Something Missing (23 page)

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 secured, Martin started his search by scanning the top of the desk, taking in the absence of photos as a further indication that Laura Green had no children and likely no husband. The chalk drawings and toys littering the grass might have belonged to a visiting niece or nephew, or perhaps to some neighborhood kids she permitted to access her large backyard, but definitely not to children of her own.

A cup containing a dozen identical black Bic pens (no fancy colors, indicating she was a woman without pretense), a stapler, and a three-hole punch were lined up on the left side of the desk. A letter organizer on the right-hand corner of the desk contained several unpaid bills, electric, gas, phone, each addressed solely to Laura Green. The envelopes were already affixed with return address stickers (black and white, no frills) and stamps, awaiting the checks that would be deposited therein. A quick scan indicated that none of the bills were yet overdue.

Based upon what he had already seen, he was surprised that someone as organized and efficient as Laura Green might have gotten the date of the party wrong. An unlikely occurrence in her life, to be sure.

Next he opened the three drawers in the desk, searching each one carefully. The first contained an organized selection of office supplies: staples, tacks, Post-its, etc. This continued evidence of organization boded well for his search. Organized people kept meticulous files and maintained orderly records of their business and financial transactions, all of which might eventually lead Martin to his ultimate goal.

The second drawer contained envelopes, stamps (eight books in all, a gold mine in a regular client’s home), and half a dozen boxes of thank-you cards in a variety of designs. Though lacking pretense, Laura Green apparently believed in the importance of etiquette.

In the third drawer Martin hit pay dirt. First, a box of personal checks, with only her name appearing on top, indicated to Martin that she was certainly unmarried. Also, there were no business checks to be found, indicating that it was likely she did not own a business but worked for someone else. Beside the box of checks was a box of business cards, and this alone was all that Martin would need to continue with his plan. The business cards indicated that Laura Green was a notary for the Town of West
Hartford and listed her business address as 50 South Main Street in West Hartford, Connecticut. Not surprising to Martin, the box appeared nearly full. Lacking pretense, a woman like Laura Green would find little reason to pass around business cards unless specifically asked. Conveniently, it appeared that she worked in Martin’s hometown, and based upon the address, he had an idea of where her place of employment might be.

This was all Martin needed to proceed. The business cards had been a lucky find, but had they not been there, he was certain that he could have found pay stubs, performance reviews, an employee award of some kind, letterhead from her place of business, a URL bookmarked in her Web browser, or a dozen other artifacts that would have led him to her job site. Though tailing clients had proven to be an effective means of identifying their occupations, the truth was that Martin had already determined many of their jobs long before he ever left his home. As had Laura Green, clients often left mountains of evidence behind indicating their place of employment.

And if Martin’s guess as to where Laura Green worked was correct, things were looking up.

As long as he could escape her house alive and undetected.

Using the digital images as a reference (though he didn’t need them), Martin returned the desk to its original state, the whole time singing his alphabetic melody and committing Laura Green’s place of employment to memory. Normally he might have photographed the business card as well, but memorizing a simple street address was something that Martin was sure he could handle.

With Laura Green’s desk back in order and the address of her place of employment memorized, it was time to examine his means of escape. He had been holding off on inspecting the windows, fearful of the disappointment that it might bring, but Martin could no longer afford to wait. While continuing his
soothing rendition of the ABCs, he examined the room’s two windows, one facing the side yard and the other facing the back. His hope was that one of them would be unlocked. If not, he would be forced to leave one open during his escape or face Cujo once again.

Neither prospect was at all appealing.

This time Martin got lucky. The first window, the one above the sofa and facing the side yard, was locked tight, but the other, facing the backyard and obscured by a tall row of hedges, was unlocked. A window fan sat on the floor beneath the window, still plugged in, an indicator as to why the window may have been left unlocked.

He had found his means of escape.

Not only was the window unlocked, but it was a large window, tall to be precise, and he thought that, with a bit of crouching, he could probably kneel on the sill in the rectangular space that the bottom pane of glass currently occupied.

Only one piece of evidence indicating his presence in the house remained. The door to the room in which he was trapped was closed, but it had been open prior to his entry. In order to restore the home to its original state, he would have to open the door before exiting.

Even with the ABCs, Martin doubted if Cujo would remain still once the door was opened. Though quiet, the dog continued to occasionally whine and growl. But this wasn’t a bad thing. Martin was banking on the dog’s continued anger, and desire to eat him alive, in order to get the door open again.

First, he raised the bottom pane of glass and examined the area outside. Because Laura Green’s property sloped down toward the backyard fence, the window was unusually high off the ground, perhaps as high as six feet. The bush obscuring the window was nearly flush against the house, promising Martin a prickly but concealed escape. The area beneath the window was
free of debris, and the drop to the ground, though farther than he would have liked, was manageable. The bush would probably slow his fall a bit. An electric meter was jutting out of the siding to the right of the window frame, about two or three feet from the ground, but Martin thought it would be easily avoided. With the window now open, it was also clear to Martin that he would be able to jam his crouching body into its space. His knees would be none too happy, supporting his full weight atop the sill, and his head and neck might not appreciate the degree of bending that would be required, but the space was large enough. This would be the first time in his career that Martin used a window as a means of exit, but as he examined his landing zone and the cover that the bush would provide, he felt confident that it would work.

Next came the dangerous part of his escape plan. Returning to the door, Martin raised the volume of his ABCs as he reached out and grasped the doorknob. His goal was to open the door just enough for the knob to release from the catch without the dog noticing any change. In order to cover the expected click of the knob, he increased the volume of his ABCs even more. Turning slowly, he twisted the brass knob until he felt the door release from the jamb. He then turned the knob back to its original position, hoping that the door would remain unlatched but in place. As he loosened his grip a bit on the knob, it seemed like his plan would work, but the test would be to release the knob entirely; he hoped that the door didn’t swing inward.

About fifteen feet separated Martin from his escape window. Keeping his right hand on the knob, continuing his passage through the alphabet, Martin positioned himself for a diving leap through the window in the event that the door moved too much and Cujo became aware of his intentions. He envisioned himself leaping over the sill, grabbing hold of the bush, and sliding down.

He thought it could be done rather easily, albeit painfully, if necessary.

Taking a final deep, relaxing breath, Martin released the knob and moved backward, watching the door as it opened inward less than half an inch before stopping, still well within its frame. He was already at the window now, ready to jump if necessary, but it appeared that the dog hadn’t noticed.

Luck continued to be on his side.

Climbing onto the windowsill, Martin prepared for his escape. Kneeling on the sill, his chin tucked into his chest, he managed to fit his entire body into the bottom half of the window. Martin turned his body so that he was still looking into the room, his eyes affixed on the door, his shins and feet extended outside the house, pressing into the bush. His knees were already beginning to ache, but if things went as planned, he would be on the ground in moments.

Reaching up, Martin grasped the bottom edge of the window, preparing to pull it closed in front of him, leaving just enough room on the outside of the sill for his knees to remain perched as the window came down. With everything in position, he at last stopped his ABCs on the letter G and waited.

A moment later the first bark came, followed by another, and a second later the dog scratched on the door once again. This time the door swung halfway open and Martin could see the dog’s eyes brighten, its nose lifting from the floor just inches from where the door had been. Reenergized, the Labrador bolted upright and, upon seeing Martin in the window, surged forward, shoving the door entirely open on his way into the room.

Martin pulled down on the window, trying to put glass between himself and the dog, and he suddenly wished that he had practiced this final maneuver before he had stopped his singing.

The window didn’t budge.

Whether it was stuck or the angle at which he was attempting
to close it was creating the problem, the window would not move as the dog reached the wall and launched its front paws onto the sill. Angry teeth snapped at Martin’s exposed knees, forcing him to drop them off the sill and outside the house. As he hung by only his fingertips, Martin’s sneakers scrambled against the siding until he managed to catch hold of the electricity meter with his left foot, halting his fall. His head and shoulders were now just outside the open window, gloved hands still gripping the inside of the top of the frame, his lower torso now below the window, feet perched precariously on the meter. He looked like a man preparing to do chin ups, using the window frame in place of the customary bar.

With the dog now staring him in the eye, Martin strengthened his hold on the inside of the window and pulled down even harder, with no more success than he had the first time. Sweat beginning to bead up on his forehead, Martin watched the dog’s front paws disappear from the sill just before it leapt into the air, targeting his hands this time. The dog’s jaws snapped shut inches away from his left wrist before disappearing below the sill once again.

Though Martin could have jumped to safety at any moment, closing this window was critical. Leaving it completely open would surely signal the presence of an intruder.

The window had to be shut.

Martin continued to pull frantically at the window frame as the dog’s paws returned to the sill, its muzzle rising up until he and Cujo were nearly face to face. The dog snapped again, this time almost catching hold of Martin’s chin. Martin leaned back as far as he dared, still pulling with all his might.

Cujo barked and snapped again at Martin, this time managing to grab hold of the collar of his shirt. With his hands clinging to the window frame, Martin was defenseless as the dog tugged at the fabric, pulling him back into the house, refusing to
let go. If he released his hands, Martin knew that he would fall backward into the bush, but it was unlikely that he would be able to climb back up the side of the house to the window again.

If he let go now, the window would be left open.

And if the fabric of his shirt was strong enough and the dog didn’t let go (as Valerie had refused to do, so many years ago), Cujo would likely come spilling out of the house as well, atop his prone and defenseless body.

Despite the hot breath of the dog on his face, its angry growls, and the tug of war taking place between the two of them, Martin suddenly realized that had he simply continued chanting the ABCs until the window was closed, this never would have happened.