Mafia Cops | The Rat | 4

Audible subscribers can binge new seasons of American Scandal early and ad-free right now. Join Audible in the Audible app or by subscribing on Apple Podcasts. American Scandal uses dramatizations that are based on true events. Some elements, including dialogue, might be invented, but everything is based on historical research. It's the night of March 7, 1997, at the 11th Annual Soul Train Music Awards in Los Angeles. Celebrities and musicians stream into the venue as a crowd of photographers and reporters vies for a position. Among them is New York Police Department Detective William Oldham. He raises a camera and takes a few shots, but it's all just for show. The person he's really interested in hasn't arrived yet. Oldham is in California on the trail of one of the country's biggest racketeers. The app star is Christopher Wallace, better known to his fans as the Notorious B.I.G. And soon enough, another limo pulls up and a heavyset young man steps out. He's dressed in a black velvet suit and sunglasses, with a large gold chain dangling from his neck. Oldham raises his camera because this is his guy. The Notorious B.I.G., or Christopher Wallace, is being investigated in connection with a gun charge back on the East Coast, and Oldham is hoping to gather intelligence. He's also hoping to gather intelligence on Wallace's associates, who will be at the awards show with him. So while pretending to photograph the stars, Oldham zooms in on the men lurking behind Wallace. But after posing only briefly for the cameras, Wallace makes his way inside. As he disappears into the venue, Oldham's cell phone rings in his pocket. It's an investigator from the Drug Enforcement Administration. Oldham has worked with her before, but they haven't spoken in over a year. So if she's calling, Oldham figures it must be something. It's important. Oldham steps away from the crowd to answer the call. Hey, yeah, sorry, can you hear me? Hi, Bill. Where are you? You won't believe me. I'm in L.A., the Soul Train Music Awards. Well, who knew your work was so glamorous? Yeah, I even rented a suit, but I'm guessing you didn't call to talk show business. No, when do you get back to New York? I've got something I want to run by you. I fly home tomorrow. What's going on? Well, remember that podcast? We worked on last year, Burton Kaplan? That old man out in Brooklyn? Sure. Well, there's this cooperator I'm debriefing, and she was married to one of Kaplan's guys. The other day, she started talking about a couple of NYPD cops. One of them was this big guy, wrote a book about the mafia. Ah, you mean Louis Eppolito. Do you know him? Yeah, I know him. I bet the other one's Stephen Caracapa. Yeah, that's right. We worked major case together. What'd she say about them? Well, that they were working for Kaplan. Working for him? How? Well, she didn't know the details, but it sounded like they were close. Like, really close. So I figured it might be worth a look. I mean, these were senior guys, right? Yeah, Caracapa especially. Almost a legend on the force. So were you interested? Oh, hell yeah. I thought you would be. So let's talk about it when you're done working on your tan in California. Oh, it's not as glamorous as you think. I'll be back in New York soon, and we'll talk then. Detective Oldham Oldham hangs up and walks back to the scrum of photographers. Another group of celebrities climbs out of a limo and poses for the camera. But Oldham wouldn't trade places with any of them right now. If the special agent's informant is telling the truth, then Burton Kaplan could be the key to unraveling one of the biggest corruption cases in the history of the NYPD. And Oldham is going to get him to talk. Living your best life means being extra where it can be. Like in your cleaning products. That's where 7th Generation comes in. 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Oldham asks around and finds out the boxes belong to a prosecutor who's transferring to the Bronx. The files are destined to gather dust and storage somewhere, so Oldham asks the departing prosecutor if he can take them instead, and she agrees. Oldham takes the boxes back to his office, and to his surprise, among the files from Kaplan's case, he finds a 500-page transcript of Anthony Gaspipe Casso's meetings with prosecutors back in 1993. Oldham spends two days going through the document, line by line. And there, buried in this testimony, Oldham finds what he's looking for. Casso talking about a source in the NYPD, two officers who fed him confidential information. He calls them his crystal balls and names them as Stephen Caracappa and Louis Eppolito. Oldham now has a crime boss, admitting he worked with the two cops. He knows Casso's testimony is uncorroborated, and no juror is going to believe the word of a hardened criminal over two officers of the law. But still, he hopes that it's enough to at least interest his supervisor in the case and get some more resources. So he knocks on his boss's door and is welcomed in. They have a good relationship, and his supervisor is always happy to talk shop. Oldham pulls up a chair, and they trade notes on their caseloads. But when Oldham mentions Caracalla, he's not sure what he's talking about. He's not sure what he's Caracalla and Eppolito. His supervisor's expression hardens. He tells Oldham to change the subject. Oldham tries to push back, but his boss cuts him off. He tells Oldham that he never wants to hear about Caracalla and Eppolito again. Nothing good can come of it. Oldham can understand his chief's resistance. Because if Oldham is right, and two highly decorated NYPD detectives were working for the mafia, then senior officers let it happen on their watch. Perhaps it would be better for everyone just to let them know that they're not the only ones who are going to get caught. Things be. Caracalla and Eppolito are retired, after all. And whatever they did in the past, they can't do anything now. But Oldham does not abandon the case. Quietly, he keeps investigating. And for the next two years, he returns to it again and again between other jobs. But he still hasn't made the case when he retires from the NYPD in 2001. But in retirement, he doesn't go far. Instead of moving into the private sector like many ex-cops, Oldham takes a job as an attorney for the U.S. Attorney's Office for the Eastern District of New York. He's worked out of its building in Brooklyn for years, but now he's officially on the team. And the Eastern District has a reputation for resourcefulness and daring. That's perfect for Oldham. Moving from the major case squad, Oldham's focus shifts from identifying suspects to helping federal prosecutors turn investigations into courtroom cases. But his new role in the violent criminal enterprise and suing Caracapa and Epolito. And as he's no longer working for the NYPD, he can ask all the questions he likes. Oldham handpicks a small team, including men and women from the NYPD and the FBI. They all have extensive experience investigating organized crime, and most of them also have a personal connection to the case. They either worked with Caracapa and Epolito or knew their victims, and they're determined to bring the corrupt cops to justice. The team calls itself the cadre, a term often used to describe the corrupt cops. But Oldham is not the only one. He's also the for the inner circle of a mafia family. And to Oldham, that's exactly what their meetings feel like. All sharp suits and thick New York accents, information shared on a strictly need-to-know basis. Because although Caracapa and Epolito are now retired in Las Vegas, Oldham doesn't know who they're still connected to. One leak could ruin the entire investigation. But Oldham also knows that different agencies don't always work well together. Law enforcement is almost as territorial as the mob is. There are rivalries between local offices in New York, as well as acrimony between them and the federal agencies. So Oldham tries to reassure his team that he's not interested in playing politics. He just wants the case to get to court. Still, he has to carefully manage tensions in the cadre to keep them on the same page. But there's one thing they can all agree on. If they are finally going to nail Caracapa and Epolito, they'll need an informant. So they comb through the list of potential witnesses again and again. Oldham keeps returning to one name. Burton Kaplan. Everyone else says it's impossible, but Oldham believes that everyone has a weakness or a price. He just has to find Kaplan's. So Oldham starts listening to old recordings of prison phone calls, conversations between inmates close to Burton Kaplan. He's looking for something that might convince Kaplan to talk. And on one of these tapes, a friend of Kaplan let slip that he has a grandson, a little boy that Kaplan's daughter has adopted from Russia. Oldham knows Kaplan is a family man. Perhaps the chance to spend more time with his grandson might be enough to convince Kaplan to talk. Oldham thinks it's worth a shot. So in May 2004, he has Kaplan brought to New York from the Pennsylvania prison where he's serving his sentence. Oldham sets up a meeting at the Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn. He brings with him an investigator from the district attorney's office. And a few minutes before the meeting, Oldham stops by a vending machine and picks up a bag of pretzels and a can of Coke, figuring Kaplan might be hungry after his long busing. Then Oldham and his partner take their seats in the cramped interview room and wait. After a few minutes, the door opens and Burton Kaplan shuffles in. He's 71 now and squints at them through thick glasses. He reminds Oldham of a mole blinking in the sunlight after years underground. As Kaplan sits down, Oldham pushes the pretzels and Coke across the table. Kaplan opens the can. Oh, refreshments for your guest. Appreciate that. You've got manners. Kaplan opens the pretzels and starts eating, looking expectantly at the two officers across the table. Oldham smiles. Well, of course, Bert. We're friendly people. And I won't waste your time. You're not a bad guy, are you? Really, relatively speaking? A bit of pot, right? I was set up. I was running a legitimate business. Of course. But yeah, I mean, you're no Anthony Casso, is my point. Kaplan blinks at the mention of his old friend, but he doesn't say anything. Oldham continues. What? What is this? Guys who committed murders get less time than you. I mean, with good behavior, when do you get out? When you're 90? That doesn't seem fair. All right. Thanks for the Coke, detectives. Kaplan starts to stand and Oldham gets up. Hey, where are you going? You brought me all the way from Pennsylvania for this, Mr. Oldham? I've heard this pitch before. If I tell you about my friends, you can make it right. Well, it's just two of your friends we're interested in. And you know who we mean. Well, I don't want any of what you're selling. I'm no rat. Bert, the world has changed. We've got guys lining up to talk to us now. Capos, crews, everyone's doing it. Why take the fall alone? I took an oath. And so did these two cops. Protect and serve. If every cop in New York City was like them, no one could walk the streets. They're not bad guys. They just got into the wrong business. Well, they wouldn't keep quiet for you. One of them would at least. Look, I think we're done here. No offense, fellas, but even I've got better things to do. Yeah? Like visit your grandson? Kaplan's eyes flash with anger. What'd you say? I'm sure your daughter would like her son to know her grandfather. Kaplan turns to the door. Let me out, please. You can still be part of his life, Bert. Let me out. You're really going to choose your friends and the NYPD over this? You're going to die in jail without ever really knowing him? Is that what you want? Kaplan is silent for a long moment. She brings him up to see me sometimes. Then Kaplan sits back down and takes a deep breath. Can I use your pen and paper? Oldham slides a yellow legal pad across the table. He watches as Kaplan scribbles the name and number of his lawyer on it. Thank you, Bert. Kaplan pushes the pad back to him. I'm not doing it for you. A few moments later, Bert and Kaplan is shuffling out of the room and on his way back to Pennsylvania. William Oldham is left flabbergasted. He got to him. Kaplan is finally going to turn. And when he does, he's going to be in the room. He's going to be in the room. And when he does, Stephen Caracapa and Louis Eppolito won't stand a chance. Imagine you're reading Pride and Prejudice. Except you're not reading it. Harris Dickinson and Marissa Abella are reading it to you on Audible. Her barbs sting you. His coldness sends a shiver up your spine. Your heart aches. Your ears burn. You yearn for Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy to profess their undying love for one another. You can't bear it any longer. Well, maybe a chapter longer. Performance is so good, you'll give love a second chance. Audible. Stories that speak to you. You stepped out for your morning jog. Except it's not your usual morning jog. You started listening to an epic sci-fi book on Audible. 30 chapters later, you've accidentally run a half marathon. You lost track of how far you've run, somewhere just past the city limits. You can't stop. You have to find out what happens next. Then it's over. The universe is over. Seems bigger. You feel different. You feel like you have no idea where you are. Audible. Soon after his meeting with Detective William Oldham, prosecutors moved Burton Kaplan to a county jail in rural New Jersey. A low-security facility full of petty criminals, is the last place anyone would look for a high-level gangster like Kaplan. and this move is designed to keep Kaplan safe from anyone who might want to stop him from talking, because that's what he does. Over the following months, Kaplan lays bare his life of crime and his long partnership with Louis Eppolito and Stephen Caracaba. Kaplan explains where they met, what they were paid, and how, and he finally solves the mystery of his address book. Oldham has spent years staring at its pages, trying to figure out the code inside, but Kaplan tells him it wasn't that complicated. He kept a record of Caracaba's number under a false name, Marco. Oldham can't quite believe that the answer has been sitting there in plain sight all along. Still, at least he knows now, and Kaplan's little black book can be used in court as evidence. Piece by piece, Oldham is building his case. But across the country in Las Vegas, Eppolito and Caracaba have no idea Kaplan has turned and that Oldham is closing in. Instead, they're keeping themselves busy. Caracaba has said, and Eppolito works for him as muscle. But it isn't enough for Louis Eppolito. Thanks to his years of working for the mob, he's gotten used to a certain lifestyle. He collects expensive knives and guns, and he likes taking friends and family out to upscale restaurants. He just can't afford to do that on what Caracaba pays him. So Eppolito looks for alternative sources of income. He still dreams of striking it rich in the movies, and he's had some luck. One of his screenplays, is turned into a straight-to-video movie called Turn of Faith. Boosted by this success, Eppolito starts looking for investors for his next project. Of course, he knows from his experience on the East Coast where to find people with money. And it's not long before he's introduced to a crooked accountant named Steve Corso. The pair quickly hit it off. Eppolito invites Corso to his home to show off his collection of weapons and medals. And he's even willing to let Corso date his daughter, provided he can come up with the money for his movie first. And soon, Corso tells Eppolito that he's found an investor. He knows someone in Florida who's interested in buying one of his scripts. Eppolito asks for $75,000 and gleefully starts imagining how he's going to spend it all. But in reality, there is no investor. Steve Corso is an informant for the FBI. Back in 2002, he was caught stealing more than $5 million from the clients of his accounting firm. He's been working for the FBI ever since. And by the time he meets Corso, he's going to be in trouble. By the time he meets Eppolito, he's already recorded over a thousand conversations with members of the Las Vegas underworld. And word of Corso's work and the fake movie deal soon reaches Detective William Oldham in New York. He can't believe his luck. After all these years, Eppolito has all but come knocking on his door. He immediately encourages the FBI to pursue the lead. So over the following weeks, Steve Corso continues to meet with Eppolito and records everything he says, from family gossip to racist rants to boasts about his writing prowess. But Oldham and the FBI hope Corso can get Eppolito to admit to illegal activity on tape. Evidence of ongoing criminality will greatly improve their chances in court. So they decide to have Corso implicate Eppolito and Caracapa in a drug deal. But Corso still needs to convince Eppolito that he's legit. And he's afraid Eppolito is starting to get suspicious. On February 3rd, 2005, Corso meets with Eppolito in his office. Eppolito wants to know what's going on. He doesn't know when he's going to get the money for his film. Corso has made a lot of promises, but Eppolito's yet to see a dime. Corso explains that the investor in Florida is nervous about sending so much money by wire transfer. He's scared of attracting the attention of law enforcement. The money's coming, but it'll have to be in small increments. But what Corso is really waiting on is approval from the FBI to wire money to Eppolito as part of the investigation. But he can't wait much longer. His excuses are starting to wear thin. Thankfully, after a few days, Eppolito is back. After a few more weeks, the FBI does finally wire $5,000 to Eppolito. Corso says there will soon be much more where that came from. And Eppolito seems reassured. Looks like he's taken the bait. And now it's time for Corso to reel him in. On February 15th, 2005, Corso meets Luis Eppolito and Stephen Caracapa at Fellini's, an Italian restaurant in Las Vegas. Corso is wearing a wire, and his task is to get the two ex-cops to agree to a drug deal on tape. The walls of the restaurant are painted with frescoes of Italian cities. The waiter has seated Corso next to a bridge in Venice, and it looks as phony as Corso feels. Corso takes a swig of wine. Yeah, there's something else I wanted to run by you both. I got four guys coming from L.A., clients of mine, Hollywood kids, you know the type. Are they actors? Yeah, and they're interested in your script, actually. Are we talking famous here, or fame is famous? Corso gives Eppolito a coin. Let's just say you'd know their names. Eppolito twirls his linguine and grins at Caracapa. You hear that, Stevie? They're interested in my script. The thing is, you know how these kids are. They just want to have a good time. Well, of course, it's Vegas. Right, so, you know, parties, girls, and drugs. But the thing is, I don't know anything about that stuff. Oh, come on. No, look at me. I'm a complete dweeb. I need help, Lou. Well, I'm sure my son Tony could show them around. I don't think they want to go out. They'd rather keep it discreet. They're telling me they want ecstasy and speed for a party in their hotel room. You know anyone who could help them out? I gotta show these guys a good time. And you say they read my script? They loved it. Eppolito glances at Caracapa, and it's clear he won't do anything without Caracapa's say-so. And after a short pause, Caracapa shrugs and takes another bite of pasta. Eppolito turns back to Corso. All right, I know a guy who can help you out. I'll have Tony set something up. Then we get back to making my movie, huh? After this meeting, Corso meets Eppolito's son Anthony, who makes it clear that as Corso is a friend of his father, he'll get him whatever he wants. Corso gives him the shopping list, an ounce of meth, and eight pills of ecstasy. Anthony agrees to deliver the drugs to Corso's extravagant hotel suite, which he's rented on the FBI's dime. The whole place is bugged, of course, and the plan is for Corso to make the deal while the FBI listens from the next room. And when Anthony arrives, they quickly get down to business. Anthony puts the drugs down on a desk. Corso counts out $900 in marked bills provided by the FBI. Anthony checks the amount, pockets the money, and then he's on his way. Investigators now have evidence tying Caracapa and Eppolito directly to a drug deal. But William Oldham still wants more. Corso tries to arrange another dinner with the ex-cops, but neither of them shows up. Corso has pushed too hard, and Caracapa and Eppolito are growing sick. Oldham and the rest of the Condre still want more evidence. But if they leave things much longer, Caracapa and Eppolito might flee the country. So they decide to set the arrest for the last week of March. Other departments soon catch wind of the upcoming arrests, though. A public affairs officer from the Eastern District calls a member of the Condre. He wants to know if they can arrest Caracapa and Eppolito on a Sunday, so 60 Minutes can run the story that night. Then a reporter turns up at a member of the Condre, asking for an interview. Despite all Oldham's precautions, the cat is out of the bag. So they can't wait any longer. It's time to bring Caracapa and Eppolito in now. On the evening of March 9, 2005, William Oldham sits in a rental car across the street from a restaurant in Las Vegas. Around the corner are three DEA vehicles. There are also more agents waiting inside the building disguised as diners. As he watches the restaurant entrance, an SUV pulls up to the curb. Eppolito and Caracapa get out. They give their keys to the valet and then walk up to the entrance. The restaurant is styled in what locals call Mob Vegas. Red velvet drapes, gold furnishing, and low lighting. The ex-cops fit right in. Caracapa is dressed in a pinstripe suit with a gold pocket square, and Eppolito has squeezed himself into a double-breasted suit. As they make conversation with the hostess, Oldham and his team make their move. Oldham drives across the street, blocking in Eppolito's escapade. Then he jumps out of his car and races toward the restaurant as DEA agents swarm out of hiding. And soon, both suspects are under arrest, sprawled against the wall outside the restaurant. One agent pulls a semi-automatic pistol from Eppolito's waistband. Oldham reaches for Caracapa's ankle, because he remembers from their time in New York that he always keeps a gun there. Then the supervising agent reads the charges. Eight counts of murder, as well as conspiracy to murder, attempted murder, obstruction of justice, kidnapping conspiracy, witness tampering, bribery, money laundering, and drug trafficking. Eppolito looks stunned, though Caracapa is as stone-faced as ever. Oldham watches as the two men are led away. He's been investigating them for seven years, the longest case of his career. They should have been caught a long time ago. But finally, Caracapa and Eppolito are going to pay for their crimes. Recreate the voice of somebody you loved who died. What if it destroyed your reputation with words you never said? And what if you fell in love with something that was never human? I'm Mark Finnell, and in my brand new Audible original podcast, I'm travelling the globe to investigate the very personal ways AI is already changing our relationships, our memories, and our sense of what is real. Unreal. Listen now on Audible. One company changed the artificial sweetener industry forever. by deleting four words from a tagline. Sales skyrocketed, rivals sued, and a multi-billion dollar war was on. Hey there, I'm David Brown, the host of the podcast Business Wars. Every season we bring you the true stories behind the companies that shape our world, their rivalries, their reinventions, and their spectacular rises and falls. In our new season, we're diving into the bitter battle to own sweetness. When scientists discovered that chemicals could deliver the taste of sugar with none of its calories, Sweet'n Low, Equal, and Splenda fought for space on tabletops, in diet sodas, and on grocery store shelves across America. But as health scares hit and regulators came knocking, the fierce competition between the top three artificial sweeteners turned ugly. Make sure to follow Business Wars wherever you get your podcasts. Audible subscribers can binge all episodes of Business Wars early and ad-free right now. With Stephen Caracappa and Louis Apolito finally in police custody, the prosecution and defense prepare to go to trial. But the case against them is far from a done deal. The sheer scale of the alleged criminality is one problem. There are more than 20,000 pages of documents associated with the case and over a hundred potential witnesses. The case against them is one of the most serious lawyers for the prosecution worried jurors will be overwhelmed and become lost in all the detail. In addition, most of the crimes Caracappa and Apolito are charged with are decades old. The prosecution will have to prove these crimes are part of an ongoing conspiracy or the case could be thrown out of court, no matter how strong the evidence. And as the date of the trial approaches, there's another blow to the prosecution's case. The defense moves to block character evidence from the trial, arguing that it will prejudice the jury against Caracappa and Apolito. And the judge agrees. The damning stories of past misconduct, recordings of Apolito's racist rants, and photos of Caracappa and Apolito rubbing shoulders with mafiosos, none of it will be allowed in court. Worried that they're setting up the case for failure, William Oldham and the prosecutors regroup. They decide to refocus their strategy on Burton Kaplan's testimony, so that now everything hinges on what he will say on the stand. On March 13th, 2006, Louis Apolito and Stephen Caracappa arrive at the Brooklyn Courthouse for the first day of trial. The courtroom is packed. Apolito is surrounded by family members, including his wife, sons, and daughters. Caracappa walks in alone, flanked only by his attorneys. And for two days, the court hears opening arguments and early testimony. Then the lead prosecutor calls his key witness. He watches as Burton Kaplan takes the stand. Kaplan's blue suit and glasses are too big for his frail body, and looks more like a harmless grandparent than a hardened criminal. The prosecutor hopes that this might play in their favor. He and his team have been training Kaplan for months. Part of Caracappa and Apolito's defense rests on the claim that they didn't know Kaplan, so the prosecutor needs to establish that that is a lie. And while he's an experienced trial lawyer, he still can't help feeling a little apprehensive. He knows jurors typically only pay attention to most witnesses for a few minutes before they start to tune out. So if you drive a stake through the heart of Caracappa and Apolito's defense, he needs to do it quickly. The prosecutor rises. Now, Mr. Kaplan, can you tell me if there's anyone in the court you recognize? Kaplan scans the room, and then he points toward the defense table. Yeah, both the defendants. Did you have a business relationship with Mr. Apolito and Mr. Caracappa? Yes. Can you please tell the jury what the nature of that business relationship was? They brought me information about wiretaps, informants, ongoing investigations, and imminent arrests. What did you do for them in exchange for that information? I paid them. Can you tell the jury, sir, at the time you had this relationship with Mr. Apolito and Mr. Caracappa, where were they employed? The New York Police Department. Have you ever been to Mr. Caracappa's residence? Yes, I have. Where is it? Kaplan doesn't hesitate. In Manhattan on 22nd Street. Did Mr. Caracappa have pets in that apartment? He had two cats. Did you ever meet any of Mr. Caracappa's family members? Yeah, I met his wife. And what is her name? Monica. You seem very familiar with Mr. Caracappa's life. Would you say you two were close? Finally, Kaplan looks straight across the court to Caracappa. Yeah, he was one of my closest friends. The prosecutor allows himself a small smile. Stephen Caracappa and Louis Apolito claim they don't know Burton Kaplan, but Kaplan has just shown he knows intimate details about their lives, which means Caracappa and Apolito must be lying. And if they're lying about their connection to Kaplan, then they might be lying about everything else, too. For two days, Kaplan recounts the events that led to Caracappa and Apolito's arrests. Other witnesses follow. Victoria Vreeland explains how she watched a mobster search for listening devices hidden around a trailer. The garage owner, Pete Franzone, tells the court how he was forced to bury Israel Greenwald's body after Caracappa and Apolito kidnapped him. And finally, there's Betty Heidel. She saw Caracappa and Apolito the day her son Jimmy vanished. For years, she believed the officers were involved in her son's murder, and now, at last, she's facing them in court. In all, the government calls 34 people to testify. They produce hundreds of crime scene photographs and play audiotapes of Caracappa and Apolito talking about the drug deal with Steve Corso in Las Vegas. But one man is missing from the witness lineup. The location of the murder is unknown, and it's not a secret that Caracappa and Apolito were involved in the murder. But it's not a secret that Caracappa and Apolito were involved in the murder. It's not a secret that Caracappa and Apolito were involved in the murder. Anthony Gaspipe Casso. Since Casso's plea deal fell through more than a decade ago, he's been incarcerated in a maximum security prison. Life there is miserable. Casso is locked in his cell for 23 hours a day, meals are served through a slot in the door, and the black and white television only plays religious and anger management programs. But when Casso heard about the case against Caracappa and Apolito, he saw an opportunity to improve his situation. He wrote to the Eastern District Attorney's Office and offered to testify against the pair in return for a deal. The Eastern District never replied, but Casso is still determined to have his say. So as the trial progresses, the assistant U.S. attorney gets a handwritten letter from Casso. In it, he confesses to the murder of Eddie Lino and insists that Apolito and Caracappa have been wrongly accused. He claims the detectives never supplied confidential information to the Lucchese's in the abduction of Jimmy Heidel. Up until now, the trial has not been going well for the defense, but Casso's letter seems like it could be a lifeline. Caracappa and Apolito's lawyers arrange a phone call, and Casso quickly tells them that he and Kaplan concocted the whole story to get back at law enforcement. They pick two innocent officers at random, intending to frame them, and he promises to testify to the fact in court. After speaking with Casso, the defense immediately calls for a mistrial. They argue that Casso should have been called to the stand to give evidence, but the judge denies their motion. If the defense wanted Casso as a witness, they should have called him at the beginning of the trial. And after the judge's decision, Casso is left denied of his moment in the sun. He stays in his maximum security cell. Without him, there's not much the defense team can do. Apolito's lawyer presents a box of medals and awards from his time at the NYPD, along with his book Mafia Cops. Caracappa's counsel focuses on the fact that the defense has been called to the stand to give evidence, but the judge denies on creating an alibi for one of the murders. But it's flimsy at best, and as the defense lawyers make their closing arguments, a case against their clients seems overwhelming. On April 6, 2006, after two days of deliberation, the jury returns with its verdict. Among those present in court is Detective William Oldham. He watches as Apolito comes into the room, surrounded by family. His daughters kiss the crosses at their necks and count their rosary beads. Caracappa has only his brother beside him, and he's the only one who can count the rosary beads. Caracappa has only his brother. Caracappa has only his brother The judge calls for silence as the 12 jurors enter the room. Oldham holds his breath. All of his work over the last seven years comes down to this moment. The judge's deputy takes out the 12-page verdict sheet. She puts the first crime to the lead juror, and the juror responds, proved. Oldham lets out the breath he's been holding. U.S. Marshals block the exits, but there are more crimes to account for. It takes almost half an hour for the full list to be read, but both defendants are found guilty on all counts. When it's over, Luis Apolito and Stephen Caracapa take off their ties and belts and empty their pockets. They hug their families for the last time before being let out by the guards. Detective William Oldham watches them go, but he doesn't feel a sense of triumph. It's the hunt that's always thrilled him the most as an investigator. Now he's got his men, it's time to move on. The End Stephen Caracapa and Luis Apolito were sentenced to life in prison, plus additional terms of up to 100 years. Each was also fined more than $4 million. Both men continue to live in prison. to protest their innocence from behind bars. But neither would ever walk free. Caracapa died at a prison medical facility in April 2017 at the age of 75. Eppolito died two years later in April 2019. He was 71. By then, New York City had paid out millions of dollars to settle lawsuits brought by their victims' families. What started as a case against the two detectives had revealed a wider institutional failure at the NYPD, one where corruption was too often ignored or indulged. And yet, no senior police officials were ever held accountable. And many of the issues identified in the Caracapa and Eppolito case were allowed to continue. In 2024, misconduct lawsuits against the NYPD cost taxpayers more than $200 million. That same year, the city's police commissioner resigned after federal agents raided his home. And in 2025, New York's then-mayor Eric Adams was sued by four former officers who accused him of selling promotions for cash. Stephen Caracapa and Louis Eppolito may be dead and buried, but police corruption lives on. From Audible Originals, this is Episode 4 of Mafia Cops for American Scandal. In our next episode, I'm joined by criminologist Professor Jay Albanese to discuss how the mafia has evolved since the days of Stephen Caracapa and Louis Eppolito. And the new threats posed by modern corruption and international organized crime. American Scandal is only possible because of listeners like you, so thank you. And don't miss an episode. Be sure to follow American Scandal on Audible or wherever you get your podcasts. And Audible subscribers can binge new seasons of American Scandal early and ad-free right now. And to find out more about me, including my other podcasts, my live show, the history tours I'm arranging, and all sorts of other things, go to HistoryIsHuman.com. That's HistoryIsHuman.com. If you'd like to learn more about the Mafia Cops, we recommend the books The Brotherhoods by Guy Lawson and William Oldham and Mob Cops by Greg B. Smith. This episode contains reenactments and dramatized details. And while in most cases we can't know exactly what was said, all our dramatizations are based on historical research. American Scandal is hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. This episode is written and researched by Lauren Sudworth, senior producer Andy Beckerman, managing producer Emily Burke, fact-checking by Alyssa Jung-Perry, audio editing by Mohamed Shamsi, original music by Thrum, sound design by Gabriel Gould, executive producer for Airship is William Simpson, executive producer for Audible is Jenny Lauer-Beckman, head of creative development at Audible, Kate Navin, head of Audible Originals, North America, Marshall Lewy, chief content officer Rachel Chiazza. Copyright 2026 by Audible Originals, LLC. Sound recording copyright 2026 by Audible Originals, LLC. What if AI could recreate the voice of somebody you loved who died? And what if you fell in love with something that was, was never human? Unreal. Listen now on Audible.