Digital Extras

10.17.2001 00:05

A murder elevates Buehne's standing in both his worlds

For years, Bobby Buehne lived a double life -- as a player in the Providence underworld and as a police informant. Now he has a new identity and a new life, which the government gave him after he helped lock up a ruthless figure in the Rhode Island mob.

BY W. ZACHARY MALINOWSKI
JOURNAL STAFF WRITER

Bobby Buehne awoke to the chirping of his pager.

It was about 11 on Saturday morning, and Buehne was hung-over from a night of drinking.

The number on the pager was Paulie Calenda's, the millionaire businessman who enjoyed the company of Rhode Island hoodlums.

Buehne called Calenda back.

"You know that guy we were with last night?" Calenda said. "They shot him in the head."

At about 11 p.m., on Friday, Sept. 18, 1992, Buehne, Calenda and their entourage had left Kevin Hanrahan, the mob enforcer, at The Arch. Hanrahan said he'd catch up with them at Jimmy Burchfield's Classic Restaurant, in North Providence.

Hanrahan went to the bar at The Arch, where he chatted with a man and two women. He told them he was expecting a "big score."

At 11:30 p.m., Hanrahan walked out of the restaurant, turned left and headed up Atwells Avenue, away from the cement arch that welcomes visitors to Providence's historic Federal Hill. It was a quiet night. A few pedestrians strolled along the brick sidewalks.

Hanrahan had walked about 15 yards, to the corner of Atwells Avenue and Pequot Street, when two men stepped in front of him.

One man stuck a .38-caliber handgun in Hanrahan's face and opened fire. Three bullets ripped through the enforcer's chin, temple and face.

Hanrahan died instantly. The gunmen vanished into the night.

BUEHNE WAS STUNNED by Calenda's call. Now he had to work both sides: he was hanging out with wiseguys, but secretly giving information to the good guys.

Buehne (pronounced Bee-nee) called Ronnie Coppola, the mob loan shark who had been at the Friday night dinner at The Arch. Coppola told Buehne "not to talk to any cops."

Buehne drove to Calenda's townhouse in Cranston. He found Calenda upset and fearful.

"What kind of friends are we hanging around with?" Calenda asked him.

Buehne and Calenda spent the day watching mob specials on cable television. They talked about how accurate the programs were and marveled over the parallels to their own lives. Buehne tried to console his frightened friend.

Sometime after midnight, Buehne went home. He had tried earlier in the day to reach Providence Detective Steve Cross, his handler for the past three years. Why hadn't Cross gotten back to him?

He called the detective's house and spoke to his wife. She told him that her husband was attending an organized-crime seminar in Virginia. She gave Buehne the hotel phone number.

He called Cross at 1 a.m., waking him.

"Hey, you're not going to believe this," Buehne said. "Hanrahan's dead. He just got killed."

Buehne gave Cross the lineup of Hanrahan's last supper at The Arch.

A FEW DAYS later, Cross and his partner, Detective Bobby Lauro, returned from the seminar. They drove to Calenda's townhouse to question him about the Hanrahan murder. He agreed to give them a statement at the police station. He said he'd come down in a few hours.

After they left, Calenda called Buehne in a panic. "Somebody ratted us out," Calenda screamed.

Buehne told him not to worry.

Calenda blew off his meeting with the Providence detectives.

Later that night, Calenda met Buehne and convicted felon Mikey "Ma Ma" Martellini for dinner at Pasta Pronto, a popular restaurant on Charles Street in the North End of Providence.

Martellini, a former public-works supervisor in Providence, got snared in a city corruption scandal in the early '80s and spent two years in prison.

Their orders -- heaping portions -- had just arrived at their table when Buehne looked up and saw Detectives Cross and Lauro, and state police Detective Cpl. Brendan P. Doherty walk through the front door and head straight for the table.

Cross was yelling, saying Calenda had broken his word and never showed up at the police station.

"You're coming with us," Lauro said.

Martellini, who had been to dinner with them at The Arch, started to rise to go with the cops.

Calenda motioned for Martellini to stay seated.

"Sit down," he said. "You don't have to go nowhere. You don't have to talk to these guys."

Lauro knocked over Calenda's dinner, sending pasta with red sauce into his lap.

"You didn't have to do that," Calenda yelled.

Someone from the restaurant rushed over and told the police to leave.

We're investigating a murder, Lauro said. If you don't like it, take it up with my boss.

THE SCENE MOVED outside the restaurant where Buehne acted like a punk.

"You cops don't have nothing else to do?" he yelled.

They were taken in unmarked police cars to the Providence police station. As they walked up the front steps, Calenda whispered to Buehne to tell the cops that they didn't know Ronnie Coppola and they were not in The Arch with Hanrahan the night he was murdered.

The police took mug shots. They split them up and sent them to separate interrogation rooms. Buehne's interrogator was Cross. They sat across the table and joked about the whole ordeal.

Three hours later, the police released Buehne, Calenda, and Martellini.

They went back to Pasta Pronto, drank espresso and talked about their night at the police station.

They tried to figure out who may have ratted them out. Someone in the restaurant?

Buehne told his buddies that he had lied to the cops and denied he had dinner with Hanrahan.

Buehne had successfully walked the high wire. The cops were thrilled with the inside information; the wiseguys took note of Buehne's relationship with Coppola.

Word started to spread through the underworld that Buehne had been with Coppola moments before the hit.

BUEHNE LEARNED that his mob connections gave him increasing power and the ability to strike fear in people who crossed him. At times, Buehne felt conflicted over his double life: mob associate and snitch for the police.

Nonetheless, he remained loyal to Coppola. Buehne never gave the police anything that could lead to Coppola's arrest, but he gave them enough to nail other hoods that he didn't care about.

All this, and he was only 22 years old.

Buehne went to high-priced restaurants such as the Capital Grille. Buehne didn't drink wine, but he rented a wine locker alongside prominent Rhode Island politicians, entertainers and business leaders.

He never waited for tables. Drinks and bottles of champagne arrived for him and his dates as soon as they were seated.

"It makes you feel good," said Buehne, who dropped about $500 a week at restaurants. "It makes you feel like a somebody."

Buehne began dating a nurse who had just broken off an engagement. Her ex-fiancé had moved to Maine; his father was a convicted felon whose circle of friends included mobsters.

The nurse had left personal belongings -- skis and other items -- at her ex-fiancé's house in Maine. She drove north one day to pick up her things, but the man's father refused to return them.

She called Buehne.

Buehne made a telephone call and politely asked the father to give the stuff back. He refused, and told Buehne that he knew a lot of Rhode Island wiseguys, including mob associate Blaise Marfeo.

The conversation ended with the father threatening Buehne and warning him to never call again.

Buehne, like many street punks, knew about Marfeo: a stylish, well-dressed bookmaker, booster of stolen goods and restaurateur. He was recognized as an "earner" for the mob, and ally of ex-mob boss Raymond J. "Junior" Patriarca.

Marfeo was regularly arrested and was frequently under the watchful eye of law enforcement.

Buehne went to Coppola's house and told him what had happened. Coppola told Buehne to go see Marfeo at Adesso, the trendy restaurant on the East Side of Providence in which he holds an interest.

Early that night, Buehne, dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, drove to the restaurant and waited for Marfeo. He walked in about 30 minutes later.

"Mr. Marfeo," said Buehne, rising to shake hands. "Ronnie Coppola sent me to see you."

Marfeo got Buehne a soft drink and sat down. He carefully listened to his story.

"Do you have any way for me to contact him?" he said.

Buehne gave him the telephone number in Maine.

"Let's go back to my office," Marfeo said.

Marfeo reached the father in Maine.

"Don't you ever use my name again," he shouted. "This guy [Buehne] is a very close friend of mine. He's with the right people."

The father apologized. He said that he had thrown the nurse's things away. Marfeo said he would find out how much her things were worth.

Marfeo called back and said they were worth $1,200. The father said he would send a check for that amount via overnight express.

Meanwhile, the father also told Marfeo he wanted the engagement ring back. The nurse had given Buehne the ring.

But in a letter accompanying the check the next day, the father said he had a change of heart: he no longer wanted the ring.

Buehne said he gave the ring to Marfeo, who had it appraised, sold it and gave Buehne $300.

"He was a nice kid," Marfeo said. "I did him a favor."

Tomorrow: A double murder puts Bobby Buehne in the spotlight.

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