One Dark Night: A True Story of Deceit, Desire, and Murder in a Peaceful Town

CHAPTER ONE:

911

AS ANYONE WHO has ever lived or spent time in New York City will avow, it is not a city to be loved and cast aside lightly. Its vibrating pulse beats intuitively to the 10 million people who call it home, and the city’s spirit silently melds into the psyche of all who pass through its precincts.

Carlos and Peggy Perez-Olivo were no different. New York City was a passion they had always shared. From the days of their courting to their years living in the Bronx, they had become addicted to the Big Apple. Even though they no longer lived in the city, they were at heart New Yorkers, and returned to many of their old haunts in their free time. And free time was something that, until recently, had been in short supply.

For years Carlos had labored long legal hours in New York, although usually not in Manhattan. Most of his business had been conducted in the blue-collar borough of Queens. Queens is in the shadow of the most famous skyline in the world, and, though Carlos’ office was just a couple of subway stops from midtown Manhattan, it was still a world away from the glamour and pizzazz of the city that never sleeps, immortalized in Sinatra’s New York, New York.

But Queens was no more for Carlos. Queens had turned from the lure of an overflowing honey pot to a lurid tale of failure for the Puerto Rican attorney. And although he wished his separation from the outer borough had been more on his terms, he couldn’t pretend that he missed the early mornings and late nights of the grinding legal day. In fact, he couldn’t withhold a slight smile of relief when he remembered that he no longer had to spend any time there. Ever optimistic, despite such a dramatic lurch into misfortune, Carlos, at 58 years of age, was all for this change in his life’s structure and he was sure the future was brighter. He had plans.

For Peggy the city of her dreams was still a world away. Peggy had reluctantly given up this vibrant city and her adopted hometown to relocate to the city’s northern suburbs to raise her and Carlos’ three children. Chappaqua in Westchester County was not so bad, though. She could be in Manhattan in just 45 minutes by train or even faster if she opted to drive in. But now that her kids were pretty much all grown up, she was no closer to moving back to Manhattan than she’d been when she was pushing baby strollers around in the bucolic tree-lined streets of the village of Chappaqua.

Throughout the transient years of early parenthood, it was her future dreams that had held her on course: dreams that she and Carlos would one day move back to Manhattan—when the kids had moved out most likely. Manhattan had always been the hub of their lives. Apart from her job, there soon wouldn’t be anything to keep them anchored in Chappaqua. Maybe when their daughter, 17-year-old Alysia, went off to college, it would be a good time to move. But for now, she and her husband had settled, almost unwittingly, into suburban life.

Peggy knew Carlos would love to live in the city, and was confident she could persuade him to return. This was, after all, the city he’d been conceived in, and gone to college in. He had even spent a year in law school in Manhattan.

For some years, having left full-time work to be a full-time mother, Peggy had felt adrift from other adults, lost amongst the trappings of motherhood and devoid of the stimulation of her earlier career. But now she was settled and established as a teacher’s aide in the Chappaqua school system and she had to admit she liked the work and didn’t want to leave it. So Carlos and Peggy had to content themselves with driving into town on weekends and spending the day absorbing the culture of Gotham as visitors.

Peggy and Carlos had originally planned a visit for Saturday, November 11, 2006, and had been looking forward to it, but at the last minute they learned that the reason for their trip, the foreign-language film Volver, with the Argentine actress Penélope Cruz, had sold out. Disappointed, but resolved to reschedule, they checked their diaries and found they were going to be free the following Saturday—November 18, 2006—and this time Carlos would purchase the tickets in advance over the Internet.

Their enthusiasm having been put on hold for a week, they were now both very much looking forward to the trip into town.

But despite its pale comparison to the exciting city to the south, Chappaqua was getting interesting. Lately it was getting the attention of the media, and for good reason: the Clintons had arrived.

The epitome of a power couple, the Clintons, in 1999, soon to depart the White House, had chosen Chappaqua after a long and much publicized home search in the suburbs around the city. It was an open secret that Hillary was planning a run for a New York seat in the United States Senate that was up for grabs with the impending retirement of much-beloved and respected Daniel Patrick Moynihan.

Chappaqua got the nod. The house the Clintons chose was a bargain at $1.7 million, located on a quiet cul-de-sac near the center of town. Hillary had her official New York residence and soon-to-be-former President of the United States William Jefferson Clinton was now just a short commute from Manhattan, where he planned to establish an office to conduct his post-presidency business.

Wealthy and picture-perfect, and a left-of-center out-post in a Republican county, Chappaqua welcomed the former First Family with open arms. A retired President of the United States living in their midst would only enhance Chappaqua’s image—and in the process drive up real estate values in the 9.4-square-mile community. Having a United States Senator living in town didn’t hurt either.

Not that the town was hard-pressed for the wealthy and influential. Actors Alan Arkin and Vanessa Williams, and Kiss lead guitarist Ace Frehley could have formed a welcoming committee to their community.

Chappaqua seems to have it all: an eloquent beauty, a vibrant median age of 39 for residents, an impressive median family income of $180,451 and an average house value of $562,000.

It was a different world from the one the Clintons had known in Little Rock, Arkansas—or, for that matter, Washington, D.C.

Despite having prestigious neighbors, the Perez-Olivo family lived an ordinary life with a regular routine. Like many another middle-aged couple, they were concerned with the health issues of aging. Carlos and Peggy had gotten into the habit of doing a little power-walking. Peggy had been having some problems with sciatica, a troublesome nerve condition that shot a searing pain down her leg from her hip, and the walking seemed to have helped.

With the dawning of November 18, 2006, the day that would change his life forever, Carlos arose at 8:30 AM expecting to power-walk as normal. That day, however, Peggy decided to skip the walk in preparation for their visit, so instead, Carlos drove over to the health club he belonged to and had a workout.

Carlos had always been active in sports. He loved to play pick-up basketball at Club Fit, which was just a few miles from his home in the adjoining community of Briarcliff Manor. Feeling good after his workout, Carlos thoughtfully stopped at the D’Agostino supermarket at 12:30 PM to pick up a frozen pizza for him and his wife to share, to save Peggy having to make lunch, and satisfy their appetites until dinnertime at a Manhattan restaurant.

By 3:30 PM they were ready at last. As they pulled the door shut, Peggy glanced over at her husband, who, as ever, was casually but smartly dressed. Peggy’s glance was smilingly returned by her husband as they climbed into the car and the couple finally left for the city with enough time, Carlos believed, to get to the theater for the 4 PM show. Wistful perhaps in her thoughts of living in Manhattan and thereby avoiding these one-off visits, Peggy didn’t know she would never come in to the city again.

The Chelsea Theater was located on 23rd Street just off 9th Avenue, the couple’s favorite area of Manhattan. Chelsea, a delightfully quirky neighborhood on the Lower West Side, was host to a plethora of cultural delights. One of them was cuisine. When Carlos and Peggy emerged from the movie theater at approximately 6:20 PM, it was still a little early for dinner. Carlos didn’t need to be told that his wife would be happy to kill some time at one of her favorite pastimes: window-shopping.

Chelsea has an eclectic mix of residential apartment buildings, brownstones and rehabilitated warehouses chaotically interspersed with a wide array of shops, ethnic delis and restaurants and art galleries. Peggy especially loved the area because of the appealingly eccentric shops that didn’t make it into suburbia.

Chelsea, known also as the floral center of Manhattan, was a delight to walk through, as the air was full of fragrances of every possible species of flower, from dog daisies to orchids. The aromas aroused memories of an earlier existence in this exotic city and again Peggy wished she lived in Manhattan.

With the onset of evening a myriad of shop lights glittered an invitation to buy their wares, and Carlos and Peggy sauntered very slowly, making their way up to 5th Avenue with a vague idea of finding a place to dine and window-shop. A vintage clothing store caught Peggy’s fancy. Good-naturedly, Carlos idled outside while his wife explored. After a few minutes his wife beckoned to him. Dutifully he stepped inside. A $60 topaz ring had caught her attention. Wryly, Carlos pointed out that she already had a similar ring, for which they had paid $25. Accepting her husband’s gentle refusal to buy the ring, Peggy was content to leave the store without making a purchase.

Continuing their stroll along 5th Avenue, Peggy stopped in at more shops. Carlos patiently indulged his wife’s slow progress. Finally the couple arrived at a restaurant Carlos knew.

Sevilla is a Cuban restaurant Carlos had patronized as far back as his college days at Columbia University. But tonight it was too busy for them, with a long line of people snaking out the door waiting for a table. After checking out another eatery and finding it also too busy, Carlos flagged down a taxicab to take them back to the lot where their car was parked.

They decided to dine at a French restaurant they both knew. Carlos drove the car down to a parking garage near the restaurant, Frere Jacques, located on 37th Street. They got there around 8 PM, and were quickly seated.

They began by ordering the first of a number of Cosmopolitans, their favorite cocktail. Mellow with the way the trip had gone and relaxed with her Cosmopolitan in this most cosmopolitan of cities, as the meal progressed, Peggy carefully brought their idle chitchat around to a more serious discussion. Peggy told her husband he was being overprotective of their teenage daughter Alysia and that he had to give the girl a little more space. The 16-year-old was on the threshold of womanhood, and no longer their little girl. How many fathers have gulped at this speech and realized the wisdom of the words? Tactfully leaving the subject for due consideration, the conversation moved along to a discussion on the couple’s proposed plans for Thanksgiving, just a week away.

Had Carlos realized how many Cosmopolitans he had drunk over the course of the hour and a half in the restaurant (he had had five), maybe he wouldn’t have driven, and the day would have ended very differently. Peggy likewise, after three relaxing drinks and a satisfying meal, may have been lulled into an unexpected somnolence—which was to prove fatal.

The couple left the restaurant at around 9:30 PM. In the car, Carlos got a phone call from a friend from his college days, Frank Furillo. Frank was bored and decided to call his friends to see what they were up to. They spoke for a bit and agreed they should meet sometime soon. Peggy got on the phone to say hi and seconded Carlos’ desire for them to get together. Peggy then placed a call to their daughter to let her know they were on their way home. They chatted some, with Peggy teasing her a little about her first date with a boy. Peggy told her daughter she loved her before ending the call.

Before reaching the Henry Hudson Bridge, Carlos stopped at a gas station that he knew in the Inwood section of northern Manhattan. There were a lot of cars backed up at the pumps. Glancing at his fuel gauge, he figured he had enough gas to get to them back to Chappaqua, where the gas was cheaper anyway. Carlos, the spendthrift, hated paying exorbitant fuel prices, and routinely drove out of his way just to save a few pennies per gallon. He got back on the parkway and headed for home.

Instead of taking the Saw Mill River Parkway to Chappaqua, Carlos took the Taconic State Parkway. The Taconic was a longer route home, but didn’t have traffic lights like the Saw Mill did. There was also an all-night Exxon gas station just off the Taconic in the Millwood section of New Castle, of which the village of Chappaqua was a part. Carlos regularly patronized it, since it had the lowest prices in town.

Some thirty minutes later he exited the parkway at the Route 100/9A exit. Driving north along Route 100, Carlos looked over at his wife and saw that she had fallen asleep.

The road that paralleled the Taconic was dark and quiet. Carlos didn’t see another car on the road. They just had a few more miles to go before they reached the Exxon station.

It had been a cool, clear, moonless November evening with the mercury beginning its slow but inevitable downward march when Nile Clarke got the call.

Up until then it had been a fairly quiet evening. Not much action in the northern part of Westchester County and the southern end of Putnam County from a 911 dispatcher’s point of view. She had just hung up on a call from a concerned citizen informing authorities about a drunk driver he had seen weaving all over the road on the Taconic Parkway. Clarke picked up the next call before the second ring.

The next twelve and a half minutes were to be the start of what was to become one of the most infamous murder trials of 2008. As these extracts from the call imply, the caller was desperately in need of help. And although the call begins with a degree of calm, it quickly deteriorates into chaos:

Carlos: [gasping and voice rising] That’s why I’m taking…I’m taking my wife to the…[voice hysterical] I’m telling you I’m going to the hospital…I think she may be…I think…[very heavy gasping]

PO: Okay…where?

Carlos: she got shot…[cry and voice rising again]

911 Operator: Okay, okay.

Police Officer: Okay. Take it easy. She got shot, you say?

Despite the constant interruption of the police and the dispatcher, Carlos Perez-Olivo remained focused only on what he believed was the right thing for him to do. He had to get to the hospital at all costs.

Carlos: I can’t stop….I can’t stop….I’ve got to get my wife to the hospital….I can’t stop….I can’t stop….I’m…I’m all right….I’ll get there…. Don’t worry…. Just…just…try…try and get a patrol car and see if you can get this guy…. Please, please, please…

Police Officer: Okay. What…What…What kind of car is it?

And it is only halfway through the call that the police officer realizes that Carlos is himself wounded.

Carlos: I’m in a…I’m in a…I’m in a Mit…in a [breaks off with groans]

Police Officer: Are you injured…Are you injured too?

Carlos: Yeah…Yeah…Shot…Yes…Yes…Yes, I’m shot…I’m fine, fine…I’m…I’m…I’m shot on the side…and I’m fine….

Police Officer [overtalking, almost inaudible]: Sir, I believe…

Carlos: I got shot also, see, I’m going to need some…some medical attention. Please put a…put a hold now, please…[inaudible] You’ve got to get to the son-of-a-bitch….

Police Officer: Listen to me. Listen to me. [overtalking—inaudible] I’ve got to take care of you first…Both of you…

Carlos [loud]: Forget about me…My wife…My wife is important, not [voice pitch escalating] me…. Not me…. Not me…. Not me….[Voice fading]

Police Officer: Sir, I…

Carlos: [high pitched and crying] I’m not pulling over….I’m not pulling over….I’m not pulling over….I’m not…I’m not…I’m not pulling over….I’m not…I’m not pulling over…[Gibberish cries, repetition]

The call was to be eventually lost, possibly as Carlos reached the hospital.

For the inhabitants of Chappaqua, it was to be the beginning of a shameful period in the town’s