By this time John Connolly had emerged as the kind of quintessential public figure for the 1990s, a decade increasingly obsessed with style and celebrity. It was as if Connolly had decided that if he self-assuredly proclaimed himself the true hero in the story—and he made this swaggering claim unabashedly, even tenaciously—then it would be true. Forget about the mountain of evidence before Judge Wolf and the hours of incriminating testimony. And for the most part Connolly did have his way during his media blitz. Just about the only bump in the road he encountered, albeit briefly, was a question posed by Peter Meade of WBZ-AM, who stopped Connolly to ask about an FBI actually condoning violence.
MEADE: Isn’t violence an inherent part of loan-sharking?
CONNOLLY: Well, uh. Not really. I mean, loan-sharking? Yeah, I mean, you know, violence is an explicit part of loan-sharking. Uhh. If someone doesn’t pay you, people hurt them. But, um, they, the deal with these two individuals and anyone else was—no violence. No murders. No violence.
During the blizzard of interviews Connolly piled up public relations points. He even turned up his rhetoric about the ongoing hearings before Judge Wolf. During most of the year he’d taken the position that, as much as he wanted to tell his side, he couldn’t testify without immunity, not when the prosecutors had him under investigation. But now that the hearings seemed to be over, Connolly was saying, immunity be damned—he didn’t want it, he didn’t need it. “I do not need immunity for corrupt acts,” he told the Boston Tab. “I did not commit corrupt acts. I would refuse immunity for those reasons. I don’t need it.
“They can stick it,” he added.
The overheated talk proved to be a misstep.
Both the defense attorneys and the prosecutors suddenly asked Judge Wolf to summon Connolly back to court, now that he was repeatedly saying that he no longer wanted immunity. It was one of those rare instances when Cardinale and Wyshak agreed. “It’s time to put Mr. Connolly’s feet to the fire on this issue,” Cardinale told the judge. Wyshak’s colleague Jamie Herbert noted that during the media interviews Connolly “has lied about what takes place in this courtroom and outside this courtroom.”
The lawyers had called Connolly’s bluff, and on the morning before Halloween, October 30, John Connolly returned to federal court, his lawyer Robert Popeo at his side. The broad-shouldered Connolly cut a striking pose on the witness stand. He wore a dark, fitted suit, a smart-looking yellow silk tie, and a white handkerchief was neatly arranged in his breast pocket. His hair appeared recently cut and styled.
Tony Cardinale cut right to the chase.
“Mr. Connolly, in 1982, did you give any cash to an FBI secretary named Debbie Noseworthy, now Debbie Morris?”
Cardinale was looking to provoke Connolly. “I was hoping his arrogance would get the better of him,” he said later. He wanted an angered Connolly to blurt out a denial—no, he had not delivered Bulger’s money to Morris! “Then boom—there would have been an instant indictment for perjury,” said Cardinale. “It would have made my day, after what he’s done to my client and to so many other people in his so-called role as a defender of the law.”
The two men locked eyes, and the question that Cardinale had asked in his baritone voice echoed in the courtroom. Then Connolly shifted in his seat and removed a card from the pocket of his suit. He held the card in his right hand, delicately between the tips of his index and middle fingers.
“Upon advice of counsel, I respectfully decline to answer at this time and rely upon my rights under the United States Constitution not to give testimony against myself.”
CARDINALE: On April 30 of 1998, as the Court has pointed out, Mr. Connolly, you appeared before the Court and refused to answer questions, asserting your Fifth Amendment privilege, is that correct?
CONNOLLY: That’s correct.
CARDINALE: Since that time, you’ve been interviewed by a number of media representatives . . . have you not?
CONNOLLY: Upon advice of counsel, I repeat. . . .
Cardinale did not let up, firing off a string of questions: have you personally committed any criminal offenses with regard to any promise made to Mr. Bulger and Mr. Flemmi? Did you at any time give Mr. Morris around Christmas a box of wine containing $1,000? Did you warn Mr. Bulger and Mr. Flemmi of any existing investigative efforts that were targeting them? Did you know an individual by the name of Brian Halloran?
Each time, Connolly took the Fifth.
Then prosecutor Jamie Herbert had a turn.
HERBERT: Good morning, Mr. Connolly.
CONNOLLY: Good morning.
HERBERT: Mr. Connolly, you know what the term “bribery” means?
CONNOLLY: I assert my Fifth Amendment rights.
HERBERT: Mr. Connolly, you have told at least three different versions of this supposed deal that you had with Mr. Bulger and Mr. Flemmi, isn’t that correct?
CONNOLLY: I assert my Fifth Amendment rights.
HERBERT: Mr. Connolly, in all your years with the FBI working with Mr. Bulger and Mr. Flemmi, did you ever once document this supposed deal anywhere in the FBI files?
CONNOLLY: I assert my Fifth Amendment rights.
Inside of twenty minutes, Connolly took the Fifth nearly thirty times to the questions posed by Cardinale and Herbert. The judge broke off the give-and-take, ruling that the exercise was fruitless, that Connolly had not changed his mind and decided to testify without immunity. Robert Popeo told the judge his client was asserting the Fifth at his insistence, particularly “in light of the fact that there are two separate grand juries sitting in which we have been advised by prosecutors that Mr. Connolly is a target.” Even if Connolly was speaking boldly outside of court and proclaiming his innocence—a right of free speech under the First Amendment—he was not waiving his rights under the Fifth Amendment against self-incrimination.
“To each and every substantive question put to the witness,” said Popeo, “he has been advised to invoke his privilege under the United States Constitution.”
The judge excused Connolly. “Mr. Connolly, you may go.”
Minutes later Connolly could be found outside the new courthouse on Fan Pier, holding forth to a circle of television cameras and reporters, resuming his bellicose stance toward prosecutors Wyshak, Herbert, and Kelly. He called them “character assassins” hell-bent on singling him out as their scapegoat. But even a renewed attack could not remove the lasting impression of a lackluster John Connolly reading from the Fifth Amendment card he’d just spent weeks telling the world he no longer needed.