Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [63]
After years of training, Martin was able to run more than five miles with relative ease, and so as he made his way past the sixteen homes that lined Ridgewood Road on the way to the Hughs’ home, he slowed his pace and paid special attention to the houses and driveways of the Hughs’ neighbors. Too many cars in the driveways would indicate a concentration of stay-at-home moms, and if this were the case, Martin might reject the Hughs as clients. Nosy neighbors were not good in Martin’s line of work, particularly stay-at-home wives with no children. Without children, the women could easily find themselves in the role of bored housewives, and these were people whom Martin did not trust. Too much time on their hands spelled a potential disaster for someone attempting to remain unnoticed.
Traffic cameras, ATM machines, and locations like gas stations, where exterior video surveillance cameras recorded automobile and foot traffic, were also areas of concern for Martin when evaluating a neighborhood. He had read that the average American is recorded by no less than half a dozen video cameras in a single day, at traffic lights, inside stores and banks, and at hundreds of other locations where video surveillance was routine. If the entrance to Ridgewood Road was manned by a traffic camera, and this was the only approach that he could make to the Hughs’ home, Martin would likely eliminate them as potential clients, fearing that his routine visit would be recorded and used as evidence against him one day. Fortunately, Ridgewood Road was an offshoot of an equally residential street, so traffic cameras and local businesses equipped with video surveillance were of no concern in this case.
As he approached the Hughs’ home, Martin removed the broken leash from his pocket and allowed it to dangle from his hands while assuming a worried look by furrowing his brows and widening his blue eyes (a routine he had practiced many times in the mirror before today). A few hundred yards from the target, he increased his pace and began darting his eyes left and right, glancing across lawns and side yards and into the copses of trees that separated many of the homes in this neighborhood. He then altered his pace, slowing down briefly gazing intently at a line of shrubs and a stand of poplars before speeding up again. All of this movement had been carefully choreographed and rehearsed many times before, and Martin had actually videotaped this performance several times in order to critique it. In his mind, his actions were flawless. He was playing the role of a man looking for his dog, and he was playing it brilliantly.
With less than fifty yards to go, Martin looked left, stopped, and then sprinted into the treeline along the south side of the Hugh property, moving far enough into the trees in order to gain a full view of the Hughs’ backyard. It was almost noon on a Tuesday, and there was no evidence that anyone was present in the Hugh residence, but for the benefit of someone who might be home, Martin also began shouting “Sandy?” as he closed in on the Hughs’ backyard. “Sandy” had been the name of the dog in Martin’s first-grade reader, Bing and Sandy, and in homage to his first-grade teacher, Mrs. Dubois, he had chosen the name for his ruse.
He didn’t need to go far before he was hit with disappointment. Along the rear border of the Hughs’ expansive