Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [65]
Computers at the Newington Public Library were assigned on a first-come, first-serve basis, and no identification was required to use them. Each computer was also attached to its own printer, and patrons paid for their printing on the honor system, handing over five cents for each copy to the desk clerk upon exiting the building. This allowed Martin to print anything that he needed without the risk of someone seeing it emerge from a public printer in the center of the library or behind the circulation desk. In addition, the Newington Public Library wasn’t equipped with any surveillance cameras, so anything that Martin printed while he was there would be completely untraceable.
In order to avoid the prying eyes of his fellow patrons, Martin typed his letter using Microsoft Word, first reducing the Word window to a two-by-one-inch rectangle so that only a single word or two appeared at any time on the screen. This made composing difficult but not impossible. Once the entire letter was complete, Martin waited until he was certain that no one would pass by his monitor for a moment and then enlarged the window in order to proofread the message in its entirety.
Martin had been composing the note in his head throughout the day, but even with a solid idea of what to say, it took him more than forty-five minutes and eight separate drafts before he was satisfied with the words that were emerging from the laser printer to the left of his computer. As the paper slid its way out of the printer, Martin extracted a surgical glove from his pocket and surreptitiously placed it on his left hand. Once the printer had spit out its sheet, Martin removed it and placed it inside a manila folder that he had brought along with him, careful to handle the letter and folder with only his protected fingers.
Martin then removed an envelope from the same folder (also with his gloved hand) and placed it into the printer. Prior to driving over to Newington, he had stopped at an office supply store and purchased a box of standard envelopes for this purpose. Using surgical gloves, he had removed an envelope from the box and examined it for any distinguishing marks or code numbers that might link it to his purchase. Finding none, he had placed it into the manila folder, which he had carried into the library.
Changing the program’s settings so that the printer would address his envelope, Martin typed in Alan Clayton’s business address, which he had memorized the previous evening before burning the business card in the fireplace. He took an extra minute to ensure that he had fed the envelope into the printer properly, concerned because he had only brought in one envelope and wanted to avoid a second, more conspicuous trip back into the library. Satisfied, he clicked on the Print icon and was pleased to see that everything was in order.
His work complete, Martin closed Word, clicking the No box when asked if he would like to save changes to each of his documents. He dropped a dime into the basket at the circulation counter and exited the library without anyone taking a second glance, a fact that pleased him immeasurably. Martin was confident that, if they only knew what he had just written, people would be very interested in him.
Martin arrived in Lincoln, Rhode Island, three hours later and stopped at the first public mailbox that he found, located outside a small retail plaza near a high school. Lincoln had been chosen at random by dropping a die onto a map of southern New England and waiting to see where it might stop. Seeing that it covered parts of the towns of Lincoln and Cumberland, Martin chose Lincoln because of its more convenient access from Route 146, a major north-south highway running through central Massachusetts and Rhode Island.
Parked beside the mailbox, Martin placed two more surgical gloves on his hands and extracted the letter and envelope from the manila folder. It read:
Alan
Bring your wife a single red rose