The Adored (22 page)

“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 at 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.

“Did you go there tonight to buy drugs?” Paiva asked, knowing this answer could change the young man’s life forever.

Now thinking about his last answer, Parker hesitated. The elder Barnes quietly told his son, “You’re doing fine, Parker, just keep telling the truth.”

Now a voice inside Parker urged caution. Was his father about to sell him down the river? He was exhausted.

“I need to go to bed. Can we do this in the morning? I can’t think any more.”

Paiva now returned to his firmer self. “Parker, we’re doing this here in your home as a favor to your father. If we do it in the morning, it will be at the station with a different view point. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” the young Barnes relented. “Yes, I did go there to buy drugs then everything got all screwed up,” he concluded, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

“Tell me what happened during the buy. What went wrong?”

“I was in a hurry. I wanted to get it and get out of there. I was with the guy I usually get them from only he didn’t have any so he took me to this other guy, a Mexican or something; Billy told me his name was Augusto. Well, he starts playing with me, you know, like, ‘Let’s see some of your money.’ Start’s giving me a bunch of shit. I flashed a knife and told him to give me the damn stuff; I was holding the money. Then he lunges towards me, and I stabbed him. I wasn’t trying to hurt him, I never hurt anyone before. I was scared shitless; I thought he was going to kill me. He seemed crazy. I don’t know why he did that.”

While his son was confessing to killing a drug dealer, Jonathan Barnes was weaving in and out of sanity, wondering how this could have happened. He felt like his brain was going to burst. His son, the heir to Barnes Construction. Doing drugs, killing a drug dealer. Christ, carrying a knife.

“What are you doing carrying a knife,” it just came out.

Paiva looked at the elder Barnes and said, “Jonathan, why don’t you let me continue to ask Parker the questions.”

“Yes, of course, Captain Paiva.” Barnes said, unwilling to have his son aware of his familiarity with the police captain.

“What happened next,” Paiva continued.

“Blood was spurting out all over me. I just ran, took off.”

“What time was this?”

“Early, around eight o’clock.”

“Then what did you do the rest of the night?” the inquisitor continued.

“I went to Cummings Beach and just sat there all night.”

“Did you use drugs there?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not possible Parker, not at Cummings Beach. I have patrol cars there all night checking the cars in the parking lot,” Paiva said in pursuit.

“My car was parked there; you can check. I saw your police writing down the plate number.”

“Where were you?”

“On the hill in the woods. It’s where we used to go to get away.

“Who saw you there?”

“No one else was there. If there were I would have left,” a now more alert Parker Barnes said. “I know what I did; I used what crack I had to get lost for the night.” And now looking at his father, “I didn’t do it intentionally, Dad. He came at me, and I reacted. I am sorry.”