When I found out that Annie was missin', it was that kind of night, when a dense fog over the river clung to the air. It was like somethin' that could steal a breath. The outside lights weren't visible, from the house next door, and they're always on when it's dark. With the rain bein' warm and the ground still cool, it made the murky cloud the kind that would last till noon, the next day.
Jeff Briggs must have known what the weather report would be, for those three ugly nights from hell. It was his plan that got Annie dead; I just know it. But I'll make certain ole' Jeffrey pays the price for what he did to her. Annie was my twenty-four year old, fraternal twin sister. I'm her brother, Barry Santini. I might be taking too much for granted here, but I'm helpin' the cops, whether they like it or not.
Annie was the type of lady that men fell for easily. Her hair was long, soft and dark brown. Most times, she wore it just layin' over her shoulders. Her skin was perfect, and her eyes a deep green; like a couple of beautiful emeralds, they were. Her smile; boy, it was worth a million bucks. She had a figure that knocked men's socks off, and she knew it; but she wasn't the type of woman to flaunt herself. She wasn't conceded, neither; just used her looks to her advantage, to model for the local store ads. Annie had a sorta' yen to work her way up into the pro model circuit; but even with all her beauty, they told her that a size eight was too big. I think that's a load of bull. Her portfolio was terrific. She looked like a real woman; not like any of those other underfed broads, without chests and all their bones showin'.
I read parts of Annie's diary today, to see if she talked about Jeff. I'm not surprised that there were several pages about him; but she couldn't have known his real character very well. They met about eight months ago, at work. She told me that she was seeing Jeff, but when we talked, she didn't boast. I know my sister and if she thought she was in love, she'd brag. It looks to me as though Annie may have tried to call it off, though. This last passage she wrote in here, about three months ago reads, "Jeff is a nice guy, but he has strange ways about him. He's disorganized, overly talky at times, has some bizarre schemes to get rich; he's too possessive. He's extravagant beyond his means and charges up a storm of debt. I would like to get to know him better before rushing into anything. I'm not ready to just pack up and go live with him. Sometimes he looks at me with desire, but other times, I just don't know; he's been acting sorta' creepy."
It wasn't like my sis, to just take off somewhere and not tell me she would be leavin'. She always told me where she'd be, in case she was in trouble, any kind of trouble. It was a pact that we've had since our parents died five years ago and we always stuck to it. The sad part is, Detective Cook won't tell me nothin' more than the basics. So I'm keepin' her diary a secret, at least for now. When I reported Annie missin', I made sure I got to her apartment first, before the cops. I knew she had the diary. Sure, they want all the dope on Sis, but I don't want them makin' any of their psychological assumptions. I don't think the diary would tell them that much, anyway, except for the fact she thought Jeff was sometimes creepy. That's just a given for some men, and I must admit, I'm a bit of a creep at times. Annie's real friends won't talk to the cops neither, and that I know that for a fact.
I haven't been able to see nothin' but part of her mangled face, for ID. I confess, I cried for hours after that. They found her head in a round hatbox, inside a dumpster downtown, in Queens. It makes me want to kill Jeffery.
I told the cops that I didn't want the press to know anythin' about it; but, I gave them the names of a couple of her co-workers, at Swanson's Office Supply, where she had a part-time job, when she wasn't bein' photographed. I told them about her boss and two acquaintances; one of them is Jeff. I won't give them nothin' else until I first talk to her closest friend, which is Natalie Bonaquisto. She's always been her best friend, since they were little. Boy, she's gonna' take this really hard; but, she might be able to tell me a little more than Annie's diary. I'm takin' notes for my own journal. I wouldn't want to depend on my memory, just in case. That wouldn't help the cops or me later on, if I decide to give it to them. I may be bold, but I'm not stupid. I'll be the first to admit that my head isn't exactly screwed on straight, right now.
Day One: Natalie took a long time answerin' the phone. Maybe she was in the shower, but I didn't ask.
"Hey, Nat, how ya doin'?"
"That you, Barry? Gosh, to what do I owe the honor?" she asks in excited anticipation.
"Well, ah, I sorta' got a favor I want to ask ya, Nat; but it's hard to do it over the phone. Do ya mind if I drop by this afternoon?" I inquired, with a lump in my throat.
"You bein' serious? Is everything okay with you, Barry?"
"I'm just a little confused at the moment, and I need your help?"
"I'm surprised you're not asking Annie, like always. Did you two have a fight or something?"
"No; no fight; she's not available. So I thought I'd give you a ring. I figured maybe you'd have a few minutes you could spare."
"Sure, Barry, sure. You come on by, okay. I'll be here," she said.
I hated doing that to Natalie. It was like I was lyin' just enough till I could break the bad news. Man o man, this is gonna' be rough.
I arrived at Nat's house about three o'clock; she seemed really nervous. I don't know if it was the look I gave her when she opened the door, or if she had a deeper feelin' that somethin' wasn't quite right. She looks great with her hair up, but I noticed she had a large scratch on her neck, by the hairline.
"Come in, Barry. Gosh, it's good to see you; it's been awhile, eh?" Natalie greeted, plantin' a kiss on my cheek. "Come in the living room and sit down. I'll get us some coffee, okay? I made a fresh pot."
"Sure, Nat. I could use a cup. You know how I like my java. Hey, what's up with that deep scratch on your neck."
"You didn't ask where my dog is. Remember Goldie? I had to put him down. His cancer got bad. He clung to my neck when I was trying to hand him over to the vet."
"Oh man; I forgot about him. Geesis, Natthat's too bad."
"So ah, what's goin' on with you, Barry?" Natalie yelled from the kitchen. "It's not like you to have problems. I thought you and Annie sorta' got things squared away before any stuff came up. You two are always so resourceful," she said with a half-smile, as she handed me the coffee.
"Hey, Nat, um, you got anything to put in this coffee?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll get you some Tia Maria, okay?"
"Okay, that'll work."
Judgin' by the expression on Natalie's face, when she gazed at me over her shoulder, I think she suspected that there's more to this visit than just ironing out some sorta' problem. She opened the liquor cabinet, pushed the vodka aside, and grabbed the Tia Maria; not what I'd call my favorite, but it was better than nothin'.
"Here, Barry. Just take the bottle and pour in how much you want. I don't use shot glasses anymore, eh," she giggled nervously. "Now, tell me, what's goin' on with you that can't wait for your sister," she probed, sittin' across from me, and foldin' her arms across her chest.