“I don’t. What picture.
“One day when you and CJ were about sixteen you came by the Barnes.”
“I remember that. Some house. I don’t remember any picture.”
“Mrs. Barnes took a picture of all of you after your game, and she gave me a copy of it. After you went to see CJ, he asked me for the picture, and he asked me to have you come see him again.”
“What’s in that picture,” Billy’s father asked him, again raising his hand.
As Billy pulled back from his father, he said, “I don’t know.”
“You do know, Billy. You knew the morning that you came over to see CJ after that man was killed. I saw your face then. It’s the same as now,” Louise Strong concluded, staring firmly at Billy Stevens.
Billy sat down. He didn’t know how to tell the story. He didn’t know how much his parents knew of his outside life. Yes, they knew he was arrested for drug dealing, but he always lied, saying he was only using. He knew what CJ had made him promise on his mother’s soul to never tell anyone. But he also knew he wasn’t strong.
“I can see you scheming. Don’t make something up. Just tell it,” his mother said as his father made a move towards him again.
“There’s nothing to tell. CJ never did the killing, like he always said.”
His father lifted him up by his sweat shirt, “And you, did you do it?”
“Willie,” pleaded his wife, Jackie, “Let him tell us what he knows.”
Releasing his son, the elder Stevens said, “You let CJ rot in that prison over five years now. Your cousin, your best friend?”
Billy paused, and then spoke. “I do not know who killed that man. That is the truth. I believe CJ when he says he did not do it.” The younger Stevens rose, and added, “I’ll go see CJ this weekend and find out what this is about,” and with that he bolted out the door of the apartment.
Chapter 30
Chunk DeLuna brought the legitimate arm of his business, cement, to his native Puerto Rico. Building along the Condado and Isle Verde, two resort areas of San Juan close to the international airport, was growing rapidly. Large condominium complexes were springing up at exactly the time DeLuna and Carlos were introducing CDL Enterprisa’s cement business to the US territory by bribing a municipal purchasing manager and producing the low bid for a public housing complex. This procurement manager was also influential in bringing DeLuna and CDL to the close knit construction community of San Juan. Quietly and in less than two years, CDL had won major contracts for two condo complexes, the new convention center and an extension of the new runway at the Munoz International Airport.
His experience in meeting all key schedules along with a strong reputation for a quality product and his status as a US citizen allowed DeLuna to expand into New York City as a minority supplier in several small construction bids.
Barnes Construction, over the past several years, had been continuously looking for links into the enormous construction arm of the city of New York. Being able to come to the table with CDL, as a Latino supplier and with CDL’s low prices, Barnes was able to win several lucrative contracts with relative ease.
Jonathan Barnes did not have the skill of a general manager able to see the entire scope of his enterprise, nor did he have the relationship building skills required of a master builder that encouraged selection based on personal confidence. What he did possess was the sharpest pencil in town. Quality was a given among the major contractors; the difference maker was the bidding process. With a cement supplier like CDL, Barnes felt he could win even more business.
He asked his son Parker, who was the Vice President of Barnes charged with managing the firm’s New York business, to build a relationship with DeLuna. His thinking, that if he could monopolize the Puerto Rican/Brazilian cement manufacturer, other contractors in the city wouldn’t be able to get at the large cost difference DeLuna provided, even more so now that CDL was shipping cement in its own massive freighters.
Interestingly, while Parker had only two skills for the construction business, they were critical—architecting with an eye for design and, he had developed, world class relationship building skills. All of the major New York architects appreciated a contractor who was an architect and who could value their designs. The younger Barnes had burnished this reputation on two projects, one on the waterfront expansion project for the aircraft carrier, Intrepid, which had become a major tourist attraction for the City. The second was the TeleLatino building on Broadway at 58th St. The later was the first non-City project Barnes used CDL on. The building’s owner was delighted with the price Barnes came up with and even more delighted that Barnes had chosen a Latino contractor for cement and framing of the building.
Outside of work, Parker also brought DeLuna along. He grew to genuinely like the little man. He found DeLuna reminded him of his good friend, Leonard Crane. They had the same animal magnetism—fierce volcanoes bubbling under their surfaces. Besides DeLuna introduced him to the purest form of cocaine he had ever enjoyed.
Chapter 31
Weeks passed before Billy Stevens made the trip from Stamford to Auburn Prison after promising his parents and Mrs. Strong that he would come.
When they greeted each other in the visitor’s area, CJ Strong was more than a bit upset.
“You got the message I wanted to see you. That was almost a year ago. What is wrong with you, why couldn’t you come sooner? I need your help to get out of here. This isn’t a joke.”
Before CJ could continue, in his anxiety Billy broke into CJ’s tirade and said, “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t have time for sorry, Billy. I need your help.”
“I’m here now, CJ.”
The guard looked over, and CJ indicated that it was just a picture he was showing to his friend. The guard nodded his head.
Billy looked at the picture; looked at it closely, as it was starting to yellow. “Here, CJ, this is him.”
CJ looked over to who Billy was pointing to. “You sure?” he said.
“Yes, of course, I’m sure. That’s the kid that killed the drug dealer.”
Chapter 32
On the night Augusto Santos, the Guatemalan drug dealer, was stabbed to death in Stamford, and for which Curtis Strong was sentenced to twenty-five years in prison, something else occurred.
At the Barnes’ estate on the Shippan peninsula, a loud crash occurred out back in the garage area. Jonathan Barnes woke at the noise, dressed and went downstairs. The live-in housekeeper was coming in the rear door, helping an injured Parker Barnes into the kitchen area. He was covered in blood.
“Parker, what happened,” Barnes senior asked rushing over to help his son sit.
“I hit the garage,” an incoherent Parker answered, swaying in the chair.
“What, were you drinking?”
“No, I wasn’t drinking.”
“Damn it, you’re high as a kite,” Barnes exclaimed, motioning to the housekeeper, “Get some wet cloths, and let’s find out where he’s hurt.”
They took Parker’s jacket off, then his shirt. They began washing the blood off of his hands; there were smudges of blood on his cheeks. There were no cuts.
“What the hell,” Jonathan Barnes exclaimed. “Parker, where did all this blood come from?”
“I don’t know,” a slurring Parker replied, “Oh, yes, I got into a fight.”
“A fight, with what,” Barnes said, his face reddening, something he did in fits of frustration.
“With my fists. A guy hit me in a bar, and I hit him back.”
“Parker, you’re making no sense at all. All this blood is from a lot more than a fist fight. Someone lost a lot of blood.” Jonathan Barnes began to pace. “I’m going to call the police and see what the hell is going
on here.”
“No, Dad,” Parker stood, “No, do not do that.”
“Then start explaining.”
“There was a car accident; I was a passenger,” Parker began his lie. “We were driving in a VW bug, and he lost control and hit a tree. The glass came in on the two kids in the front seat and cut them up.”
“What two kids?” Barnes senior demanded, sensing the lie.
“Friends of mine from the yacht club.”
“What friends, what are their names?”
“Why do you care, Dad, I’m OK, they’re OK. They went to the hospital and just got a couple of stitches.”
“I don’t believe you, Parker. Why are you covered in blood?”
“I was helping them out of the car, “
And to the housekeeper, “What does his car look like?”
“It’s pretty messed up, Mr. Barnes,” June Williams replied.
“Parker, get your lying ass to bed. I’ll find out for myself what happened.”
“Nothing happened, Dad.” Parker pleaded.
“And you’re not high on drugs again, and the cars not busted up in the rear yard, and that wasn’t blood all over your clothes?” And to Mrs. Williams, Jonathan Barnes said, “June, would you please help him to his room?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Barnes.”
Ellen Barnes entered the kitchen. “Jonathan, what’s going on here,” and seeing Parker half naked went to her son, “Parker what happened to you.”
“Ellen, don’t waste your breath on him. He wrecked the car out back, came in here covered in blood and filled with lies,” a fuming Jonathan Barnes said. “Something happened with him tonight, and I intend to find out what. Please get him to bed.”
“Parker, what is it,” And when no response came, “Come on, tell me.”
Jonathan Barnes left the room with his son being supported on each arm by the two women. He walked down a small hallway off the kitchen and into his library. He sat at his desk for a moment and made a few notes. “Covered in blood, crashed our car, high on something, doesn’t smell of alcohol, says an accident with friends, and went to hospital with them for stitches.” He pulled up his electronic rolodex on the screen of the desktop computer. He pressed the screen at a certain entry and listened as a phone rang.
“This is Al Pavia,” came the reply after the third ring.
“Captain Pavia, this is Jonathan Barnes, and I have a problem.”
One of the privileges that comes from being a leading citizen is that you participate in the civics of the community. Jonathan Barnes was a member of the Police Commission and from time to time found this position very helpful. He had taken a particular liking to Al Pavia, who as a Lieutenant had assisted him on a call out one night when young Parker was about to be arrested for DWI. Pavia, realizing who his patrol officer was about to arrest, mediated, called Mr. Barnes to come and take Parker home, since no accident had occurred in the incident, and that his officer was willing to allow an outcome favorable to Barnes.
Al Pavia arrived at the Barnes home in under an hour. Jonathan Barnes came out to greet him and accompany him inside. “Al, thanks so much for coming right over.”
“I’m glad to be of assistance Mr. Barnes,” Pavia said as they walked to the library.
Barnes closed the door.
“I did some checking since we talked,” Pavia began. “There were a few things that happened tonight. Tell me more about Parker, his condition.”
“He came home about an hour ago, and as I said he crashed his car into the garage out back. He was totally disoriented but didn’t smell of alcohol. My guess is drugs.”
“Right, now tell me again about the blood. Where was it, and you said that Parker had no cuts.”
“None,” Barnes replied summarily. “But his jacket and shirt were covered in blood. A lot of it. It was on his hands, and he had some on his face. After we took his jacket and shirt off, we couldn’t find any cuts.”
“OK, and you said something about a car accident with his friends.”
“Yes, he said he was in a car with two friends. The car hit a tree and glass came in and cut his friends up. He said in helping them out of the car he got blood on his clothes. He also said they went to the hospital, as I told you, and his friends got stitches. To be honest with you, Al, I don’t believe a word he said. Why I called you is I think he’s in bigger trouble.”
“You might be right. Based on what you told me, I did some quick checking. There was a stabbing on the West side, guy died. Witness says she saw someone leaning over the dead guy, she yelled and the guy took off. A couple of my guys are all over it, but the description of the killer doesn’t fit Parker. The woman thought it was black man who did the stabbing. Also, there were a couple of fights downtown around midnight, one of which involved four white guys, well dressed, going at each other. Lot of blood in that one; we have two of the guys in custody. We’re looking for the other two who apparently started something in the bar, and these two goons we have were waiting outside for them.”
Barnes listened intently trying to find a link, “Anything else, Al.”
“There were three separate car accidents. Two involved women and one involved an older man. The one with the old man was the only serious one where there was blood. He’s doing well at the hospital now. The hospital told us there was only one case of stitches tonight, a young boy who cut his finger on an open can.” Pavia paused as he looked at the small pad he had jotted down the night’s adventures. “The only other action we had tonight was a burglary in North Stamford; side window broken in, computer, jewelry and some clothes taken—no suspects. I called the investigating officer, and there was no blood around the smashed-in window.
“Well, Al, it sounds like the fight fits. Imagine, I’m hopeful that he was in a fist fight,” Barnes said smiling slightly.
“Mr. Barnes, do you still have Parker’s clothes, with the blood on them?” Pavia asked.
“Yes, why Al?”
“I want to handle it properly,” Pavia said with a smile.
“Wait here, I’ll go get them,” Barnes said, as he thought he understood what Pavia meant and went to the kitchen to retrieve them.
Barnes placed the jacket and shirt in a plastic trash bag and brought it to Paiva, who reached in and pulled out the shirt by a non-bloodied corner. He shook his head, “That’s a helluva lot of blood, Mr. Barnes. I don’t think we have a street fight here,” Paiva said as he pulled out the jacket and looked at the blood on it. “Definitely more than a street fight, Mr. Barnes. “See this blot here,” Paiva said pointing to an area on the front of the jacket?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“See how it’s solid in the middle and then splattered going out from the middle?”
“Yes, yes, what are you getting at?” a flustered Barnes was now pressing.
“It looks like what occurs when an artery is severed and blood flows out—big in the center as it hits and more splattered as it spreads out.”
“Jesus, Al what are you saying.”
“I think Parker was facing someone who had just been stabbed or shot.”
“No, no. There is no way that is what happened.”
“Look, Mr. Barnes, I’m here to help. You called me, remember,” Paiva said trying to be reassuring. “I think we need to talk with Parker, Mr. Barnes, you and me. Can you get him?”
“Damn, Al, I don’t like where this is going.”
“Mr. Barnes, we have to know what we’re dealing with. If you want me to help you, let me do it.”
“He’s in no shape to talk with you now. I’ll bring him to you in the morning,” Barnes said, almost dismissively.
“We need to do this now,” and it was not a request from Captain Paiva, and he added, more to comfort Mr. Barnes, “this is the best time to get at the truth, when it is still closest to the occurrence, before the fairy tales get made up.”
Barnes relented and went to get his son.
Paiva stood up to get a closer look a
t the framed pictures on the shelves of the back wall. In one Barnes senior was standing with President Regan, Regan’s arm around him, even though they were as tall as one another. In another Barnes was flanked by former Senator Chris Dodd and former Governor John Rowland. “Interesting,” Paiva whispered to himself, “a couple of crooks.” He saw pictures of Barnes with former Connecticut Governor Ella Grasso, others with Barnes and three people in suits, who he didn’t recognize, and finally there was Barnes with the Police Commissioner, Police Chief John Brennan, and newly promoted Captain Paiva. He thought of Barnes strong support with the Commissioner and the Chief, lobbying on his behalf.
Barnes returned with a disheveled Parker. “Parker, this is Captain Paiva,” Barnes began, almost gently; “He needs to ask you a few questions. Please answer him truthfully so we can end this night.”
Parker Barnes was in a fog. He walked to one of the three large leather chairs on the left side of the room, away from the desk and picture showcase. He collapsed into the chair.
“Parker, this won’t take long. Like your father said, I will only ask you a few questions; in fact, you don’t need to answer if you don’t want to. But, and this is important, if you do answer you must be truthful. Are you OK with this?” Paiva asked to make sure there was comprehension.
“Yes, sir, I understand.”
“OK, first off, were you using drugs tonight?”
Barnes senior flinched. Parker looked at his father.
“It’s alright, Parker, just answer,” Jonathan Barnes told his son. He had never heard him admit to drug use, only agreeing that he would go to treatment since his parents insisted.
“Yes,” Parker said quietly.
“Was it crack?” Paiva asked realizing the popularity and easy access to the plague that was overrunning Stamford.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, thanks for being truthful,” Paiva said, now pressing forward, “Now where do you usually get your drugs?”
“On the West Side,” Parker responded without thinking of the earlier incident.