Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [112]
Beneath these bills and warnings, Martin found a letter from the Trust Realty Company of Virginia Beach, Virginia, indicating that first and last month’s rent plus deposit had been received more than a week ago and that “Mr. Darrow could move into his townhouse” on November 1, a little less than a week away.
Clive Darrow was moving to Virginia in less than a week, and for about six months prior to his move, he had stopped paying his bills entirely. It was as if he were preparing to flee the state.
Martin finished shuffling through the stack of mail and found little more of interest. A great deal of junk mail, a couple of late notices from Jordan’s Furniture (late by eight months) and Target (late by two months), and several envelopes addressed to Darrow by hand but no longer containing any letters and lacking return addresses. Nothing more. Most important, there was no evidence indicating that Clive Darrow had any intention of harming Sophie Pearl.
Still, Martin had the sense that something was wrong.
Finishing up with the mail, Martin made one more pass through the house, opening drawers and cabinets in the kitchen and bathroom and finding nothing. Not one plate, fork, or cup. Not even a toothbrush or sleeping bag. Martin began to wonder if Clive Darrow had any intention of returning to this house, and this began to make him worry even more.
Forgoing his usual final inspection of a house, Martin closed the front door completely before exiting through the side door. Though he didn’t expect to find much, a cursory examination of the garage also yielded nothing. It was as empty as the house itself. Back on the move, Martin walked down the driveway and back onto the street, breaking into a jog once he was past Darrow’s house. He wanted to get to his car as quickly as possible and make a phone call.
Perhaps Sherman Pearl had gone out for the evening, leaving Sophie Pearl home alone.
Because Martin was in his hometown, finding another public phone proved rather simple. Less than a mile away, across the street from Kennedy Park, was a 7-Eleven with a pay phone that Martin had used in the past. Again, no cameras were in view of the phone, making it a safe place to call from, though his own personal safety was becoming less of a concern as the minutes passed.
Martin came to a screeching halt in the parking lot, and after nearly forgetting to don another pair of surgical gloves, he managed to push his last quarter into the phone’s slot despite his trembling hands.
The phone rang five times before Martin heard Sherman Pearl’s prerecorded voice inform him that no one was home at this time. Martin hung up the phone before the beep and walked back to his car, attempting to assess the situation.
It was perfectly conceivable that Sherman and Sophie Pearl had gone out to dinner or a movie tonight, and that was the reason they had not picked up the phone. According to Martin’s watch, which was set to the online atomic clock in Greenwich, subtracting four hours for time-zone differences, it was 9:35, making it still relatively early for a couple out on the town. It was also Friday, a night when people traditionally went out to dinner and a movie, so this assumption was certainly within reason. In all likelihood, the couple were sitting in a darkened theater at this moment, watching some indie film, if he knew the Pearls well. No big-budget action adventure epics for them.
It was also possible that Sherman Pearl had gone out on his own tonight, to a poker game, a business dinner, or anything else that a guy like him might do. Therefore, it was possible that Sophie Pearl was sitting at home alone this evening, unaware of the danger that she might be in, but Martin didn’t think so. From what he knew about the