Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [74]
Martin took in all these details as he stood in front of the home, tying his purposefully uncooperative shoelaces. Pretending to struggle with the laces made him think about Mrs. Carroll, the kindergarten teacher who had once warned him that he would not graduate to first grade until he had learned to tie his shoes and recite his telephone number by heart. He recalled the stress that her demands had placed on his six-year-old psyche and smiled.
This task would prove to be infinitely more challenging than anything Mrs. Carroll could have thrown at him.
Martin had hoped for a better situation than this. Had Laura Green been referred to Martin as a potential client, he would have dismissed her following the drive-by without a second thought. This was simply not the kind of home to which Martin would ever attempt to gain access.
Until today.
With his troublesome shoe finally tied, Martin continued his jog around the block, reviewing the situation in his mind. It was October and the house appeared empty. Two of the adjacent neighbors appeared to be absent as well, but the third neighbor had two identical Volkswagen Beetles parked in the driveway and fans running in the upstairs windows. This was also the neighbor closest to the Greens’ side door, the most likely point of entry for Martin. Though it was apparent that children lived at the residence, it was unlikely that they were home alone during the day while their mother worked. Since it was October, Martin assumed that they were probably at school or daycare, safely out of the way.
Martin considered all of these factors while also reminding himself that Laura Green was not a client, nor would she ever be a client. Certain precautions and routines that he took with a typical client might be avoidable in this case, but which of these could be omitted while still avoiding detection remained a question.
Next he checked his watch. 3:03. If he was going to make his move, it would have to be soon. If Laura Green left work before Martin could act, he would be forced to abort his plan. She would have to be in a public location in order for him to have even a chance at success. Of greatest concern to Martin was the visibility of the front and side doors of the home. He had no doubt in his mind that he could gain entry, but he worried that one of the many neighbors might see him doing so.
As Martin turned back onto West Middle Turnpike, he removed the broken leash from his pocket and began yelling for Sandy, assuming the lost-pet-owner persona that had become second nature to him. When he reached Laura Green’s driveway, he bolted left past the side door and into her backyard, where he stopped, looking left and right, continuing to shout for Sandy but quickly taking in all that he saw at the same time.
Martin first noted that the backyard was littered with large, colorful plastic toys, additional indicators of the existence of the Green children. A Fisher-Price picnic table, a plastic lawn mower that popped plastic balls around like a popcorn popper, and a variety of rubber balls were strewn from the house to the edge of the fence. More important, Martin noted two additional entrances to the Green home, one through a sliding glass door adjacent to a patio and another through a hatchway leading into the basement. Though sliding glass doors were nearly impossible for Martin to pick, the hatchway held potential. One of Martin’s clients in Glastonbury kept their hatchway unlocked at all times, and Martin had used it as a means of entry for years.
Still shouting out the name of his lost dog, Martin moved toward the metallic doors of the hatchway, feigning interest in a copse of shrubs growing alongside it. Even with the fence at the rear of the property, Martin noted, it was possible for someone in the backyard neighbor’s home to see him if he or she were on the second floor, looking out of one of the three windows that faced the Green property. Peering over his shoulder