzman sustained multiple wounds, O’Connor said, but his fractured left tibia was the injury O’Connor operated on. O’Connor performed the same surgery on Guzman as he had on Benefield, inserting a metal rod into the left leg to repair the fracture and stabilize the bone.

The beginning of Detective Cooper’s Grand Jury testimony was also read into the record, but since it concluded the following day, I think I’m going to save that for Day 16. I’m tired…