Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [31]
He pictured himself pulling into the nursing home, parking illegally in one of the numbered spots closest to the path, and running as fast as possible to the Clayton home, using the most direct route he knew. Crossing through the hedgerow and across the yard, he would open the back door, leaving the key inside the lock in order to save time. A few precious seconds might end up meaning a great deal, and once inside the house, his only method of egress would be through the rear door, so leaving the key wouldn’t pose a problem as long as he remembered to take it as he left. He made a quick mental note in his head, connecting the key to the Claytons’ bocce ball court. By linking the two in his mind, imagining one literally atop the other, he would automatically remember the key as he passed by the bocce court if he hadn’t already. This was a strategy that Martin had used for most of his life with great success.
Inside the house, he would make his way to the upstairs bathroom, slowing only to ascend the steps. Once in the bathroom, he would place the new toothbrush in the charger, removing the batteries from the old brush and placing them in the new one. Though part of him was loath to place the contaminated batteries in Cindy Clayton’s new toothbrush, this was a sacrifice that he was willing to make. On a future visit, he would switch the batteries for clean ones, hopefully before Cindy Clayton found the need to change them herself.
With the toothbrush in place, he would make his exit as quickly as possible, once again slowing only to descend the stairs. Once outside with key in hand, he would cross the backyard, pass through the hedgerow, and step into the relative safety of the woods behind the Clayton home, where he would resume his normal routine. He visualized each moment in his mind, imagining himself carrying out his plan with every possible detail. If things went well, he estimated that he could make it to the Clayton home and be in and out in less than twenty minutes. If he could arrive at the nursing home in the next eight minutes, he might have a chance.
At 4:13, three minutes behind schedule, Martin’s Outback roared into the Shady Glen parking lot and screeched to a halt in the space marked 73. He was out of his car and running through the forest in less than a minute.
The first flaw in his plan became evident as he reached the hedgerow guarding the rear of the Clayton property. His watch read 4:22, meaning there was a chance, however slight, that Cindy Clayton was already home. If he reentered the house without knowing for certain that it was empty, he would be placing himself in great jeopardy.
Without pausing for more than a moment to consider the problem, Martin began moving east along the hedgerow, far enough along to bring the driveway, which was thankfully adjacent to the east side of the house, into view.
No car.
Standing behind the hedgerow, trying to force his body to conform to its prickly contours, Martin thought back upon his month of surveillance, trying to recall if Cindy Clayton typically parked her Toyota Corolla in their three-car garage. He couldn’t remember for certain. Considering that the garage doors were on the side of the house and not facing the street, anyone who parked in the driveway would have to walk through the garage or around the house to the front door in order to gain entry.
Quickly scanning the many windows that faced the backyard and not seeing anyone moving within the house, Martin passed through the hedgerow and maneuvered around the pool toward the garage, keeping low and moving quickly. He came to a stop at a small window that offered a view to the inside of the garage. Flattening his body as close to