Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [99]
This was the most severe moving violation of Martin’s life.
Less than thirty seconds later, Martin was within five car-lengths of the pickup, resuming his tail. Had this been an ordinary client, Martin wouldn’t fear detection as much as he did now. Ordinary people weren’t typically concerned about being followed, and rarely would someone suddenly become aware of the same vehicle in the rearview mirror for an extended period of time. But in Martin’s business, the threat of being followed was a constant concern. He imagined that the intruder might feel the same way.
Martin maintained a safe distance for the next two miles before the pickup made a left turn onto what Martin knew was a residential street. Had the pickup continued on for another three blocks, the intruder would have reached Park Road, a main thoroughfare through town. Turning off prior to Park Road probably meant that the intruder’s destination was somewhere within the twelve to sixteen blocks that made up this middle-class neighborhood.
Wary of following the pickup into the residential area (tailing a car on a main road was one thing, but doing so on a side street might draw suspicion), Martin continued past the turn (Ascension Street), taking the next left instead, hoping to reacquire the pickup as it crossed through the neighborhood.
This is when Martin’s luck failed him. By the time he rounded the block and was at the intersection of Gates Road and Ascension Street, one block north of Quaker, the pickup truck was nowhere to be seen.
Martin was not immediately concerned. There were obvious explanations for the absence of the truck. There could have been an additional side street dividing Ascension: a cross street, a dead end, or a cul-de-sac. Or the intruder’s destination (and perhaps his home) might be somewhere on Ascension Street. As long as he didn’t park his truck in a garage, finding it would be only a matter of time.
Martin quickly decided to turn right onto Ascension, continuing north on the same street where he had expected to find the pickup. As he rolled slowly through the neighborhood, he scanned both sides of the road, looking for the blue truck or a side street where it might have turned. After less than a block, Martin spotted it, disappearing behind the automated door of a garage set behind a small white Cape. As he pulled past the property, Martin spotted the intruder walking up the driveway toward a side door. Martin took note of the house number, 414, before continuing past the house and circling back to Quaker Lane.
414 Ascension Street. That was probably all he needed in order to identify the intruder.
By late morning, Martin had finished processing the day’s acquisitions (managing to visit the remaining three clients on his list in near-record time), and with his workday complete, he was now ready to identify the Pearls’ intruder.
This process had occupied his mind all day.
Though determining a client’s identity was sometimes necessary he often knew the client’s name long before entering their home. However, it was standard operating procedure for Martin to identify his clients’ neighbors as well (hoping to identify law enforcement officers, stay-at-home moms, and the like), and for this purpose, Martin had a system in place. Sitting at his kitchen table with a tall glass of lemonade (courtesy of the Reeds, who purchased more Country Time lemonade than a person could ever consume), Martin began his online detective work in the property records for the town of West Hartford. Within minutes, he had the particulars for 414 Ascension Street on his screen, including the owner’s name (Clive Darrow), the date