Case File | Mafia Cops

From Air, Ship and Evergreen Podcasts, I'm Jeremy Schwartz and this is American Criminal. By now, you know just about everything there is to know about Nicky Barnes and the drug empire that made him a huge name in the 1970s. So I I'm not...

telling you anything new when I say that Nick was brought down thanks to the coordinated efforts of different teams and individuals within the justice system.

Prosecutors, federal agents, local police, all of them did their part to bring a criminal to justice. It was a satisfying instance of everything working pretty much exactly as it should. Though things definitely could have gone better.

For instance, a little more care from those involved than Nicky's young girlfriend Shemecka might not have been assassinated in the middle of a New York bar. It was clear that someone with Mafia ties didn't want her to talk.

Now either she was taken out because this person guessed that she might tell authorities what she knew, or this person had intel that she was definitely about to do that. And it's that kind of insider information that I want to focus on today.

Because, while there are plenty of times when the system works as it should and the bad guys get caught, it's not unheard of for everything to go horribly wrong.

And if there's a team I trust to tell me anything about what's going horribly wrong, it's the people behind American Scandal.

 

Their host Lindsey Graham has been covering the worst scandals in history for years. Politics, sports, business, science. Lindsey takes a look at what went wrong, who's to blame and how the world finally found out.

There are more than 70 seasons of the show available to listen to ad free on Audible, including the one we're going to share with you today.

Recently, American Scandal spent some time looking at organized crime in New York City, just like we did, except instead of telling the story of a drug kingpin like Mickey Barnes, Lindsey took a deep dive into the lives of a pair of crooked cops who

betrayed their badges by working as enforcers for the Mafia. They pocketed hundreds of thousands of dollars from some of the most dangerous men in America.

In return, they handed over secret files, tipped off criminals about investigations and even committed murder. So when I say that things in the justice system can go badly wrong, this is what I'm talking about.

It only takes one or two bad eggs to ruin everything. Trust me, you'll see. From American Scandal, this is Episode 1 of Their Season, Mafia Cops, The Thin Blue Line.

American Scandal uses dramatizations that are based on true events.

Some elements including dialogue might be invented, but everything is based on historical research.

3:39

It's a few hours before dawn on a winter's night in 1959 in rural Connecticut. 25-year-old Burton Kaplan drives along a desolate country road. Snowflakes drift through the beam of his headlights.

He hasn't seen another car for miles, which is just as well because there's a dead body in his trunk. Kaplan doesn't know who the man is or why he was killed. All he knows is that he has to get rid of him.

Kaplan has a gambling problem. He borrowed large sums of money from an ex-cop back in Brooklyn, and now that ex-cop expects a favor. Kaplan has been told to take the body to someone who might help him bury it.

He's agreed, of course, otherwise he knows he might be the one in the trunk next time. Kaplan checks his directions, then turns off the main road onto a dirt track. Through the trees ahead, he can see a pair of headlights.

As he gets closer, Kaplan spots a man leaning against a car, watching him approach. He's dressed in a thick sheepskin coat and leather gloves and is carrying a shovel. As Kaplan parks his car and gets out, the man walks over.

Well, he's in the back. Kaplan pops the trunk. The body is wrapped in gray plastic sheeting and tied up with duct tape.

The man gives a grunt of satisfaction. All right. This way.

He motions for Kaplan to follow him. The snow is so deep here that it spills over the top of Kaplan's boots. Thankfully, the man doesn't go far before he stops and hands Kaplan the shovel.

All right. This will do. You want me to?

Yeah, dig. All right. Of course.

The man lights a cigarette and watches as Kaplan gets to work. Kaplan quickly clears the snow, but when he tries to dig into the dirt below, he finds that the earth is frozen solid.

Kaplan puts his foot on the shovel and presses down with all his weight, but the blade barely scratches the surface. Only a thin layer of icy soil comes loose. Kaplan turns to the man.

It's no use. It's rock hard. The man flicks away a cigarette with a scowl.

Give it to me. The man takes the shovel, but he doesn't make any more progress than Kaplan, and he quickly tosses the shovel aside in frustration. Kaplan chews his lip.

It's gonna be dawn soon. I need to get back. You think this is my problem?

I didn't mean that. Because if I'm not mistaken, that body is still in the trunk of your car. Well, what are we gonna do then?

The man lights another cigarette and then looks at Kaplan. You're gonna drive to Long Island Sound. I'll follow in my car.

We'll find a spot by the water that's nice and quiet and we'll dump the body there. Kaplan hesitates. He thought he was done carting around a body.

The man frowns. You got a problem with that? Do I need to tell our friend that you've not been cooperative?

No, no, it's not a problem. Long Island Sound it is. Well, let's get going.

Sun's coming up. Burton Kaplan trudges back to his car. As he starts the engine and backs up, he feels the weight and the trunk shift again.

He can't understand how his life has come to this. It started with just a few bets, and now he's an accessory to murder. But as he drives back down the dirt track toward the road, Kaplan makes a vow to himself.

When this is all over, he's going to quit gambling. He'll work off his debts and he'll never do a deal with a dirty cop again. From Audible Originals, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American Scandal.

For most of the 20th century, organized crime in New York was dominated by the so-called Five Families. These criminal gangs divided the city into different territories which they ruled through violence, coercion and bribery.

From bootlegging alcohol during prohibition, to loan sharking, prostitution and illegal gambling, the Mafia's activities earned them plenty of attention from the authorities, but they had their ways around the law.

They bought off judges, intimidated juries, and sometimes they corrupted the police themselves. Cops made perfect recruits for the mob.

To most people, New York's Boys in Blue were beyond reproach, and when one of them was accused of a crime, they often closed ranks to protect each other.

But while the public and their peers shielded the police from criticism for the right price, corrupt officers could make inconvenient investigations vanish, tip criminals off to surveillance, and even act as private executioners.

Two cops in particular proved more valuable to the New York Mafia than any others.

In the 1980s, partners in crime Louis Eppolito and Stephen Caracappa betrayed their oaths of public service to make hundreds of thousands of dollars working with the mob. But not all law enforcement was as corrupt or as willing to look the other way.

The dogged investigation of a few determined officers would eventually unmask these Mafia cops and expose two of the most decorated officers in NYPD history as little more than hitmen for the mob. This is episode one, The Thin Blue Line.

9:20

It's the summer of 1969 at the New York Police Academy in Manhattan. Arthur Hearns opens the door to a small, windowless interview room. He puts his papers down on the metal desk and sits on one of the hard wooden chairs on either side and waits.

He's not questioning suspects today. He's talking to trainee cops as part of their background and character checks. Hearns is an investigator with the NYPD's personnel screening unit, and it's a big job.

Crime in the United States is on the rise, and the federal government has increased funding for police departments across the country. As a result, the NYPD Class of 1969 is the largest in its history. Hearns looks over his notes.

His next appointment is with 26-year-old Stephen Caracappa. But from what he reads, Hearns can already tell that he's not going to like Caracappa. Nine years ago, at the age of 17, Caracappa was arrested for burglarizing a warehouse on Staten Island.

He stole more than $1,000 worth of construction materials and tried to sell them on the black market. Caracappa was caught and sentenced to probation. So Hearns frowns.

He knows teenagers do stupid things. But this was no high school prank. The warehouse burglary looked like a professional job.

Caracappa either knew what he was doing or was working with someone who did. Either way, he doesn't speak highly of his character. There's a knock on the door and Hearns puts down the file.

Caracappa steps inside. He's slender, almost gaunt, with thick dark hair and an intense gaze. Hearns shakes his hand and tells the young man to sit down.

Caracappa scrapes back the other chair and takes a seat. He's a few years older than some of the other recruits. And he tells Hearns that he spent three years in the US.

Army in Vietnam. Since he was discharged, he's been living at home with his parents on Staten Island. Hearns has to ask Caracappa about the burglary, and the young man shifts in his seat.

His answers are evasive and he doesn't strike Hearns as especially remorseful about his criminal past. So by the time the interview is over, Arthur Hearns is convinced that Caracappa is not a man who should be in uniform.

But his recommendation that Caracappa be dismissed from the police academy is later overruled by a supervising officer. Hearns doesn't ever learn why.

Maybe Caracappa knows someone further up the food chain who put in the good word, or perhaps the city is just so desperate for new officers that even former criminals are acceptable. Either way, Stephen Caracappa is allowed to continue in the force.

And it's while he's enrolled at the police academy that Caracappa meets another trainee cop named Louis Eppolito. They bond over their shared Italian background, but the two young men otherwise couldn't be more different.

While the slender Caracappa is quiet and smart, the heavyset Eppolito is loud and brash. He's into bodybuilding and talks openly about his extensive family connections to the mob. Eppolito's uncle and father were well-known gangsters.

That isn't so unusual in the NYPD. A lot of recruits come from the same working-class neighborhoods the Mafia operates in. But it's unusual for cops to brag about their ties to mobsters the way Eppolito does.

And despite strict rules against associating with criminals, he keeps talking to known local gangsters. Eppolito's pedigree raises a few eyebrows on the force, but time and time again, the NYPD chooses to look the other way.

So Eppolito's career in law enforcement goes on. And in the late 1970s, he's assigned to the Brooklyn Robbery Squad. He's joined there by his old Academy friend, Stephen Caracappa.

Soon though, it's not just police work that keeps the pair occupied. One man complains that Eppolito and Caracappa handcuffed him and stole $300 from his wallet. Eppolito is accused of stealing jewelry from the scene of a crime.

Caracappa is accused of dealing drugs. But none of the claims is upheld. It's usually Eppolito or Caracappa's word against the civilians and the NYPD is generally inclined to believe its own over the public.

And without hard evidence or corroborating witnesses, the complaints against the two men are all dismissed and Eppolito and Caracappa are left free to continue where they left off.

13:37

And in the late 1970s, Caracappa moves to the narcotics squad. He's part of a covert task force infiltrating a network of drug traffickers who are flooding New York with cocaine.

But going undercover means sampling the merchandise or risk raising suspicions, and Caracappa soon develops a drug problem. His addiction steadily gets worse, and he even suffers a near-fatal overdose after the sudden death of his baby daughter.

But despite all his troubles, he still has a reputation as a smart and confident officer. So out of sympathy, he's taken off narcotics and offered a place on the major case squad. It's one of the most sought after jobs in the NYPD.

The major case squad has the power to take over any active homicide investigation in the city. And this means Caracappa can now access confidential intelligence on just about any case he wants.

And that's information he and Louis Eppolito know certain people will pay handsomely for. But they need to get the right intermediary. Eppolito turns to his cousin, Frank Santora Jr., who has some connections to the Mafia.

He tells the two detectives that he knows someone from his time in prison who might be able to help. His name is Burton Kaplan. Since he threw the dead body into Long Island Sound back in 1969, Kaplan has managed to quit gambling.

But he hasn't been able to stay on the straight and narrow. He recently finished a two-year stint in Allenwood Federal Penitentiary after being convicted for manufacturing quailutes. That's where he met Santora.

They were dorm mates. After Kaplan's release in 1983, he opened a clothing store and promised his family he'd finally learn from his mistakes.

But then Kaplan started selling imitation designer clothes and his shady business dealings brought him into contact with senior figures in the New York Mafia. So Eppolito and Caracappa think Kaplan sounds perfect.

Santora sets up a meeting at his home in Brooklyn, and Kaplan is already there when Eppolito shows up. And in Eppolito's eyes, Kaplan doesn't look much like a wise guy. He's about 50 and has thick square glasses and a receding hairline.

But if Santora vouches for him, that's good enough for Eppolito. Once the men exchange greetings, Eppolito takes off his jacket. His gold chains rattling around his neck.

He shows Kaplan and Santora a rip in the underarm of his shirt. He tore the seam while roughing a guy up, and he says things like that happen a lot.

Thanks to his build, either his jacket is too tight or his pants are too loose, and sadly, police salaries just don't stretch to custom tailoring. Kaplan takes the hint. He tells Eppolito that he happens to own a clothing store.

Eppolito should stop by sometime and get fitted properly for a new suit, free of charge, of course. Eppolito grins. It looks like he and Kaplan are gonna get along.

And it's true it's hard to get rich while being a cop. The saying goes that crime pays, but police work doesn't. And a lot of NYPD officers work overtime to supplement their income or take second or even third jobs to make ends meet.

But there are plenty of ways for less scrupulous cops to make money as well. It's an open secret in the department that many officers take bribes. Others steal drugs from evidence lockers and sell them back on the streets they seize them from.

But what Eppolito and Caracappa are dealing is far rarer than drugs and potentially even more valuable. But their trade in information isn't without risks, and sometimes they can't help but leave a trail.

17:06

Just before dawn on March 16th, 1984, the FBI launches a raid on a property in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. It's the opulent home of Rosario Gambino of the Gambino crime family.

The FBI has been building a case against him for months, and now that they have solid proof of him trying to sell 40 kilos of heroin, it's time to bring him in. An FBI agent hammers on the door. Open up, FBI!

The house is silent, though, and no one comes to the door. The agent turns and gives a signal to the arrest team. Two plainclothes officers wearing body armor step forward with a battering ram.

The wood splinters around the lock. The arrest team then kicks the door down and storms into the hallway beyond. The agent hangs back and waits for the all clear.

Farther down the street, beyond the FBI perimeter, lights are coming on in neighboring houses, and it won't be long before there will be people on their doorsteps wondering what's going on. Hopefully, the FBI will be finished by then.

And after a few more moments, the agent's partner appears in the doorway. All right, we got him. They're cuffing him now.

House is clear. The agent hurries inside. He doesn't bother to wipe his shoes and trails mud across the gleaming floor, and his partner grins.

Oh, you're ruining Rosario's nice shiny floors. You want to talk to him? He's in the kitchen.

No, he won't have anything to say to us. Let's take a look around. The agent heads to the stairs, which sweep around a gleaming chandelier.

His partner gives a low whistle. How much you think that set him back? More than we make in a year.

Ever think we're in the wrong business? The agent heads toward the master bedroom. The room is huge with deep-piled carpet and a television mounted on the wall.

The FBI agent looks around. All right, check the closet. I'll take the bathroom.

The agent opens cabinets and starts searching through the various medicines and ointments. He's just peering at a prescription to label on a bottle of pills when his colleague calls from the next room. Hey, you're gonna want to take a look at this.

The agent replaces the pills and heads back to the bedroom. Yeah, what you got? Well, I found a stack of $100 bills and this.

It's a pile of photocopied documents and there's a crest stamped on top that the agent recognizes immediately. Well, these are NYPD files. Yeah, he's got surveillance reports here, suspect lists, internal briefing materials.

Ah, jeez, I know. How did Gambino get his hands on this? The 36 documents found in Rosario Gambino's bedroom contain detailed intelligence about ongoing police investigations.

It's information that should only be available to law enforcement. Somehow it had made its way into the bedroom of a mafia boss. To the FBI agents, it's immediately clear what's going on.

These files weren't stolen or misplaced. Someone leaked this information to Gambino, and that means the NYPD has a rat. The discovery of confidential police files at the home of a mafia boss demands an immediate investigation.

The FBI sends the photocopies to be tested for fingerprints. They soon find a match to a 36-year-old New York police A detective named Louis Eppolito. He seems a likely suspect.

He has known family connections to organized crime and a long list of complaints against him as an officer. He even looks like a Brooklyn mobster with slick back hair and gaudy rings on his fingers.

So the FBI takes its evidence to NYPD's Internal Affairs, the department responsible for investigating misconduct by NYPD officers. And when the team at Internal Affairs looks into the matter, they find more evidence against Louis Eppolito.

They established that the photocopies were made on the machine at the 62nd Precinct, the station where Eppolito works.

And they discovered that in December 1983, Eppolito traveled to the Intelligence Division in downtown Brooklyn without his superior's permission.

And while he was there, he requested access to Rosario Gambino's files, even though he wasn't working a case involving Gambino at the time. So, the Internal Affairs team decides to bring Eppolito in for questioning.

But when confronted with what appears to be strong evidence, Eppolito swears he's innocent.

He claims that he saw a wanted poster for Rosario Gambino on the wall and told a detective in the Intelligence Division that he'd seen Gambino in Brooklyn the week before.

The detective then gave Eppolito the Gambino files to take back to the 62nd Precinct.

Eppolito insists that he didn't make the photocopies, but he can't account for how they ended up with his fingerprints on them 40 miles away in Rosario Gambino's bedroom.

Remarkably, it's decided by prosecutors that there isn't enough evidence to charge Eppolito with a crime.

But the team at Internal Affairs still doesn't buy his version of events and he's suspended without pay while his conduct is investigated further.

So on April 4th, 1985, Louis Eppolito was called before the Deputy Commissioner for a disciplinary hearing. The Commissioner's job is to ensure departmental integrity and uphold ethical standards within the NYPD.

But he has limited powers and as the hearing gets underway, he quickly becomes frustrated with the hand he's been dealt. Contrary to usual procedure, the department's lawyers decline to call any witnesses or even cross-examine the defendant.

So the Deputy Commissioner has to decide the case based on one fact alone, that Eppolito's fingerprints were found on the leaked files. Seems absurd to the Deputy Commissioner.

It's like the department is trying to undermine its own case, but he can't do anything about it. So he sighs and asks Eppolito if he would like to say anything in his defense before a decision is made. Eppolito gets to his feet.

He tells the room that he's been unfairly signaled out because his family has ties to the Mafia. That's not something he can change, but he says he shouldn't be judged for the mistakes of others. He insists that he's true blue.

He's been a cop for over 15 years and claims he's the 11th most decorated officer in the history of the force. Eppolito concludes his speech by telling the room that I've never had anybody accuse me of something.

He then thanks the deputy commissioner for his time and sits back down. But the deputy commissioner is not convinced by Eppolito's speech. Still he doesn't feel he has any choice but to clear him.

No one disputes Eppolito's fingerprints were on the files found in Rosario Gambino's bedroom, but no evidence has been presented at the hearing that conclusively proves that he was the one who leaked them.

So, to the frustration of the investigators at Internal Affairs, the charges against Eppolito are officially declared unsubstantiated.

Eppolito is allowed to return to his work as a police officer in Brooklyn, and he and Stephen Caracappa are back in business.

24:10

But while Eppolito has gotten himself out of hot water, Burton Kaplan has found himself in trouble yet again. His clothing business is booming. He has expanded to a second store, and he started selling to big chains like Macy's and Nordstrom.

But even this success doesn't seem to be enough for Kaplan. He's drawn deeper and deeper into the criminal underworld, and strikes up a close relationship with Anthony Gaspipe Casso, a senior man in the Lucchese crime family.

And toward the end of 1985, Casso comes to Kaplan with a new scheme. Casso has a contact who has found a way to steal treasury bills. Kaplan just needs to discover a way to cash them before someone notices they're missing.

It's a risky idea. If the bills are reported missing before they're cashed, they'll be worthless. But if they can pull this off, they'll be able to make hundreds of thousands of dollars, and no one will be able to trace it back to them.

So Kaplan agrees to help. They decide to start with just a single bill worth half a million dollars. Kaplan tracks down a jeweler in Brooklyn who says he can cash the treasury bill with a banker in London.

That banker will demand a hefty fee, but it will be worth it, and a deal is quickly agreed to. A few days later, the jeweler gets back in touch with Kaplan and gives him his share of the money as promised.

The scheme seems to have gone off without a hitch, and now that they've proved that it works, Casso and Kaplan are eager to repeat the trick with more bills next time. But then Kaplan gets word from the banker in London.

He never received the fee that was agreed to, and he wants some answers. Kaplan promises to look into it, and he soon learns that the jeweler from Brooklyn never even traveled to London.

Instead, he paid another man to do the work for him, and it was this second guy, Israel Greenwald, who met with the banker. But Greenwald wasn't told that the Treasury bill was stolen, and he failed to pass on the promised fee.

What's worse, on his return to the United States, Greenwald was stopped by the FBI. He was furious when he discovered the reason. He thought he was just doing a friend a favor.

He had no idea he was involved in a Mafia conspiracy, and soon he agreed to cooperate with authorities. Now Kaplan is worried that Greenwald will lead the FBI right back to him and Anthony Casso, so something has to be done.

At first, Kaplan only wants to give Greenwald a scare, to let him know what might happen if he says too much. But then Kaplan decides that's too risky.

With his previous record, his involvement in the Treasury bill scheme could see him sent away for a long time. So, no matter how often Kaplan turns it over in his mind, he always comes to the same conclusion. Greenwald has to disappear.

He could talk to Casso about it, of course, but he'd rather deal with it himself. He was the one who found the unreliable jeweler and got them into this mess. So he reaches out to Frank Santora Jr.

He arranges a call from a payphone where he's sure he can't be traced. But he's still nervous. Stealing Treasury bills or peddling fake Calvin Klein's is one thing.

Murder is another. Kaplan peers through the glass of the phone booth. He's anxious someone might have followed him, but the street looks empty.

Kaplan fishes a coin from his pocket, along with a piece of paper with a phone number on it. It's the number of the payphone closest to Santora's home. Kaplan stands there for a moment, coin in hand, staring at the number.

Then he feeds the machine and dials. After a few rings, Santora answers. Hello.

Kaplan cups the phone close to his ear. Yeah, yeah, it's me. So what's this about, Ferd?

Got some work for your cousin. Yeah, what kind of job? Kaplan glances through the glass again and lowers his voice even further.

Well, there's a guy I need taken care of. Can you help with that? Yeah, I'll talk to Lou.

I'm sure it'll be no problem if you can pay. Kaplan shifts nervously. He's not sure what price to put on a man's life.

Well, how much would you want? A big job like this? Say, 30?

Well, the max I can do is 20. Oh, Bird, I thought we were having a serious talk here. Give me a call when you're ready for a real conversation.

No, no, don't go. I could do 25. Please, I just can't do it all at once.

I can pay 10 now, another 10 next week, and the last five the week after that. How's that sound? Santora is silent for a moment.

Kaplan grips the receiver. Frankie, you there? 25.

All right, that's fair. Kaplan breathes a sigh of relief. Great, I appreciate that.

So who's the guy? His name is Israel Greenwald. He lives at 1206 Sage Street in Queens, drives a blue Cadillac and works on 47th.

All right, 1206 Sage Street, Israel Greenwald. All right, consider it done. Thanks, Frankie.

I owe you. Anytime. How's the family?

Your daughter doing well? Kaplan can't believe how calm Santora sounds. He starts to wonder how many times he might have had a conversation like this before.

Yeah, they're fine. Thanks. Good to hear it.

Good to hear it. All right, then. Well, I'll be in touch.

The line goes silent. Burton Kaplan replaces the receiver, his heart pounding. He's just sentenced a man to death and it wasn't much harder than ordering a pizza.

He walks home in a daze. Despite all his precautions, Kaplan is still paranoid that the murder might be traced back to him. So he decides now would be a good time for a business trip.

He packs his bags and heads to Arizona to check on some property investments there. Because Kaplan doesn't want to be anywhere near New York when Israel Green Wall gets hit.

30:05

On February 10th, 1986, Israel Green Wall kisses his wife and says goodbye to his daughters before they head off to school. He promises to be back in time to meet a man who's interested in buying their family's Cadillac.

But later that day, Greenwald is driving along the New York State throughway when he's pulled over by an unmarked police car. Two detectives approach and flash their badges.

They tell Greenwald he's wanted in connection with a hit-and-run and needs to come in for an identification lineup. If he isn't picked out by the witnesses, he'll be free to go.

Greenwald knows he has nothing to do with any hit-and-run, and he's confident the identity lineup will prove him innocent, so he agrees to go with the cops.

The officers tell Greenwald to give his keys to their colleague, a third man who will drive Greenwald's car to the station for him. Greenwald hesitates a moment for handing over the keys.

Then he gets in the back of the police car and makes small talk with the officers. He doesn't realize anything's wrong until they stop at a row of rundown garages in Brooklyn. These garages are owned by Pete Franzone.

He's sitting in the guard shack reading the newspaper when Louis Eppolito drives past. Eppolito rents one of the sheds that lined the lot, and he parks in front of it now.

Franzone returns to his newspaper, but a few moments later, there's a flurry of movement by Eppolito's car that catches his eye. The door to the shed is open and two men are pushing a third inside.

Even from across the lot, Franzone can see that one of the men is Eppolito's cousin, Frank Santora. And it was Santora who introduced Franzone to Eppolito a few years back. He often comes by the lot to hang out.

But Franzone doesn't recognize the thinner man with him or the person they're pushing into the garage. For a moment, he wonders what's going on. Then he decides he'd rather not know.

Santora has connections to the Mafia, and the safest thing for Franzone to do is pretend he's seen and heard nothing. So he looks down at his newspaper and forces himself to read.

After about 20 minutes, Santora and the Thin Man emerge from the garage and walk quickly away from the lot. Eppolito has been sitting in his car the entire time, but as soon as the other men leave, he starts his car up and drives off too.

There's no sign of the other man, though. Franzone breathes a sigh of relief. He tries not to think about what must have just happened to that guy.

He's just glad Eppolito, Santora and their thin friend are gone. But then, a few minutes later, there's a tap on the window. Franzone looks up, and Frank Santora is standing outside.

Franzone trembles as he sets aside his newspaper and goes to the door. He wants nothing to do with any of this, but he doesn't dare ignore Santora. Hiya, Frank.

You seen me and my cousin Lou a little while ago? Franzone isn't sure whether that's a trick question. Well, I don't know.

I was reading the newspaper. Sure you did. You always say you can see everything from that little shed of yours.

Oh, well, you meant... I mean, sure, I saw you, of course. How is Lou?

Well, I want to show you something. Santora starts walking toward Eppolito's garage. Franzone hesitates.

He really doesn't want to know what's behind that door. You know, Frankie, I'm kind of busy. Reading the newspaper?

Come on, Pete, only be a minute. Santora opens the garage and beckons Franzone inside. It's dark, but Franzone can see there's something on the floor.

Santora turns on the lights, and Franzone freezes. The man he saw pushed into the garage lies dead on the concrete. Blood seeps from several bullet wounds.

Frankie, help me bury him, will you? Franzone doesn't know what to say. Santora grabs his shoulder.

You hear what I said? I can't, Frankie. Santora frowns.

You just let a man get hit on your property. He gets found, and you'll be an accessory to murder. Franzone wants to run, but his feet are frozen to the spot.

Santora gives him a gentle pat on the shoulder. All right, wait here. I'll go get the shovels.

The concrete floor of the garage is surprisingly thin, and it doesn't take Pete Franzone long to dig a hole deep enough to bury Israel Greenwald. Once the grave is ready, Frank Santora rolls the body in.

He empties a bag of white lime over it, and then tells Franzone to refill the hole. Finally, they concrete over the gap in the floor. Soon, the only sign that Greenwald was ever there will be a patch of new concrete.

But while the garage floor dries, at Greenwald's home in Queens, his wife Leah is sitting by the window, waiting for her husband to come home. Normally, he calls several times a day, but she hasn't heard from him since he left the house this morning.

This disappearance is completely out of character, and soon she's worried enough to file a missing persons report with the police. Several days later, she gets a call from detectives, and it's not good news.

Her husband's car has turned up at a long-term parking lot at JFK Airport, and to the police, it looks like Greenwald has fled the country. Leah refuses to believe that. Israel loves his family too much.

He would never abandon them. But police officers tell her there's nothing more they can do to help. But while Leah Greenwald begins to mourn her missing husband, the man who ordered his death is soaking up the sun in Arizona.

Burton Kaplan's trip out west has provided him with convenient alibi. But when he returns to New York, he's eager to find out what happened as soon as possible. So he arranges a meeting at his house with Frank Santora.

Santora makes small talk with Kaplan's wife while she brews coffee. But Kaplan is impatient to get Santora alone.

He prefers to keep his business dealing separate from his family life, and he certainly doesn't want his wife to overhear anything about the deal with Santora and his cousin.

So as soon as the coffee is ready, Kaplan cuts the conversation in the kitchen short and invites Santora to talk privately in his office. Showing him inside, he tells Santora to take a seat before shutting the door firmly behind them.

Santora sits and slurps his coffee, and with a confident, easy smile, he tells Kaplan that he, his cousin, and another cop have taken care of the business they discussed. Israel Greenwald won't be bothering Kaplan again.

Kaplan knows he should be pleased, but all he feels is anxiety. He knew that Santora's cousin, Louis Eppolito, would be part of the deal, but now Santora is telling him there was another cop involved, and that makes him nervous.

He wants to know what this other man saw and whether he can be trusted. But Santora reassures Kaplan that neither his cousin nor his colleague know where Greenwald's body is buried, and without that, there's nothing for Kaplan to worry about.

But at this point, Kaplan can't help but ask how Santora did dispose of the body. Santora is hazy on the details. He just says he threw Greenwald in the water, and it's best if Kaplan doesn't know the specifics.

Kaplan nods. He's right, of course. Santora then sets down his coffee and says there's just one more item of business left.

So Kaplan goes to his desk and unlocks a drawer. In it are stacks of $50 bills held together with rubber bands. He takes out 20 stacks and hands them to Santora, watches while Santora counts the cash.

And when he's finished, he stashes the money in the inside pocket of his jacket. Then the two men shake hands and Kaplan sees him out. After he closes the front door, Kaplan breathes a sigh of relief.

Israel Greenwald is gone for good. Kaplan has just gotten away with murder, with two officers from the NYPD helping him do it. From Audible Originals and Airship, this is episode one of Mafia Cops for American Scandal.

In our next episode, Louis Eppolito and Stephen Caracappa assist a gangland boss in the hunt for the men who tried to kill him.

If you want to listen to the rest of the story, follow American Scandal wherever you get your podcasts. Audible subscribers can listen to all episodes of American Scandal Mafia Cops ad free right now.

Join Audible today by downloading the Audible app. And before you go, don't forget to make sure you're subscribed to American Criminal and leave us a five-star rating.

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American Criminal is a co-production of Airship and Evergreen podcasts. It's hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Jeremy Schwartz. Audio editing and sound design by Sean Ruhl-Hoffman.

Music by Thrum. This episode is written and researched by Joel Callan. Managing producers are Emily Burke and Sarah Willgrube.

Executive producers are Joel Callen and Lindsey Graham.