Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [78]
Besides, the dog might also be upon him before he ever reached the kitchen.
In a final burst of speed, Martin flung himself into the room at the end of the hall, simultaneously reaching for, missing, reaching, missing again, and then finally grasping and closing the door behind him. As the hallway disappeared from view behind the rapidly closing door, he saw the Labrador attempting to slow down before slamming its muzzle against the door’s wooden base.
Had it not clicked shut in time, Martin doubted whether he could have held the door closed against the weight and speed of the large animal.
Seconds later the barking came, a constant stream of yelps, complete with scratching and pawing, further terrifying an already shaking Martin. If the barking continued for too long, a neighbor might become worried and call the police, especially if Cujo (the name he had already assigned the beast) was not in the habit of making this much noise during the day.
Unsure what to do, Martin turned to take in the room that had now become his prison. It appeared to be a sparsely furnished sitting room of sorts, with a sofa, an easy chair, a barren coffee table, and a small television. Two things immediately eased his mind: a pair of windows that might serve the need for a possible escape and a home-office area along the far wall, complete with desk, filing cabinets, and a computer. Had Martin not been attacked by Cujo, this was the room that he would have ultimately sought out.
This meant that his plan was still possible.
But first, Martin thought, something needed to be done about the barking. More than a minute had passed and Cujo showed no signs of letting up.
Martin’s only other experience similar to this had been with Alfredo, and in that case Martin had quieted the bird (and eventually befriended it) by giving it what it wanted: conversation. In this case, giving Cujo what he wanted might mean offering himself up as a human sacrifice, which would not do.
Martin wondered if speaking to the dog might help as it had for Alfredo. Using the most soothing voice possible, Martin began talking to the dog, assuring it that he was a friend and only here to help (which ironically was true).
“It’s all right, boy … I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m just here to help.”
Though he knew that he was breaking his rule about speaking inside a client’s home, he didn’t hesitate a bit, reminding himself once again that Laura Green was not a client but simply a person in need of assistance. He would never be inside this house again, so in the unlikely event that listening devices were recording his voice, there was little danger that this evidence would ever be used against him.
Remarkably, the talking worked, at least to a degree.
Martin found that as long as he was speaking to the dog, it wouldn’t bark. It might growl or whine a bit, but as long as he continued to talk, the dog was relatively quiet. When he stopped talking, the barking resumed, louder and angrier than before.
Switching to a soothing and repetitious rendition of the ABCs in order to allow him to refocus his concentration, Martin readjusted the rubber gloves on his hands, checked that his hairnet was still in place, and resecured his pick gun under the waistband of his sweatpants.
Ready to move, he thought as he covered the last four letters of the alphabet before starting again. Calmness was returning quickly as he began to fall back into habit and routine.
Martin had conducted searches like this many times before and had the process down to a science. Be thorough and fast. Work from top to bottom. Don’t ignore items in plain sight. Remember that the absence of information can be just as valuable as information itself. Assume that every item holds value.
In this frame of mind, he began his search.
He began by taking three photographs of the desk, each from a different angle, to be used in the event that he couldn’t remember where an object belonged. He would do the same for each drawer that he opened as well.
Photos