Taking in the Don

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) - It happened more than a quarter century ago, but Vincent Vespia still recalls every detail of the day

he busted the biggest name in the New England mob, Raymond L.S. Patriarca. Right down to what he saw

Patriarca eating as he and his partner peered in through the sliding glass doors of the boss's Johnston home.

"I could see him sitting down having a meal," Vespia, now 67, says in his first-ever interview about that historic arrest. "Sausage and peppers."

It was December 4th, 1980, the long awaited climax of an investigation led by Vespia, a lieutenant in the State Police, and Providence police Detective Richard Tamburini. The two cops decided to go to the back door so they could case the house.

"We were prepared for a worst case scenario," Tamburini says. "He could have been with friends. We just didn't know."

Patriarca had plenty of friends. Enemies too. He had run New England's most powerful crime family for nearly three decades, using violence and a clever mind to exert a level of control unmatched by anyone since. In fact, Those in law enforcement and media still refer to the New England Mob as the "Patriarca" crime family.

This time, though, they had him. Police had linked him directly with ordering two murders: the 1965 slaying of Raymond "Baby" Curcio, a small-time hood who broke into Patriarca's brother's house, and Robert "Bobby" Candos, who was expected to testify against Patriarca back in 1968 before he was shot to death in Bristol County, Massachusetts.

But Patriarca was alone at home with his wife, Rita O'Toole, when Vespia knocked on the slider and entered the home.

"I got a feeling I'm not going to be happy you're here," she said to Vespia.

"I could see Raymond behind her, sitting down," Vespia recalls. "Raymond said to me, 'I heard that stool pigeon is talkin'."

The stool pigeon was Nicky Palmigiano, a minor player in the New England mob who committed the two murders in hopes of being made into a major player. Patriarca allegedly stuffed a fifty dollar bill in Palmigiano's pocket for the hits, but never made him an official member of the family.

Eventually, he crooned to the cops that Patriarca had set up the two murders. Palmigiano later entered the witness protection program and died, of natural causes, years later in California.

Vespia's pride is obvious as he recalls how he and Tamburini got Palmigiano to give up the boss. And the arrest had been carefully coordinated between Providence and State Police. In fact, Vespia recalls, the two groups met earlier in the day to map out exactly how it would go down.

"It was decided that once Patriarca was arrested, he would be taken to Providence Police Department," he said.

But when the meeting broke up, Vespia was pulled off to the side - he won't say by whom - and given an order.

"I was told once the arrest was made, I was to take Patriarca back to State Police Headquarters. I was in a bind. I felt I was put between a rock and a hard place. I had an order; I was going to follow it."

What made Vespia's discomfort so acute was his long relationship with Tamburini. They had been partners for nearly six years after the city and state police formed an unusual alliance to battle organized crime. Tamburini and Vespia were literally the zenith of that partnership.

In separate interviews, they referred to each other as "brothers." But on that memorable day, their bond was tested. Civilians might well shrug their shoulders; they got the bad guy, who cares where they took him? But to the cops, where you book the crook is a big deal.

Especially with Patriarca. Each agency wanted the bragging rights that came with catching the big fish.

When Vespia left the meeting, he immediately told his partner what had happened, stunning Tamburini, who knew his superiors would be livid.

"I knew I was in trouble," he said. "I knew that a deal had already been cut, everyone shook hands. There was a game plan."

But then Vespia did something he's never disclosed publicly - until now. He picked up the phone and called the chief of the Providence police department. Angelo P. Ricci.

"Chief Ricci, there's been a change," Vespia told him. "I now have order to take Patriarca back to State Police headquarters."

Ricci was furious. And after the arrest went down, he took it public, telling the Providence Journal the next day that it was "the worst case of professional misconduct in the annals of modern law enforcement."

It was a rare public glimpse of the often-tense relationship between the two law-enforcement agencies.

Then-Governor Joseph Garrahy ordered Ricci to sit down with the head of the State Police at the time, the legendary Colonel Walter Stone, to make nice. The meeting was ceremonial at best. The wound between the two units never quite healed.

Vespia recalls how Patriarca asked for permission to get dressed, and he followed the mob boss to his bedroom. Then came pounding at the door. Prompted by Vespia's secret call to the chief, the Providence