‘Two Face: New York City’s Bane – A Deal with the Mob, the Corrupt Officers, and a National Outrage’ is the compelling tale of law enforcement betrayal penned by Michael Cannell. Unfathomably, New York’s most trusted cops, Louis Eppolito and Stephen Caracappa, wound up siding with mafia in the 1980s. The notorious duo, celebrated in their circles as decorated detectives, were masking a chilling secret life as mafia informers and commissioned executioners in the heart of Brooklyn.
Their hidden alliance with mobsters spanned over a decade, leaking confidential information on mafia turncoats, sabotaging federal investigations by revealing classified data about surveillance tactics, phone line interceptions, and forthcoming arrests. These treacherous detectives were the Lucchese crime family’s prized weapon, serving as their oracle — an omniscient crystal ball privy to every police secret.
Their betrayal did not stop at mere divulgence of secrets. On eight occasions, they took the drastic step of orchestrating mob executions, claiming life at least once with their own hands. They were rewarded handsomely for these hits. But on the seemingly innocuous streets of Manhattan’s Sutton Place enclave, a figure completely unaware of their malevolence roamed freely – Barry Gibbs.
Gibbs, a scruffy Navy veteran and mailman known for his stout physique, was a popular figure among the dignified apartment buildings of Sutton Place. His resonant Brooklyn accent often echoed as he greeted apartment-dwellers by name. A woman he crossed paths with on his route became his wife and later, the mother of his son. But post-divorce, his life took a downturn, spiraling into a chaotic world of clubbing, alcohol, and addiction.
By 1986, Gibbs’ life hit rock bottom. His job at the post office was suspended due to frequent absentees, and he became a misfit white man with questionable habits, living in East Flatbush, Brooklyn’s predominantly Black housing project. In these circumstances, he attracted the attention of Louie Eppolito, an acclaimed detective with an astonishing dual life. The son of a Mafia family, he was infamous as both a detective and an aide of the Lucchese crime family.
One afternoon, on November 4, 1986, ex-marine Peter Mitchell embarked on a jog by the Belt Parkway. During his run, he witnessed a suspicious scene – an awkwardly parked gray Oldsmobile Cutlass. Its driver, a white man with a withered, drooping face, huge nose, and frizzy hair, sat quietly next to a black woman gazing vacantly at Jamaica Bay. She appeared to be in a trance. Something about the scene made a deep impression on Mitchell.
On his return jog, Mitchell’s path crossed with the same car again. The vehicle was now parked near a horse riding school amidst thin, sprawling trees. He watched as the man exited the car, wrestled with something in the passenger seat, and then slowly pulled out a lifeless body. It was the black woman from before, who he nonchalantly dragged to a tree surrounded by tall cattails. Mitchell watched in horror as the man covered her in a quilt and littered beer cans around her. Unbeknownst to the man, his spectator was still present until he fled the scene.
Once the man was out of sight, Mitchell made a brave decision. Although he had previously had a brush with the law and was a black man with a criminal record, he deemed it necessary to assist the lifeless victim. Acutely aware that interacting with law enforcement could be dangerous, he decided to put the woman’s need above his own and reported the crime to the authorities from a nearby riding school.
Upon receiving the late-evening emergency call, Detective Richard Canderozzi from the Sixty-Third Precinct arrived at the scene, swiftly gathering evidence, including Mitchell’s description of the mysterious man. However, the dynamics shifted dramatically when Detective Eppolito claimed control of the investigation unexpectedly. Despite the potential evidence the beer cans may have contained, Eppolito discarded them casually.
Postmortem revealed that the woman was a 27-year-old sex worker named Virginia Robertson, who had died from strangulation with a cord or belt. She left behind a young daughter. With the prime suspect ruled out as the man Mitchell had described, Eppolito turned his attention to the now jobless Gibbs, driving Mitchell to East Flatbush housing projects to identify him. But Mitchell maintained that the killer was a slim, older man with graying hair, not Gibbs. Eppolito’s relentless insistence on framing Gibbs suggested a deeper motive, potentially linked to protecting a Lucchese associate, Brigante.
Ignoring Mitchell’s protests, Eppolito transported him to the precinct and subject him to an intimidation game. Mitchell spent six hours in the cold interrogation room, forced to swap the image of the true suspect for that of the innocent Gibbs under the threat of harm to his family. By midnight, Eppolito’s pressure finally broke Mitchell, who resignedly identified Gibbs as the suspect.
With their target falsely confirmed, Eppolito and his partner promptly arrested Gibbs. Without requesting legal counsel, the unwitting Gibbs agreed to a lineup, a decision that would eventually seal his fate. Guided by Eppolito, who presented Mitchell with a snapshot of Gibbs prior to the lineup, Mitchell reluctantly incorrectly pointed out Gibbs as the murderer.
During his trial, 15 months later, Gibbs held onto an optimistic hope of acquittal. However, the jury ruled against him; Gibbs was convicted of second-degree murder and sentenced to a minimum of 20 years imprisonment. The once jovial mailman was sent to Attica Correctional Facility in upstate New York, where his prospects seemed bleak.
Nearly two decades later, Eppolito’s arrest for racketeering and drug charges led to the discovery of the Robertson case file amidst his possessions – a flagrant breach of police protocol. The investigators, skeptical about Eppolito’s involvement in the case, questioned Gibbs who had by now served nearly 19 years. Meanwhile, FBI agents located Peter Mitchell, who recanted his testimony under pressure immediately. He had been waiting all these years for a chance to correct his wrong.
On September 29, 2005, a 57-year-old Barry Gibbs walked free. After surviving 18 years, 10 months, and 14 days in jail, a hot bath and a cup of real coffee were the luxuries he yearned for. But it was the licks from a dog named Barney that truly made him feel free. It was, as he described, the most uplifting day he ever had.