777 Pine Street Mystery
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I sat in my car, the only vehicle in the parking lot of the strip mall that contained the office. It was almost eleven at night and I had just left a restaurant in Santa Clara where I’d been interviewing someone for work – not much to tell there but it would lead me closer to some answers here.
As I waited, I listened through the window and heard what sounded like a television being played at high volume inside the office. That wasn’t unusual in itself, but as the minutes passed and no one came out, I became more curious about whether anyone could be watching TV this late in the evening.
Maybe they were watching some sports event or something? The idea seemed ridiculous given the circumstances, so I turned off the radio and pulled open my cell phone screen to see if I had any messages. My eyes widened when I saw that I had several text messages waiting for me from someone named Chris Darnell.
“Holy crap,” I whispered, then tapped my fingers over my steering wheel until the texts came up. They weren’t anything urgent, just a reminder that I was going to be interviewed by the Mercury News for an article on job hunting and a few other things.
But Chris hadn’t called me since our interview two days earlier – which had led me to believe he might have gotten cold feet about talking to them about his experience working with a disgraced former congressman who now served time in jail after getting caught in a sting operation by Homeland Security for child trafficking.
Now Chris said he wanted to talk to me again, but we needed to meet up soon and he wouldn’t say why.
The first three text messages were all from him saying he was busy with work and couldn’t come to the phone right away. The last message was a single sentence, “Meet me at 7:00 AM tomorrow at Starbucks.” At least it was a meeting place within walking distance of the strip mall office.
So far it sounded like Chris hadn’t given up and decided to go ahead with telling me whatever it is he thought he knew.
But what did Chris know that he didn’t want me to find out?
And how long could it really take to write a short article for the paper about jobs? The deadline was in less than twenty-four hours and the articles were written on demand, often based entirely on interviews, so I assumed he meant tomorrow morning. It made sense, but I still wondered why Chris was willing to make a big deal about it now when he obviously wasn’t before.
What had changed his mind? And why was he suddenly concerned about giving me information that could incriminate him further?
A chill ran down my spine and I shivered, wondering if Chris could somehow know that the dead man in his apartment was involved with me and my friends at the newspaper. Was Chris being threatened by someone else too?
If he was, that meant whoever wanted to silence him had to already know something, so maybe he thought he was finally getting close. I’d have to ask him about it later if I could get him alone.
If I can find him, I thought.
My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten dinner and it was now past ten o’clock. I glanced at the office door to see if anything happened in that time period, but no one appeared, nor did they appear on any security cameras.
A few vehicles drove past me and a group of people walked across the parking lot toward an ice cream parlor that was next to my car. But most of the lights were dark and it looked like everyone who worked there had gone home for the day.
As I stared at the closed doors, another chill crept up my spine and I started shaking my head in disbelief. I’d been sitting in that same spot since five thirty this afternoon. Had Chris ever shown up? Or was I just imagining everything?
Maybe I should try calling Chris’s cell phone. If he couldn’t call me back because he was busy, then he shouldn’t have to be bothered answering my phone calls, especially if he was hiding from me. He should understand that.
Or maybe Chris was the one being harassed by someone and that’s why he wanted to meet with me. Maybe he was afraid he might disappear again, so I should let him do what he thought was best. After all, the whole reason he went into that meeting with me in the first place was because of the FBI agent who’d been following us.
If Chris felt endangered, then maybe I should leave well enough alone and trust that he has his reasons.
That was easier to say than act upon. I still wanted answers and I was pretty sure I only had one chance to ask Chris. Plus, he was a guy who had been honest with me from the start and had even helped my friend Mikey after he’d taken the rap for killing his father.
In fact, Chris was probably one of the few people who truly cared about the kids in our town, so I had to believe that what he told me was worth hearing. I wasn’t sure what that reason was yet, but he would eventually tell me the truth, or he might have already.
I tapped on my phone and sent a quick email to the Mercury News editor, telling her I’d need to cancel our interview for tomorrow due to personal circumstances and asking if she’d be able to schedule me for another date.
Then I called my sister to see if she wanted to eat out with me tonight, which turned out to be a good idea considering I was starving. She agreed to meet me at an Italian restaurant near the office. My stomach grumbled in anticipation as we hung up. It was going to be an interesting evening if nothing else.
With my stomach full again, I got back into my car and tried Chris’s cell phone again. He answered right away, sounding irritated, which made me wonder if he’d gotten the same texts I’d just seen.
“Chris, where are you?” I asked, leaning over the seat toward the front, trying not to sound worried. “Are you okay?”
He sighed heavily, making me worry more.
“It’s about those emails,” he said, referring to the messages that included death threats from what sounded like a mobster. “Can we talk about them later? I really need to go.”
The last time Chris mentioned his ex, I thought he meant it was over, but apparently, it wasn’t. That explained why he seemed to care what happened to me today, and it also explained his reluctance to come forward before.
He must have known she had family ties to people connected to my story and feared she would use that against him. Now it appeared the FBI might be involved too, but it didn’t change his reluctance to help me further.
Why did he want to meet me anyway? To warn me about some danger he saw coming and make sure I was safe? Or to give me information about his case, so he could protect himself from the woman who supposedly had connections to both my friends and mine?
And how would Chris feel about having her son’s picture splashed all over the front page of the paper the morning after my interview? It was possible he wouldn’t care. There was a possibility Chris would be happy if I exposed her son because he felt he deserved it, after all.
But if she was related somehow to my friend’s killer, she certainly wasn’t acting like she wanted to clear her family’s name. On the contrary, she was trying to ruin Chris by making his life miserable.
And if she found out about the article…
A cold sweat ran down my forehead, causing me to shiver, despite the warmth of my car and the air conditioning.
“Chris,” I said, reaching forward and touching his arm, feeling slightly guilty for doing so.
He turned his attention to me, and I could barely hear what he muttered into the phone. I couldn’t quite make it out because my ears were ringing, but I think he said “sorry.” Then he hung up without saying another word.
I was relieved when he finally turned off his phone, but it left me wondering what he’d done that warranted his apology. I was sure it had something to do with the emails, and I wondered if there would be any more messages waiting for him in his inbox once the phone was powered down again.
I decided not to mention it to him though, since there might be more important things I needed to ask about before anything else. The sooner we talked about my article, the sooner he would agree to answer my questions.
But it was clear now that Chris wasn’t keen on talking about it at all. It seemed he preferred to keep his distance until the FBI could find a way to catch this woman and her connection to what was going on in town.
That was reasonable enough. His silence had given me plenty of time to think about what he might know, and while I was fairly certain that he hadn’t committed murder or covered up for someone who did, his involvement was definitely suspicious. If he hadn’t been so evasive, I could have learned more about the case. But it appeared we’d reached a dead end.
As soon as I entered my building, I turned off my phone and took out the memory card I’d brought with me. I sat on my sofa and carefully opened the door to the camera compartment, hoping it was secure and would hold no evidence of the photos I’d taken today.
When I put the card inside a small baggie, I closed the camera and tucked it away under the cushions of the couch, taking one last glance around the place before sitting down and dialing my best friend, Julie, from the landline phone attached to the kitchen wall.
It was nearly 10 p.m., and I knew she was probably already asleep, but I figured she might appreciate knowing that I was safe and home, even though it didn’t appear that the police had found whoever killed Johnnie.
“Julie? Are you there?”
She sounded groggy when I finally heard her voice, which made me wonder if she’d just woken up.
“Did anyone wake you up for a call?” she asked. “I don’t usually get any late-night calls. Maybe it’s a wrong number…”
“No,” I said quickly. “This is Julie. It’s about Johnnie.”
When Julie stopped talking, I continued, “You remember how I went to the crime scene today and talked to the police officer about Johnnie’s murder? Well, then I got back to my car and checked the pictures I took, and I found something really interesting. You know how they’ve been calling this a gang hit because Johnnie was part of the Bloods?”
Julie laughed. “Of course, I remember. What happened to your hands? Did you get cut?”
“Not exactly. Look at my fingers, for instance.”
“Uh, huh,” Julie said.
“The guy was wearing gloves, so it’s not proof. But I noticed something else odd.”
“Oh,” Julie said, sounding more alert. She waited for me to continue.
“Someone must have painted Johnnie’s face.”
Julie let out a soft laugh.
“They were covering up their mistake, Julie. Because if the killer had left his fingerprints behind, I would have seen them, wouldn’t I? So, obviously, these are not Johnnie’s prints, right?”
After hearing Julie nod, I carried on.
“Now, it doesn’t prove anything. There could still be some other reason why his face was painted. For example, maybe there was blood spatter or something.”
That was true, I thought. And I was sure that if the murderer had left his fingerprints, someone like Detective Thomas would have seen them. As soon as I finished explaining, Julie interrupted with a short, “Ooh,” making me grin.
“So?” she asked.
“If Chris had known Johnnie, he might have been able to identify who was responsible,” I told her. “And if he had, maybe he would have mentioned it to me. He’s pretty much been avoiding me since we spoke earlier. I think it might have something to do with what he saw in my pictures. Or it might be nothing.”
Julie let out another soft laugh.
“Maybe, but if Chris knows anything about the identity of Johnnie’s murderer, it’s better if you can talk to him before the cops get their hands on him. They’re likely to grill him hard, and if he has information, it won’t help him if he ends up on some kind of witness list. Plus, it would make sense to speak privately before the news media starts digging into everything.”
There was a brief pause before she added, “You don’t know anyone by the name of Joe Coughlin, do you?”
A chill ran down my spine.
“What about him?”
“Nothing. Just checking.”
It was obvious she wasn’t going to elaborate, so I changed the subject.
“Have you had dinner?”
“I haven’t eaten yet,” Julie admitted. “Can you come over? You don’t mind driving over here? It’s only a couple blocks away.”
“Are you kidding me? Of course, I’ll drive.”
“Cool. See you in a few minutes. Thanks for being there for me.”
Julie hung up, leaving me alone again with the memory cards in my hands. I knew I needed to find somewhere safe to keep them until I found someone who could identify the man in the photos. Then I’d take the evidence to the detective and hope he believed I hadn’t tampered with anything.
If they didn’t believe me, they would probably arrest me anyway, but then at least my family and friends would know it was justified.
Once Julie was home, we sat around for hours drinking coffee while talking about everything but what we were supposed to be working on. We talked about our families and how they spent Christmas. It was strange because we never talked like that before.
I guess we were both trying to cope with what had happened to Johnnie by talking about other stuff. At one point Julie said something that made me laugh.
“How old is your mother now? Fifty-something? She must be getting old because she looks ancient!”
I smiled at the compliment. My mother was turning fifty the next month. “Yes, it’s coming along nicely,” I said. “But how old do you think I am?”
She hesitated a moment. “Thirty-two,” she guessed.
“Nope. Thirty-one.”
“Yeah…that’s probably right.”
We both laughed again, and it felt good. The laughter brought us closer together, and when Julie suggested we order pizza from Papa John’s, I agreed instantly.
It had been months since we ate there together; I couldn’t remember the last time they delivered to our block. I liked it when Julie ordered because she usually picked unusual dishes like pepperoni pie and chicken parmesan – two of my favorites.
When the food arrived, I went downstairs with Julie to fetch a couple of plates, which led me to the kitchen. It was empty except for the smell of freshly baked cookies, the remnants of my late-night baking. I was surprised to see my mom was in there, sitting at the table with my father, eating a slice of pizza.
I was about to say hello, but just then a knock sounded on the front door. Before I could answer, the sound of footsteps came from outside, accompanied by the jingle of keys rattling inside a lock. A second later, the door burst open, sending the entire apartment building into chaos.
My parents stood in front of the door with shocked faces, their eyes darting from me to the person they saw through the window. I looked at her too, feeling completely numb.
The woman wearing an NYPD uniform was carrying a box filled with doughnuts, and her hair was tied back with a red ribbon. In contrast to the police officer standing behind her, she barely reached the waist of my mother as they hugged each other tightly.
Julie was already on her feet when the door opened, her eyes widening in surprise as she looked at the cop with the doughnut box.
“Hello?” Julie called out to her. “Are you here to deliver these?”
“No, Julie,” the cop answered. Her voice sounded strained. “These are for you.”
***
Julie took a step toward the woman, looking confused. “This isn’t right,” she said softly. “I thought you weren’t supposed to deliver things after ten o’clock at night.”
It was only then the significance of the delivery hit me. Julie was right. No one should be delivering doughnuts at nine p.m. – not even in New York City.
In that moment, the truth slammed into me with such force I fell to my knees, unable to breathe or move my arms.
The End