Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [47]
With his moment of admiration over, Martin began the process of unloading the day’s acquisitions, trying to put the incident in the Claytons’ home out of his mind while he took care of business. But there was so much to ignore.
The danger that he had just faced.
The inconceivable lack of regard for the rules that had kept him safe for so long.
And Cindy Clayton’s voice, seeming to speak directly to him, as if he were meant to be in that closet at that particular moment. Only with great effort was he able to put these things out of his mind and concentrate on his work.
Lining the east wall of the garage were three rectangular banquet tables, empty except for a laptop and external hard drive positioned atop the table closest to the door to the house. Martin had set his computer up before exiting the garage earlier in the morning, and now with the touch of a button and the entry of a sixteen-digit password, the computer’s fan began to whir and the operating system began to boot.
While the computer readied itself, Martin unloaded the items from the back of his Subaru, sorting them by where they would eventually be stored within the home. Frozen goods and refrigerated items were placed closest to the laptop for rapid processing, with dry goods, cleaning supplies, and toiletries positioned further down the tables.
Before he could process any of his acquisitions, however, several important tasks needed to be completed. Using a paper shredder that was set up beneath the center table of his staging area, Martin destroyed the four acquisition lists that he had used in each home that day, allowing the machine to devour the flourish of French that he had so meticulously typed less than twenty-four hours ago. Later he would burn these paper shreds in his fireplace along with other potentially incriminating evidence, including the hairnet that he had worn, the four pairs of latex gloves and rubber moccasins—one pair per house—that he had donned before entering, and of course, his pants.
Just the thought that he was still wearing them made his skin crawl, but he knew that, as much as it pained him, processing his acquisitions would have to come before disinfecting his body. Unprocessed acquisitions posed a danger to Martin and his career, and his jeans did not. They would have to wait. But he would most assuredly take great pleasure in watching the contaminated denim burn along with the other essential parts of his work attire.
Thankfully, the items that Martin wore when visiting clients were simple to procure. Hairnets were easy to find in a variety of stores, including pharmacies and supermarkets, and Martin considered them very important, particularly in light of the proliferation of DNA evidence that law enforcement officers were using today. A single stray hair left inside a client’s home might be enough to convict him, so although Martin’s hair wasn’t very long (and he had actually considered shaving his head for a long time but thought that an average head of hair would attract less attention), a hairnet was an essential element of his uniform, and explaining its presence if caught would be simple enough. Though Martin did not suffer from dandruff, the large supply of dandruff treatments in his bathroom (courtesy of Maurice Grant) provided enough evidence of his affliction, so if questioned, he would justify his hairnet as a means of keeping his flaking scalp to himself.
Acquiring latex gloves had also been fairly easy; there were several local medical supply stores that sold the gloves in bulk. But devising a cover story as to why he required so many