Jason Pinter - The Stolen

All of this seemed to jibe with what I remembered of

Benjamin. He'd brought up Attica that night I was held in the basement on Huntley. And I distinctly remembered that long, thin scar running down his cheek.

I went through every article I could find pertaining to

Raymond Benjamin and the riots. Then, in a small item in the Journal News, a paper that served Westchester, Putnam and Rockland counties in New York, I found a short item in which Raymond Benjamin was named. It was accom-292

Jason Pinter panied by a photograph, as well. I recognized Benjamin immediately.

The photo was taken at a ribbon-cutting ceremony at the opening of a new shopping mall in Chappaqua, New

York. Chappaqua was a pretty tony suburb, and I wondered what Ray was doing there. In the photo he was wearing a hard hat. And he was clapping. The caption read, "Workers from Powers Construction celebrate. Raymond Benjamin of Hobbs County among those proud of this state-of-theart development."

Right there, two things leaped out at me. Raymond

Benjamin was from Hobbs County. Just like Daniel

Linwood and the Reed family. Not to mention Dmitri

Petrovsky. No doubt that's how Ray met the good doctor.

And second, according to the article, Benjamin was employed by a company called Powers Construction. I couldn't picture the man who pressed a lit cigarette to my skin working on a job site, holding a jackhammer under his gut. It didn't seem right. This was a guy whose job was to hurt, to kill, not to build.

Unless it was a sham.

I logged off the machine and went straight to Wallace's office. He was on the phone, but when he saw me enter he said, "I'll call you back," and hung up. He turned to me, pressed his palms on the desk.

"Henry," he said. "How's your friend Sheffield?"

"He'll pull through," I said. "A centimeter in another direction and it would have been a different story. He'll have a tough recovery, but he's a tough guy."

"I'm glad to hear that. And you saw Jack out there- the place wasn't the same without him."

"No, sure wasn't."

"And how are you holding up?"

"Can I use up my daily allotment of 'I've been better'?"

"Consider it done."

"Great," I said. "What do you know about an outfit called Powers Construction?"

Wallace shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell. Why do you ask?"

"I've been doing some research on the man I think is behind these kidnappings, and he's named in a New York paper as working with this Powers Construction company.

It just doesn't seem to make sense. The guy I saw seems to be more handy with a gun than a screwdriver."

"I'm sorry, off the top of my head I don't know."

"You think it could be a front? He's employed there for legal purposes, maybe does his wet work on the side? You know, waste-management consulting?"

Wallace chuckled. "It's possible," he said. "But then why would Powers Construction employ the man if he's got a record-which he would have to disclose-and to top that off, he's hardly a model employee?"

"Until now, he hasn't been in any trouble since the seventies. Something just feels off here."

"Do some looking into this Powers Construction,"

Wallace said. "Are they a legit outfit? And where are they based out of?"

"Putnam County," I said. "They've done work all over the surrounding towns. Including Hobbs County, which as it turns out is the birthplace of our very own psychopath Benjamin."

"You know, now that I think about it," Wallace said, "I remember reading somewhere that Powers Construction was responsible for some pretty major jobs. Not just commercial, but residential, too. If I remember correctly, a congressman who recently retired had a mansion built by Powers."

"I'll check it out," I said. "But if you're right, it definitely seems like these might be some big-time players in real estate development."

"Strange times for that market," Wallace said. "Millions of people's lives are being ruined by the subprime mortgage mess. Government's doing what it can to help, but it can't help everyone. You're going to have a lot of foreclosures over the next few years. And that means a lot of business for a company like Powers. People buy up those foreclosed homes, then either gut and renovate or simply tear them down and rebuild."

"Strange," I said, thinking. I felt like a piece of the puzzle might have just become clearer. "I spent a lot of time in Meriden and Hobbs County recently. And in both places it was obvious they'd seen more work than Joan

Rivers. Each town was like a tale of two cities-one old and decrepit, one new and rebuilt."

"I'm sure if part of the town was rebuilt, it's only a matter of time before the rest catches up."

"Maybe," I said. "Even the Linwoods' house looked like it had been carved out of marble recently. When I read up on Daniel Linwood's kidnapping, the family received thousands of dollars in donations, public and anonymous.

No idea if that went into their house, but I'll tell you, it wasn't the only one on the block that looked new. I'm wondering if Powers Construction has held the scalpel over

Hobbs County. And if so, maybe they're tied into the mess somehow."

"Even if you think it's not about the money," Wallace said, "it's about the money."

Obviously there was a strong motive for Powers Construction to want to be a part of some major rebuilding projects in Hobbs County, as well as other towns and cities across the Northeast. I still felt like I was missing something. Follow the money, Wallace said. That's what I decided to do. I had to talk to Reggie Powers.

The home office of Powers Construction was located at Twenty-Third and Fifth in Manhattan. Before calling over, I decided to do a little research on the company.

Their Web site had one of those incredibly flashy designs, and I could picture Reggie Powers grimacing as he handed over thousands of dollars to some tech geeks who'd likely never seen a working construction side. The company logo was an intersected P and C.

Both letters looked like they were made out of curved steel, bolts and all.

Powers was, according to the site, one of the leading commercial and residential contractors in the entire Northeast. Their projects ranged from billion-dollar properties, from several financial institutions, to smaller homes and houses. They were credited for having essentially rebuilt several small towns, and were even one of the contractors called in to evaluate the Gulf Coast after the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. Whatever the size of the project, it looked like Powers Construction was the bidder to beat.

It was no secret that the construction industry had some shady underpinnings, since the majority of contracts were doled out to the lowest bidder. The problem therein was

that the lowest bidders often miscalculated their budgets, necessitating a six-million-dollar property costing north of seven million. Yet the smarter, or shadier companies

(amazing how often the two went hand in hand), worked out sweetheart deals to rig bids. The contractor would offer a bid far lower than any of his competitors, which was of course accepted. If they ran over budget, which was almost guaranteed, the bill would be settled under the table. This meant projects were bid on for far less money than they actually cost, keeping other companies out of the loop, but allowing the illegal parties to get rich based on the sheer number of developments they partnered on.

Reggie Powers himself had quite an interesting story.

According to his online biography, he was the most influential black construction owner in the entire country.

Born in Crown Heights in 1959, Powers had little formal education and had worked various construction jobs throughout his formative years. Then after the Crown