Who Killed Chrissy?: The True Crime Memoir of a Pittsburgh girl's Unsolved Murder in Las Vegas (6 page)

This
process took over a year, and from there it was court delay after court delay,
as Rick learned how to manipulate the child support system.

I
never received much money at all in this effort, and it took up so much of my
precious time away from working and caring for my child that I wanted to give
up and quit.

Ultimately,
it would go on and on for years and years and never accomplish the goal of a
monthly child support payment. It came in spurts. The system would pop some-thing
into my mailbox in the form of a child support check, but then there would be
long vacant periods of nothing but letters from the court saying the check had
been delayed again.

I
loved this Riverview apartment that sat on the edge of a massive public park
where people were busy daily with picnics and other activities.  However, in
the evenings and well into the late night, the park turned into a haven for
underage beer-drinking thugs. 

How
could I have known this before moving here? I was seriously starting to get
depressed and frightened at the white North Side gangs that were hanging out on
the side of our building late at night.

For
some reason, they chose the right side of the building, directly under my front
bedroom window—probably because it was closest to the park side—and the late
night drinking sessions were escalating into fights and bottle breaking outside
my window.  I didn’t like calling the cops, but I had to.

Once
I did that, the harassment got personal….

I
was sound asleep in my bed with my little boy next to me—he liked sleeping in
mommy’s bed sometimes and this was one of those nights.  There was a huge
crash. I sat up in my bed like someone had yanked me up on a puppet string, and
saw a blurred vision of something big that flew over my head and hit the floor
with a loud bang.

At
the same time, I looked at the window that was completely smashed and saw a
young white boy standing outside of it, like he had just thrown something; he
quickly turned and ran from the scene.

Glass
was everywhere.  I grabbed my son, who was asleep, and took him into the living
room where it was safer. I was shaking and scared; I felt my whole body go numb
with fear as I sat in the living room with my child in my arms and called the
police.

When
the police arrived they went into the bedroom and discovered the empty beer keg
that had been thrown through my window. They told me we were very lucky to have
not been injured, but I knew from that moment that I was moving out of
Riverview Park as soon as I could find another place.

The
cops filled out a report, and they knew who these boys were because they were
the same boys who I had called the cops on before. They were local boys from
the North Side area who everyone knew.

I
called my dad the next morning.  He, too, had been raised on the North Side—on
Leland Street near Perry and Charles streets. He had friends there that he grew
up with, including the local Sheriff, Gene Coon; they had gone to school
together. I knew my dad would know what to do.

Dad
stopped by my apartment a few days later and sat me down in the dining room to
talk. He said he had called some friends, and was told that the boys that ruled
the park were part of a local softball team that was endorsed and valued by the
local magistrate, Baldy Regan—and that these boys could do no wrong in Regan’s
eyes, so it was a waste of time to try and do anything that involved the local
authorities.  However, my dad added, “the cops suggested that I use a baseball
bat if I wanted results.” I immediately got the picture and knew that there was
no hope with the law.

Baldy
Regan was Mr. North Side according to every single authority in Pittsburgh,
including the Mayor, and was considered a good person by everyone. Our family
was also related through marriage in some remote way to Baldy, but there was a
bitterness there that my dad didn’t want to explain, he just said, “Listen
honey, you’ve got to move right away.”

Pittsburgh
as a city had various areas where people had their own government.  I knew
this, and I understood quite well that there was no way to fight it. It was
fixed; it was bought and paid for by clans of certain people in those areas.
And yes, the fix went all the way to the top of the chain. Fighting these fixed
areas of Pittsburgh was a losing battle, as they would destroy you if you went
against them.  You couldn’t go against the ruling clan on the North Side of
Pittsburgh, nor could you go against them if they existed in other sections of
the city. 

I
called my landlord the next day and told him I wasn’t renewing my lease, and I
started looking for apartments outside the city in the suburbs of the North
Hills of Pittsburgh. 

But
my reality was that I had to finish out my lease for the next few months in
this nightmare location. I called Rick and told him the entire story from
beginning to end, including the advice my dad had received from the cops that
there was nothing to be done about the thugs who were terrorizing my child and
me.

I
had expected things to escalate since the empty beer keg came crashing through
my bedroom window, but now I was ready to turn the situation over to Rick. I
knew that Rick would protect us, no matter what.  He wouldn’t allow harm to
come to us.

I
discovered shortly after the incident that some of the friends of the boys who
were drinking outside my window, were living in the small basement apartment
underneath mine.

They
made sure I knew who they were by taunting me every day that I took my son out
in his stroller to the park, and my anxiety and fear began to interfere with my
work. I didn’t want to leave my son home with the babysitter during the day for
fear that these thugs would bother her and she wouldn’t know what to do.

I
called Rick and he stopped over one afternoon with Anthony Capizzi Jr., Wango
Capizzi’s son. Rick had developed a close friendship with Anthony Jr. and the
two of them were inseparable at times, it seemed. They had secrets.

Rick
said, “Listen, we’re going to be coming over here some evening to handle this
problem. We will knock on your door when we arrive, then you must stay in the
apartment no matter what you hear and remember to tell your friend Chris
upstairs to do the same. Stay in your apartment and lock your doors, both of
you, no matter what.”

I
wanted to ask what they were going to do, but I didn’t ask. I just agreed to do
what they said.

A
week later Rick and Anthony banged on my door. When I opened the door they both
seemed tense and serious. Rick told me to go upstairs and tell Chris to stay in
her apartment.  I ran up the steps and knocked on Chris’s door and said,
“Rick’s here; stay in your apartment no matter what you hear.”

Chris
wanted to know what was going on, and I came back quickly with, “Shut up Chris,
don’t ask me questions right now, just lock your door and stay in your
apartment.”

Chris
agreed, and as I walked away, I could hear her locking the door. 

I
returned to my apartment, locked the door and sat on the sofa waiting.  I heard
thunder. I had to get up off the sofa and peek out the sun porch window to the
front street.

I
saw Rick and Anthony standing outside while three gigantic Samoan males burst
through the front door. I couldn’t see beyond that point so I sat back down on
the sofa, wringing my hands and starting to sweat.

I
recognized the Samoans as the fire dancers from the Hukelau and for an instant
wondered where their costumes where.

I
heard a crash that sounded like a door being busted down.  Then I heard loud
thuds like furniture being tossed around, and the screams followed.  I don’t
know how many people were in that apartment at the time, but I knew they were
all getting beat up. Once I realized that by listening to the screams coming
upstairs through the floor of my apartment, I put my feet up on the sofa and
lit a cigarette to calm my nerves.

It
was over in an instant it seemed, thunder came up the steps and out the door,
and they were gone. Five minutes later an ambulance came screaming down
Riverview Avenue and parked in front of my building.

Chris
was banging on my door and I let her in. She was laughing hysterically, and by
now she knew what had happened. I was still nervous and shaken. 

We
both stood by the sun porch window and watched as the paramedics brought a
young male out on a stretcher.  He looked up at us and pointed. We both ducked
back into the living room and fell on the sofa together laughing.

Needless
to say, there were no more incidents of drinking and breaking bottles outside
my bedroom window. Peace was all around me, but I knew I still had to get the
hell out of the North Side forever.

I
loved and respected Rick for protecting me and my child and returning us to
feeling safe in our own home. There is much to be said for a man who makes you
feel no fear in your life.

I
believed these young thugs had to have learned a hard lesson about the real
world of pay back and retribution. I thought that maybe someone had failed to
inform them that when you go around picking on strangers, you should also
prepare yourself for the possibility that these strangers may have
connections.  I decided to take that to heart and from here on in to live my
life never assuming that I knew what could possibly happen with total
strangers. Strangers are strangers, and you never know who they are or where
they came from, so why the hell would anyone want to mess with a stranger they
didn’t know?

I
called my dad the next day and told him the story. He said, “North Side justice
honey; you should be fine now, but please get another place as soon as you
possibly can so I don’t have to worry about you.”

A.I.W.F.
(Alan I.W. Frank) Corporation was filing for bankruptcy and I knew I was going
to lose my sales rep job soon.  It also meant that my company car would go
away, and I’d have to buy another vehicle on my own.

I
immediately started job hunting, but I knew I was months away from finding
another job as a manufacturer’s rep. I thought it would be nice if I could take
my time and look around for my dream job of working for a major fragrance
company, such as Estee Lauder or one of the other famous brands. The food
service industry was bland and felt like an aluminum pot to me. I wanted the
glamour of a real sales rep that dressed the part and traveled in style. Un-fortunately,
I didn’t have the luxury of waiting for anything to happen in my life; I had to
find a job as quickly as possible.

The
company’s demise was swift, and I was left jobless, but I knew that in
bankruptcy there would be no urgency in returning the company vehicle, so I
kept mine until they came and towed it away months later.

It
is now May of 1982. I hadn’t seen Chris in months since I moved out of the
Riverview apartments—we spoke by phone when we could, but it wasn’t often. I
felt safe and settled in my new location at the White Oak apartments on
McKnight Road in the suburbs of the North Hills of Pittsburgh. They had a
swimming pool for my son and the area was completely different from the North
Side. I also found the perfect babysitter for my son, an older freckled-faced
black lady named Mrs. King, who was a Christian and lived two doors down from
my apartment. She was wonderful, and she loved watching my son. He loved her,
and never complained when I had something to do that meant leaving him with the
babysitter. Mrs. King was truly a blessing for me, as she exuded a constant
stream of positive attitude because of her Christian faith. She often prayed
over me and my son, and I thought it was adorable.  I cannot think of one
moment in time that Mrs. King ever expressed unhappiness with her life. Her
husband, Ollie, was the same way; they were eternal optimists, and I liked them
the minute I met them.

In
one of my brief conversations with Chris I learned that she was no longer
seeing Chuck Werner. When I asked how he was doing she said, “Chuck has a new
girlfriend and I don’t see him anymore.” I didn’t inquire further.