by Tom Connolly
“We hope. We’re trying to see if there’s a correlation between hostility in the inmates who don’t participate in the program and those who do. Most of our boys aren’t going anywhere for a long time, if at all. We need them to play nice while there at Auburn.”
“So here’s Mr. Strong’s story. While you’re reading it, I’ll go say hi to Chief Brennan if you point me in the right direction,” Ford said rising, handing Boriello the stapled paper.
“OK, go across and out the door, take a right and he’s down the hallway on the left. You want me to call and see if he’s got some time.”
“No thanks, Vito, I told him I was meeting with you today and said I’d stop by to say hello. I’ll be right back.”
With that Ford left and Boriello began reading. The story had about eight typewritten pages. Strong used it as a summary of his life, who he was and how he came to be at Auburn. Family unit consisted of father, mother, and CJ Jr. Father was killed by Stamford patrolman John Walsh. Strong pointed out, the same John Walsh who supervised the arresting officers and presented evidence against him on the stand during his trial for the murder of Augusto Santos, a Guatemalan drug dealer. He stressed he did not do it, that he heard someone moaning in the alley and saw a person run off as he approached. He tried helping the man, who had a knife sticking out of the middle of his chest. He didn’t touch the knife because he did not know whether that would hurt the man worse than he was already hurt. He heard evidence that there was a thumbprint on the knife; whosever it was, it was not his. Maybe if there was a thumbprint it belonged to the real killer. Strong said he heard all of the evidence against him; if he was guilty and knowing that, why wouldn’t he take a plea and save himself ten years. Simply because he did not do it. Since he had been at Auburn, Strong stated he earned a college degree. He has never been punished at Auburn as he leads a disciplined life, doing his work at the prison, sports, and working out and educating himself for when he is ultimately vindicated. He knows this will happen he says; he just doesn’t know when. He stated he had never been in trouble before or since. As further proof, he said the jury was somehow pushed to this verdict when they did not seem inclined. He said the jury foreman, twice, had sent a note to the judge that they were deadlocked and could not reach a verdict, but both times the judge ordered them to work some more. He felt there was something else behind the scenes he could not see—he wrote that he thought it had to do with this Police Officer John Walsh. Boriello paused here thinking about Walsh for a minute—good cop, rose quickly, lots of arrests, made sergeant, on the strength of his investigations and convictions. And it was this last thing that obviously Jim Ford wanted Boriello’s help on: he had recently learned who the dark figure in the night was that killed the Guatemalan. He could not say, would not say, as he had his reasons, but the police should relook at all the evidence. He said they may or may not find the killer, but they would certainly find that he did not kill anyone.
Boriello said this outloud to himself, “What the hell kind of bullshit is this,” and at that moment Jim Ford reentered the office.
“Chief said to say hello,” said Ford.
“He could get off his fat ass and come and say it in person,” Boriello said ruffled, “Say, Jim, what gives here. I see nothing other than creative writing 101.”
“Except…” said Ford.
“What, except now he knows who did it and won’t say. Is this a riddle? I know and I’m not telling,” Boriello went on mockingly, “You cops figure it out, and if you do I get out.” Well, Curtis my boy, if we don’t figure it out you stay in the slammer for the next twenty years or so.”
“The “except” thing is what I want to talk with you about,” Ford said. “I got to know Curtis over the period of the program, took an interest in him, you might say. Not too many guys have I ever questioned why they are there. Him I do. I went through his background over the last five and a half years. He’s an honorable man, done lots of good things at Auburn. He’s helped a lot of inmates much older than him come to grips with some pretty awful things in their lives. He’s a peacemaker—any time there is trouble, he’s never in it but always will step forward to help calm things down. Saved a guard’s ass when one inmate put a knife to his throat, talked the guy down. Participates in everything offered to him that will help him grow. He’s also strong as an ox. He’s put on sixty pounds since he came to Auburn and not an ounce of it is fat. Even got a degree while there.”
“And?” Boriello, wasn’t convinced of anything.
“And I talked to him about his story several times. Not a fact, not a word, nothing has changed from what he wrote. In fact I now believe every single thing he has said. My request is twofold. Believe along with me—and investigate this story as if it is fact, find the discrepancies and where the fault lines are,” Ford said.
“That’s asking a lot, Jimbo,” Boriello said seriously, “My retirement will not be put off.”
“Fair enough. But, most of the facts he writes about should be fairly easy to prove or disprove. Although I would like to hear from one of the jurors just what went on in that jury room.”
“I’ll help you, but this is almost six years old. We need to talk with a few people who may or may not be around anymore. I do have a number of my own questions already,” Boriello said.
“Mind sharing them with me,” Ford asked.
“No. I’ll share,” and they talked about Strong’s first offender status, the high priced lawyer and a poor black kid and who pays, not allocuting for a ten-year reduction, “Hell,” he stopped, “with that evidence you and I would have taken the plea.” He continued with his own concerns about the length of time the verdict took, if the evidence was so clear. He confirmed to Ford that yes, it was Detective Walsh who had shot and killed Strong’s father. “I’ve also now got the files and facts on the father’s shooting. Sketchy, shouldn’t have happened.”
“Just that last item alone has got to make you a little skeptical,” Ford said with a deep tone in his voice as his head shook from side to side.
Boriello, head down, confessed trouble with that also, “I’m not saying it was wrong, just needs more looking into. We have a number of multi-generational criminals around town.”
“Well, then,” Ford began, “should I leave you for now to do some sleuthing and come back in the morning?”
“Nice try, Detective,” Boriello said as he picked up the phone and dialed as Ford looked on. “Honey, I’m bringing a guest home for dinner, work, and a sleepover. Can you arrange everything there?” he said with a wink to Ford, “Good, thanks. We’ll be home around six.”
“I don’t want to impose,” Ford begged.
“Man doesn’t want to impose, does he. And me with thirty days to retirement. Well Mr. Ford you just got yourself a partner, but only for a month. We’re on the clock now.”
Boriello’s home was less than half a mile from police headquarters. Ford had the feeling that Boriello’s whole life didn’t stray more than a half mile from headquarters. He had found himself a good cop to help investigate the truth in Curtis Strong’s story.
Rosa Boriello still had the accent her parents brought with them from Verona, Italy. And Ford found out she had the incredible Italian skill of preparing food as if from heaven. That night at Boriello’s home the two used the den that Boriello had turned into a home office, desks with two computers, chalkboard, printer/copier, and phones.
At the end of the night, both having reviewed the Stamford Police Department’s reports on Strong senior’s shooting and Strong junior’s arrest and prosecution, along with Strong junior’s file from Auburn, the two detectives came up with a checklist of to dos, split them up, and agreed to talk in one week:
-Vito’s to dos:
Thumb print—analysis not in file; go to forensics and confirm
Juror—get names and addresses, contact at least two, ask about the process and the judge’s push back
Judge Mortensen?
Defense Lawyer—ta
lk with: who hired, who paid, why?
First time offender—school counselor, teacher, mother: what kind of kid was he
Who was Augusto Santos, dealer, up the line, priors?
John Walsh—father and son? Talk with Walsh’s supervisors.
Jim’s to dos:
Talk with Strong; he must tell who committed murder, otherwise he’ll never be free—police need more than “I know but can’t or won’t tell”
If he was helping Santos, why did he run off, not in his story or police evidence
Talk with Strong cellmates—has he ever said he knew who did it
Find out who visited or wrote to Strong in two months prior to his writing the story down
Chapter 38
They were all there, all except the current Democratic senator from Connecticut, Richard Blumenthal. He had not been invited.
On this night with the sun setting over Barnes’ private beach in back of the house they call “Apple Manor,” Barnes would surprise his guests, and shock some, by announcing that he would run for the US senate in the Democratic primaries. His good friend Senator Joe Lieberman had given every indication that he would run for the seat he had held for over thirty years, but then decided to drop out.
Barnes was very good at politics; after all it was through his other good friend former Senator Chris Dodd, who chose Hollywood over Washington, sensing he would have been defeated, that Barnes began courting powerful politicians that could help his firm. Dodd received substantial contributions for his reelection campaigns from Barnes, and he won new building projects for the banks that were building trading floors and new operations in Stamford, CT. In fact, Barnes Construction had won every major bank building project since banks began exiting New York City in the late nineties.
Bankers knew of the relationship between the Democratic senator, who happened to be Chairman of the Senate Banking Committee and Barnes, something that Barnes was not shy about sharing as he discussed new projects. Barnes had an uncanny knack for getting involved early and often with all parties to the process of attracting and outfitting new businesses coming to Connecticut.
But now Joe Lieberman was hanging it up, and Barnes felt the country had had enough of politicians like Dodd. After all it was on Dodd’s watch the great recession began while he moved his family to Iowa to run in the Iowa caucuses for President of the US against Barrack Obama and Hillary Clinton. If that wasn’t enough to turn the tide against him, he was also receiving subprime loans on his property thru the VIP program being operated by Angelo Mozzillo, CEO of Countrywide Mortgages and one of the instigators of the country’s financial meltdown.
On this night Jonathan Barnes would propose a bold new future for America; one that would right the wrongs of excessive greed and put the crooks in jail. His main opponent for the Democratic nomination would be the state’s Attorney General, Michael Samuels. Samuels had been deputy AG under Richard Blumenthal. It was Richard Blumenthal, who the prior year had run for and won Dodd’s seat. And it was Blumenthal who had endorsed Samuels for the Lieberman seat. Between Blumenthal and Samuels, it looked to Barnes like they were trying to keep the two seats in the Temple.
However, Barnes had a silver bullet for him. It wasn’t two months before that an ex-US Congressman from Connecticut, at a party right here in Barnes home had shared that the announced candidacy of Samuels was doomed for failure.
“Why?” Barnes asked, while standing in a circle of six men, enjoying after-dinner conversation.
“Well, Jonathan, it’s like this. Louis Samuels is a decent guy, but he fancies himself a war hero,” Harold Andrews offered up.
“Wait a minute, you’re getting him confused with Blumenthal,” Barnes said.
One of the other guests, a hedge fund manager named Barry Cohen, jumped in, “Congressman, what are you talking about? He is a Marine and served in Vietnam. I heard him say it myself.”
“Well, he is and he isn’t,” the ex-Congressman, coyly offered. “You see, he is in the Marine reserves but never served on active duty.”
Another guest, Mike Slade, the editor of the local paper, joined in, “I think you have it wrong Congressman. This is Richard Blumenthal you’re thinking about.”
“Listen to me boys,” Harold Andrews said. “He is a clone of Blumenthal. A clone so closely developed he even has the same weaknesses as Richard.”
“I’ve also heard him say in speeches that when he returned from Vietnam he was spit on. He is a very strong backer of Veterans, Congressman. I’d be careful about spreading this stuff around about him,” Barry Cohen said.
“Are we all going crazy? The things we’re attributing to Samuels are the issues everyone had with Blumenthal. Right?” asked Barnes.
The ex-Congressman at this point was a little embarrassed by the hostility towards him. “I bring this up in our conversation because lately, since he announced he was running for Lieberman’s seat, I am hearing more and more of the war hero stuff. And frankly, Louis is a friend of mine. I like the guy even though we’re from different political worlds. I would never say anything against him unless I knew it to be true. What you gentlemen have just confirmed are the exact lies that are going to come out. He never served in Vietnam and, therefore, was never spit upon when he returned. Maybe the tobacco industry might have spit on him.” The six men shared a laugh since as the Assistant AG he had pushed Blumenthal’s agenda and brought a successful suit against the tobacco industry.
“Let me just finish this,” the ex-Congressman continued, “and it’s going to vetted, that Louis only joined the Marines after all other options ran out before he was drafted, exactly the same as Richard. He had at least five deferments at the height of the Vietnam War. When his selective service number, after his last deferment, showed he was likely to be drafted into the Army, Richard joined the Marine Reserves in DC, and so did Louis, in a unit that was almost assured of never seeing active duty in Nam. They spent their active duty weekends running toys for tots programs. All I’m trying to do is put the truth out there early before anyone goes too far supporting him. When this comes out, he’s unelectable.”
“That’s what they said about Richard Blumenthal when all this Marine stuff came out about him. Congressman, I find the whole subject rather unnerving. Could we end the discussion with the agreement it will not be any of us who will spill these beans and keep these stories going? That strategy did not work for the Republicans against Richard, and it won’t work for us against Louis Samuels in the primaries.” Jonathan Barnes uprightly concluded.
The ex-Congressman smiled and said, “Agreed.”
The others all said “agreed.”
Later that particular night Jonathan Barnes pulled the local newspaper editor Mike Slade aside. “Mike, what do you know about this stuff on Samuels?”
“First I’ve heard of it, Jonathan,” he said to his longtime patron. It was Jonathan Barnes who saw to it that Mike Slade got the post of editor when it opened up. Barnes had been overwhelmingly delighted by an in-depth story that Slade did on the construction industry in Connecticut, particularly the building of the new Stamford and specifically on the design and quality of the buildings being built by Barnes Construction.”
“Mike, I need you to get to the bottom of this. Give it everything you’ve got,” and Barnes added, “You know that conversation you keep having with me, telling me to run for the Senate? Well this may be the exact opportunity to run. There is no Republican candidate that can beat us, certainly not the wrestling babe. If this is true about Samuels, then the field is wide open on our side. I might be wrong, but I don’t think the voters will stand for two fake war heroes in a row. It’s our chance.”
“I agree. This is great news,” Slade said enthusiastically.
“Not a word, Mike. Not a single word. If all of what the Congressman said is true, I just might do it. But first I need confirmation. I need you to research this personally, no one else. Understood?” Barnes ordered.
“Understood,” Sla
de accepted.
Two weeks later Barnes began planning his campaign as Mike Slade confirmed everything the Congressman had said.
In the six weeks prior to this night’s party, Barnes billed the evening as a “discussion about the future of Connecticut.”
“Who else to lead the discussion,” Slade encouraged Barnes in the days leading up to this evening as he camped out at Barnes residence planning the announcement.
And they were all there. Everyone who could help Barnes win the party nomination and the general election in the fall, and some who could help him lose it.
Before the evening began, Jonathan went to Parker’s suite in the gate house, where Parker stayed when not in his apartment in the city. Barnes Sr. didn’t knock on entering and went up to his son, who rose and not more than one foot, nose to nose, told Parker, “From this point on in our lives, your behavior is going to be different. I’m taking a considerable risk running for senate, which will be announced tonight. I do not need any more issues from your life interfering with my life. Is that understood?”
As happened in most conversations between the two Barnes males, it was one way, directed from father to son. Yes, there were good reasons for Jonathan Barnes’ concern for his son’s behavior. Word getting out that the younger Barnes had a significant substance abuse problem would not help a run for the senate. However, Parker Barnes was blind to his father’s concern. His whole life had been lived in the intimidating shadow of the man that Parker had increasingly grown to hate.
“Is that understood?” Barnes senior repeated.
“Yes, sir,” the cowered Parker replied.
Those that could help him win were the local politicians and state representatives: two US Congressmen, and the mayors of the six largest cities in Connecticut. Also present were the moneyed class: the hedge fund owners who would centralize their hundreds of thousands of dollars behind the campaign of those who would help them avoid financial regulation; the bankers were there still as cheap as ever, contributing their meager thousands, but expecting exceptions from the Congress for their trading operations that had become huge profit centers. There were the investment fund leaders who contributed heavily, selfishly, to the one or two individuals in the state government who directed state workers and teachers’ retirement funds their way.