American Scandal - Mafia Cops | The Rat | 4
Episode Date: June 23, 2026In 1997, investigator William Oldham learns that imprisoned mobster Burton Kaplan once worked with two corrupt NYPD detectives. What Kaplan knows could put Louis Eppolito and Stephen Caracapp...a away for life. But getting him to talk won’t be easy.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.
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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
vise 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 rap stars, 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 head.
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 on Wallace's
associates, who will be at the award show with him. So while pretending to photograph the
stars, Aldem 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, Alden figures it
must be something important. Aldem 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'll want to run by you.
I fly home tomorrow. What's going on?
Well, remember that pot case we worked on last year, Burton Kaplan?
That old man out in Brooklyn? Sure.
Well, there's this cooperator on 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 Epilito.
Do you know him?
Yeah, I know him. I bet the other one's Stephen Caracoppa.
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 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
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Gandal. For over a decade, Detective Stephen Caracapa and Louis Epilito used their positions in the New York
Police Department to make themselves rich. They had begun by selling police secrets to the mafia,
but within just a few years, they were working as paid assassins. By the late 1990s, though,
Caracapa and Epilito were both retired and living in Las Vegas, but that did not mean they were
safe. Back in New York, the mafia's old coat of silence was breaking down. More and more
mobsters were willing to turn on their former comrades to save their own skins.
That meant investigators soon had new leads on Caracapa and Epilito.
But building a case still wouldn't be easy.
Much of the evidence against them was years old,
and the one man who knew enough to put Caracapa and Epilito behind bars
was refusing to cooperate.
So to finally get to these mafia cops,
prosecutors would have to find a way to make Burton Kaplan talk.
This is episode four.
The Rat. It's August 1997 in Brooklyn, New York. Detective William Oldham steps out of the elevator
into the lobby of the U.S. Attorney's Office for the Eastern District. Although Oldham is technically
with the NYPD, he works mostly out of this building where he can collaborate more closely
with prosecutors. His friend at the DEA has promised to stop by with some new information. After
her original tip-off, Oldham has been investigating Stephen Caracapa and Louis Epilito for a few months now.
He's convinced the two men are guilty, but to his frustration, the case is stalled.
What evidence he's been able to find is all circumstantial.
He's hoping another conversation with the DEA agent will turn up something more concrete.
Ollum spots the agent across the lobby, and she's holding a large cardboard box.
She tells him it's a bunch of documents from Burton Kaplan's house.
They were seized when he was arrested on the marijuana charges last year.
She doesn't know exactly what's in there, but hopes it might be
helpful. Oldham takes the box off her hands and thanks her. He's planning to go see
see Caplin in prison to see what he has to say, but the agent just shakes her head. That's a
waste of time. Even though Kaplan is serving a 27-year sentence on drug charges, he still lives
by the Mafia's Code of Honor. He'd rather die in prison than rat out one of his own. So if
Oldham wants to make his case, he's just going to have to find another angle. The agent leaves,
and Oldham takes the box up to a conference room. He locks the door behind. He locks the door behind
him because he can't be too careful. He's a cop investigating other cops, and that won't make him
any friends. Oldham spreads the contents of the box across the conference table. Most of it is what he
expected, business records, bank accounts, invoices, but at the bottom of the box is a small black
leather address book. Oldham flips it open. Its pages are filled with names and numbers in Kaplan's
neat, cursive hand. Some entries are crossed out, others are written over. Numbers run too long.
long or too short, and Oldham realizes that many must be written in code.
He knows Kaplan once worked as a cryptographer in the Navy, and he rifles through the pages
looking for a pattern. He can't figure it out right now, but he's certain that somewhere
in this little book are the numbers he's after most, Stephen Caracoppa's and Louisette Bolitos.
Because Oldham has had doubts about both men for years. Oldham first met Caracapa when he
joined the Major Case Squad in 1989. That squad was one of the most prestigious in the NYPD,
handling kidnappings, art thefts, major burglaries, and crimes against police officers.
Karakapa was a well-respected figure in the squad.
Regarded as one of the best detectives in the city, he literally wrote the police handbook
on organized crime homicides. But despite Karakapa's reputation, Oldham quickly came to dislike
him. There was something cold and calculating about him that Oldham couldn't quite place
at the time. It makes more sense now, though, but the proof he's looking for remains tantalizingly
out of reach. He compiles a list of 100 potential witnesses, including members of Burton Kaplan's family
and his known associates, anyone who might be able to connect Kaplan to the cops, but no one is
willing to talk. By early 1999, Oldham is still no closer to deciphering Burton Kaplan's phone book,
and he has no other way of linking Caracapa and Epilito to the mob. But then he makes another discovery
and some old files.
One morning, walking through the organized crime section in the Eastern District offices,
he notices a stack of boxes.
A label on one of them catches his eye.
It reads US v. Kaplan.
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 takes.
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 Caracapa,
and Louis Appalito.
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 Caracapa and Epilito, 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 Caracapa and Epilito 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 leave things be.
Caracapa and Epilito 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-com,
Oldom takes a job as an investigator 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 terrorism section also gives
him the freedom and resources he needs to keep pursuing Caracapa and Epilito. 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 work with Caracapa and Epilito 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 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 Epilito 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 Apolito, they'll need an informant.
so they combed 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 great.
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 bus ride.
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.
I appreciate that. You've got manners.
Kaplan opens the pretzels and starts eating,
looking expectantly at the two officers across the table.
Olden 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 I don't get 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.
Well, I 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, bird.
Let me out.
You're really going to choose your friends in 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,
and he watches as Kaplan scribbles the name and number of his lawyer on it.
Thank you, Berth.
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 talk.
turn. And when he does, Stephen Caracoppa and Louis Epilito won't stand a chance.
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Soon after his meeting with Detective William Olden,
prosecutors move 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 Kremlin.
crime and his long partnership with Louis Epolito and Stephen Caracapa.
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 Caracapa'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
little black book can be used in court as evidence.
Peace by piece, Oldham is building his case.
But across the country in Las Vegas,
Appolito and Caracapa have no idea
Kaplan has turned and that Oldham is closing in.
Instead, they're keeping themselves busy.
Caracapa has set up a private investigation agency,
and Epilito works for him as muscle.
But it isn't enough for Louis Heppolino.
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 Caracapa pays him.
So Epilito 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, Epolito starts looking for investors for his next project.
Of course, he knows from his experience on the East Coast, where to find him.
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. Epolito 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 Epolito that he's found an investor.
He knows someone in Florida who's interested in buying one of his scripts. Epilito 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 Epolito, 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 Witton.
William Oldham in New York. He can't believe his luck. After all these years, Appalito 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 Epolito 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 Appolito 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 Apolito and Caracapa
in a drug deal. But Corso still needs to convince Epolito that he's legit, and he's afraid
Apolito is starting to get suspicious. On February 3, 2005, Corso meets with Apolito in his office.
Appolito wants to know when he's going to get the money for his film. Corso has made a lot
of promises, but Appolito'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 Apolito as part of the investigation.
But he can't wait much longer. His excuses are starting to wear thin. Thankfully, after a few more
weeks, the FBI does finally wire $5,000 to Apolito. Corso says there will soon be much more
where that came from, and Appalito seems reassured. It looks like he's taking the bait, and now it's
time for Corso to reel him in. On February 15, 2005, Corso meets Louis Epilito and Stephen Caracapa
at Felini'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 Epilito a coy smile.
Let's just say you'd know their names.
Appolito twirls his linguine and grins a 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.
I'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 got to show these guys a good time.
And you say they read my script?
They loved it.
Epilito glances at Caracapa, and it's clear he won't do anything without Caracapa say so.
And after a short pause, Caracapa shrugs and takes another bite of pasta.
Appolito turns back to Corso.
All right, I know a guy who can help you on.
I'll have Tony set something up.
Then we get back to making my movie, huh?
After this meeting, Corso meets Apolito'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 Epilito 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 Epilito are growing suspicious.
Oldham and the rest of the Condre still want more evidence,
but if they leave things much longer, Caracapa and Epilito might fall.
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 Epilito on a Sunday,
so 60 minutes can run the story that night. Then a reporter turns up at a member of the Condre's
house 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 Caracoppa and Epilito 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. Epilito 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.
Karakapa is dressed in a pinstripe suit with a gold pocket square, and Epilito 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 Epilito's SUV. Then he jumps out of
his car and races toward the restaurant as the 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 Epilito'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.
Appolito looks stunned, though Caracapa is as stone-faced as ever.
Hold'em 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 Epilito are going to pay for their crimes.
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With Stephen Caracapa and Louis Appalito finally in police custody, the prosecution and defense prepared 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 100 potential witnesses.
Lawyers for the prosecution worry jurors will be overwhelmed and become lost in all the detail.
In addition, most of the crimes Caracapa and Epilito 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 Caracapa and Epilito and the Judge Grease.
The damning stories of past misconduct, recordings of Epilito's racist rants, and photos
of Caracapa and Epilito 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 prosecution
Peter's 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 13, 2006, Louis Appalito and Stephen
Caracapa arrive at the Brooklyn Courthouse for the first day of trial. The courtroom is packed.
Appalito is surrounded by family members, including his wife, sons, and daughters. Caracapa 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 her hardened criminal. The prosecutor hopes that this might play in their
favor. He and his team have been training Kaplan for months. Part of Caracapa and Epilito's
defense rests on the claim that they didn't know Kaplan, so the prosecutor needs to establish that
that is a line. 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 he wants to drive a stake through the heart of Caracapa and Epilito'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.
the defendants. Did you have a business relationship with Mr. Aplito and Mr. Caracapa?
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. Epilito and Mr. Caracapa, where were they employed?
The New York Police Department. Have you ever been to Mr. Caracola?
Caracapa's residence? Yes, I have. And where is it? Caplin doesn't hesitate. In Manhattan on 22nd Street.
Did Mr. Caracapa have pets in that apartment? He had two cats. Did you ever meet any of Mr. Caracapa's
family members? Yeah, I met his wife. And what is her name? Monica, you seem very familiar with Mr.
Karatapha's life. Would you say you two were close? Finally, Kaplan looked straight across the court to
Caracapa. Yeah, he was one of my closest friends.
The prosecutor allows himself a small smile.
Stephen Caracapa and Louis Epilito claim they don't know Burton Kaplan.
But Kaplan has just shown he knows intimate details about their lives,
which means Caracapa and Epilito 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 Caracapa and Epilito'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 Franzon tells the court
how he was forced to bury Israel Greenwald's body after Caracapa and Epilito kidnapped him.
And finally, there's Betty Hydeau. She saw Caracapa and Epilito 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 audio tapes of Caracapa and Epilito talking about the drug deal
with Steve Corso in Las Vegas. But one man is missing from the witness lineup, the Lucchese
underboss 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 Caracapa and Appalito, 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 Epilito and Caracapa have been wrongly accused.
He claims the detectives never supplied confidential information to the Lucases,
and they have no involvement in the abduction of Jimmy Hidal.
Up until now, the trial has not been going well for the defense,
but Casso's letter seems like it could be a lifeline.
Caracapa and Epilito'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 picked 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.
Epilito's lawyer presents a box of medals and awards from his time at the NYPD,
along with his book Mafia Cops.
Caracoppa's counsel focuses 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 Epilito comes into the room surrounded by family.
His daughters kiss the crosses at their necks and count their rosary beads.
Karakapa has only his brother beside him and stares fixedly ahead.
Oldham would like to know what he's thinking,
but Karakapa's expression is just as cold and inscrutable as ever.
In the Spectators' gallery, the victim's families wait for the verdict as well.
There's Israel Greenwald's widow and his two daughters.
and Jimmy Hydel's sister.
They have waited 20 years to know what happened to their loved ones,
and this trial has provided the answer.
Now they just hope for justice.
The judge calls for silence as the 12 jurors enter the room.
Ollum 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.
Ollum lets out the breath he's been holding.
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, Louis Appalito and Stephen Caracapa take off their ties and belts and empty their
pockets. They hugged their families for the last time before being led 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.
Stephen Caracapa and Louis Appolito were sentenced to life in prison, plus additional terms of up to
a hundred years. Each was also fined more than $4 million. Both men continued 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. Epilito 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 Apolito case were allowed to continue. In 2020,
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 Appalito may be dead and buried.
But police corruption lives on.
From Audible Originals, this is episode four of Monday.
mafia cops for American Scandal. In our next episode, I'm joined by criminologist Professor J.
Albany's to discuss how the mafia has evolved since the days of Stephen Caracapa and Louis
Epilito and the new threats posed by modern corruption and international organized crime.
Follow American Scandal on the Audible app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to all
episodes of American Scandal, ad-free, by joining Audible. And to find out more about me and my other
projects, including my live stage show coming to a theater near you, go to not thatlynseygram.com.
That's not that Lindsaygram.com.
If you'd like to learn more about the mafia cops, we recommend the books The Brotherhoods by Guy Lawson
and William Olden 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, Lindsay Graham, for Airship.
This episode is written in research by Lauren Sudworth,
senior producer Andy Beckerman, managing producer Emily Burke,
fact-checking by Alyssa Jung Perry,
audio editing by Mohamed Shauzy,
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 Louis,
Chief Content Officer Rachel Giazza
Copyright 2026 by Audible Originals LLC
Sound recording copyright 2026 by Audible Originals LLC
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