Last Dance, Last Chance

him, surprised.
    “What are you talking about?” Daniels asked.
    “Your man’s going to be charged with conspiracy to commit murder,” Sedita answered.
    “What?”
    “I have it on tape.”
    The tape began to unwind, and two male voices filled the room. Daniels looked dubious while the conversation was in Spanish, but when Pignataro switched to English, his face sagged.
    “There’s no mistake whose voice that is,” Sedita said quietly.
    “Oh sh—…” Daniels couldn’t deny that it was Tony Pignataro on the tape—Tony setting up a murder for hire. Even the best defense attorney in the State of New York would have a tough time explaining that away.
    Pignataro had outfoxed himself, and he had lied to his own attorney. There would be no trial. After Joel Daniels spelled it out for him, Pignataro agreed to plead guilty to a lesser charge. He even promised he would tell the D.A.’s office where he obtained the poison used in the attempted murder of his wife.
    When Debbie learned that Anthony had agreed to confess, it was literally an answer to her prayers. She had said a novena for nine days, praying that he would confess to save them all from another trial—and, perhaps, to lift a weight from his mortal soul.
    In September 2000, one year after Ralph and Lauren had gone to live with their uncle Carmine and aunt Patti, Judge Marjorie Mix finally allowed them to return to live in their mother’s home. She stipulated that Debbie’s mother, Caroline Rago, must remain in the home, too. Debbie was just thankful to have them home at last; she would have followed any restrictions Judge Mix imposed. She and the children loved her mother and were delighted to have her live with them.
    A month later, Debbie did something she never thought she could do. In October, she filed for divorce. Anthony was stunned. And worried. How many times had he reminded Debbie that nothing bad would happen as long as they stuck together? But even as Debbie started divorce proceedings, he was working hard to convince her that he still loved her, begging for her forgiveness and for a chance to rebuild their lives together.
    She still had to see her almost–ex-husband in the crowded corridors of the courthouse. On Lauren’s birthday, October 2, Anthony and Debbie passed in the hallway. He was in handcuffs, but he smiled and asked her to tell Lauren he would call her later with birthday wishes.
    During one of the dozens of hearings connected with the multitudinous charges against Anthony, Debbie and Shelly met someone else in the hallway: Arnie Letovich.
    “He came up to me and started to tell me that he was so sorry, that he’d done his best to protect me—” Debbie said.
    “And we were scared,” Shelly interrupted. “But not of him. We weren’t supposed to talk to any witnesses, so we kind of mumbled and hurried away.”
    “But that was nice of him,” Debbie said, of a man whose world was so alien to her own. “I do appreciate what he did. He may have saved my life.”
    Debbie had help from a lot of people she never expected to back her up. That fall of 2000, Debbie’s former brother-in-law, Allan Steinberg, who was now divorced from Anthony’s sister, Antoinette, organized a benefit to help her with house payments. Allan rented a fire hall, and donated food, a Chinese auction, and other enticements drew a crowd of people who showed their support of Debbie.

24
    I t was November 3, 2000, when Anthony Pignataro and Joel Daniels stood before Judge Mario Rossetti in the Supreme Court of the State of New York, County of Erie. District Attorney Frank Clark was there, too, and so were Frank Sedita and Carol Bridge. The assistant district attorneys were happy to know that Pignataro was about to be sentenced to prison, but it would have been more satisfying to see him go through the trial process. They had prepared for such a long time to prosecute Pignataro.
    For those who prosecute crime, nothing is predictable. Preparing for trial is akin to going into training for a major sporting event; memorizing all the techniques, the plays, and the plans; and getting suited up for the big game—only to have it called because of inclement weather. Some trials go on for months or years, some end abruptly in days, and some never happen at all.
    When it came down to it, Pignataro was a paper tiger, unwilling to have all the details of his crimes spelled out in a trial and on the front page of the Buffalo News. That incriminating tape would