Something Missing

by Matthew Dicks

  Martin moved back to the kitchen and took a peek through the window above the sink, which looked out onto the backyard and garage, and saw no sign of Darrow. He hoped that if the man returned, he would hear the sound of the truck moving up the driveway and past the house or the noise of the garage door opening and closing, but he wasn’t sure if this was possible. The garage was set to the rear of the property and there was no telling how loud the door might be. In order to aid his cause, Martin opened the window above the sink about four inches, hoping that this might be enough to allow some sound indicating Darrow’s return to waft into the house.

  With little to investigate, Martin made his way back down the hall and into the room of boxes at the end of the house in order to examine the stack of mail on the TV tray. As he entered the room, he noticed three rolls of packing tape, still encased in cellophane wrappers, stacked in one corner, along with several cardboard boxes not yet assembled into cubes.

  It appeared that Clive Darrow was in the process of moving.

  Martin began sorting through the stack of mail, which was more than a couple of inches high. On the top of the pile were envelopes that Darrow had previously opened, and beneath them junk mail and other unopened envelopes. The light was dim inside the house now and, not daring to turn on any lights, Martin drew each sheet of paper close to his face for inspection. The first opened envelope contained a letter from Wachovia Bank, indicating that foreclosure proceedings were to begin in less than a week as a result of Darrow’s failure to make the monthly mortgage payments on the property. Several other opened letters from Wachovia, going back more than six months, indicated that Clive Darrow hadn’t paid his mortgage for quite some time. Martin also found a shutoff warning (two days from now) from the electric company with an outstanding balance of $818.45, and similar notices from the gas and water companies. By the end of next week, Darrow’s home would be without electricity, gas, or water if he failed to make payment on these bills. A letter from Comcast, the local cable television provider, indicated that Darrow’s cable television, telephone, and Internet service had already been disconnected almost a month ago, yet there was no television, telephone, or computer in the house.

  Beneath these bills and warnings, Martin found a letter from the Trust Realty Company of Virginia Beach, Virginia, indicating that first and last month’s rent plus deposit had been received more than a week ago and that “Mr. Darrow could move into his townhouse” on November 1, a little less than a week away.

  Clive Darrow was moving to Virginia in less than a week, and for about six months prior to his move, he had stopped paying his bills entirely. It was as if he were preparing to flee the state.

  Martin finished shuffling through the stack of mail and found little more of interest. A great deal of junk mail, a couple of late notices from Jordan’s Furniture (late by eight months) and Target (late by two months), and several envelopes addressed to Darrow by hand but no longer containing any letters and lacking return addresses. Nothing more. Most important, there was no evidence indicating that Clive Darrow had any intention of harming Sophie Pearl.

  Still, Martin had the sense that something was wrong.

  Finishing up with the mail, Martin made one more pass through the house, opening drawers and cabinets in the kitchen and bathroom and finding nothing. Not one plate, fork, or cup. Not even a toothbrush or sleeping bag. Martin began to wonder if Clive Darrow had any intention of returning to this house, and this began to make him worry even more.

  Forgoing his usual final inspection of a house, Martin closed the front door completely before exiting through the side door. Though he didn’t expect to find much, a cursory examination of the garage also yielded nothing. It was as empty as the house itself. Back on the move, Martin walked down the driveway and back onto the street, breaking into a jog once he was past Darrow’s house. He wanted to get to his car as quickly as possible and make a phone call.

  Perhaps Sherman Pearl had gone out for the evening, leaving Sophie Pearl home alone.

  Because Martin was in his hometown, finding another public phone proved rather simple. Less than a mile away, across the street from Kennedy Park, was a 7-Eleven with a pay phone that Martin had used in the past. Again, no cameras were in view of the phone, making it a safe place to call from, though his own personal safety was becoming less of a concern as the minutes passed.

  Martin came to a screeching halt in the parking lot, and after nearly forgetting to don another pair of surgical gloves, he managed to push his last quarter into the phone’s slot despite his trembling hands.

  The phone rang five times before Martin heard Sherman Pearl’s prerecorded voice inform him that no one was home at this time. Martin hung up the phone before the beep and walked back to his car, attempting to assess the situation.

  It was perfectly conceivable that Sherman and Sophie Pearl had gone out to dinner or a movie tonight, and that was the reason they had not picked up the phone. According to Martin’s watch, which was set to the online atomic clock in Greenwich, subtracting four hours for time-zone differences, it was 9:35, making it still relatively early for a couple out on the town. It was also Friday, a night when people traditionally went out to dinner and a movie, so this assumption was certainly within reason. In all likelihood, the couple were sitting in a darkened theater at this moment, watching some indie film, if he knew the Pearls well. No big-budget action adventure epics for them.

  It was also possible that Sherman Pearl had gone out on his own tonight, to a poker game, a business dinner, or anything else that a guy like him might do. Therefore, it was possible that Sophie Pearl was sitting at home alone this evening, unaware of the danger that she might be in, but Martin didn’t think so. From what he knew about the couple, he thought it highly unlikely that Sherman, devoted husband and best friend to his wife, would leave her home alone on a Friday night.

  What continued to plague Martin, however, was the nagging thought that Clive Darrow was ready to move to Virginia tonight. Though he could imagine Darrow stopping by his home one more time, perhaps to pick up his mail, leave his keys, or gather the remaining pieces of furniture, he couldn’t imagine the man sleeping there for the night, with no sleeping bag, toothbrush, or pillow to be found. Something told Martin that Clive Darrow intended to hit the road for Virginia tonight, with the few possessions that remained in Connecticut tossed into the back of his pickup truck. But if this were the case, why would Darrow go through the trouble of locating a victim like Sophie Pearl, and put himself in the position to implicate Noah Blake in the crime?

  For a moment, Martin began to wonder if Darrow’s plan was nothing more than a figment of his own imagination. Perhaps Darrow, a convicted felon, had burglarized the Pearls’ home earlier that day. Perhaps Darrow had left the house with Sophie Pearl’s jewelry collection stuffed in his coat pocket. Martin supposed that it could simply be a coincidence that Noah Blake, a registered sex offender, lived next door to the people whom Clive Darrow, also a registered sex offender, had robbed earlier that day. Perhaps in need of traveling money, Darrow had burglarized several homes this week, taking just what he could safely carry in his pockets.

  Though this scenario seemed entirely reasonable to Martin, it nevertheless did not feel right.

  Martin started the car and pulled out of the 7-Eleven parking lot in the direction of Newington. He would take a peek at the Pearls’ house, make sure that Darrow’s pickup was nowhere to be found, and maybe even keep an eye on the place for the night.

  He would at least ensure that Sophie Pearl was not home alone.

  Martin pulled into the parking lot alongside the basketball courts at 10:17. The lights of the park were turned off and the park was technically closed, though nothing could stop a guy from parking his car and shooting a few hoops, save the absence of illumination. Martin was relieved to see that the blue pickup was not parked in the lot as it had been earlier that day, and that the lights of the Pearls’ home, visible across the swath of grass th
at separated the park from the Pearls’ backyard, were off except for a single light in their kitchen window, probably over the sink. The Pearls were either asleep or still out on the town.

  Prior to pulling into the parking lot, Martin had driven past the front of the Pearls’ home and down the block, making sure that Darrow’s blue pickup wasn’t parked anywhere in the neighborhood. Sherman Pearl’s Audi was parked in the driveway (a good sign), but there was no sign of Sophie Pearl’s Explorer. Though it could easily be parked in the garage, Martin had no way of telling from the street. He also drove to the parking lot adjacent to the tennis courts, one block down from his present location, and found that lot empty as well.

  All seemed quiet.

  Martin reclined his seat back a couple of clicks and relaxed. In all likelihood, the Pearls were on their way home from a night of dancing or were already sleeping soundly in their bed. Either way as long as Sherman Pearl was with his wife, Sophie would be safe tonight. Tomorrow he would prepare a letter for the Newington and West Hartford police, explaining everything that he knew about Clive Darrow and his possible plans for his client. Unable to locate any incriminating evidence in Darrow’s home, he had no other option. He would have to hope that the police would find something to implicate Darrow, and that Martin wouldn’t be implicated at the same time.

  He didn’t think he would be. Even if he had left a stray fingerprint or piece of DNA evidence in the Pearls’ home (which he highly doubted), Martin’s fingerprints and DNA coding were not on file with law enforcement. In his mind, he had already canceled the Pearls as clients, but that was a small price to pay for the safety of Sophie Pearl.

  As the clock glowed 11:03, Martin thought about calling the Pearls again. If he could confirm that they were both safely home, he too could head home and get some sleep. But placing the call on his cell phone was out of the question, particularly at this hour. A random hang-up during the day could be ignored by most homeowners, but a mysterious and potentially frightening call in the middle of the night might cause someone to involve the police. If the Pearls’ phone had caller identification capabilities, it would not be difficult to trace his number back to him.

  Still, he wished that he knew if his clients were home and together.

  At that moment Martin realized that a quick visual inspection of the garage, to determine if both cars were present, would yield the information he desired. The Pearls’ garage was attached to their home and had two windows facing the backyard. Though they were obscured by the tree line that ran along the border of the park and the Pearls’ neighbors, Martin could see the dark outlines of both windows through the shadows. If he were able to look through one of them, he was sure that he could see if Sophie Pearl’s Explorer was parked inside. With both cars present, Martin could be certain that both of his clients were home and that Sophie Pearl was not alone.

  Slipping on a pair of surgical gloves, more out of habit than necessity, Martin turned off his car, slid his keys into his jeans’ pocket, and exited the Subaru, walking along the tree line that perpendicularly intersected the property line between two of the Pearls’ neighbors. As late as it was, Martin doubted that anyone would be awake, but many homes were equipped with motion-activated spotlights in their front- and backyards. Though he couldn’t remember ever seeing one in the Pearls’ backyard, he had no desire to set off any floodlights in their neighbors’.

  At the edge of the tree line, Martin turned left, walking along the invisible property line that separated the Pearls’ neighbors’ backyards from the park. He passed by a total of three houses, including Noah Blake’s, and found them all to be dark and quiet. When he reached the Pearls’ property line, he took a quick turn into their backyard, across their well-manicured lawn, and over to their garage. Though the windows were higher up than he expected, Martin was able to grab the bottom sill and hoist himself up, feet no longer touching the ground as he looked into the garage.

  Parked inside the garage was Sophie Pearl’s Ford Explorer.

  Parked beside it was Clive Darrow’s blue pickup truck.

  Spotting the pickup caused Martin to gasp and lose his grip on the sill, dropping him to the grass below. He landed with a thud, smacking his elbow into the dirt and jamming his keys nearly out of his back pocket and into the small of his back. The instantaneous sensation of panic, marked by the trembling of his hands and arms, the loss of peripheral vision, and his inability to focus on any one object, consumed him like never before. For more than a minute, he was incapable of anything but erratic breathing and a breathless, nearly soundless “Oh my God. Oh my God.” Clive Darrow was here, inside the house, and so were the Pearls. Both of them. Martin had assumed that Darrow would wait until Sophie Pearl was alone before attacking her. He had been certain of it. His mistake had placed his clients in grave danger. As these thoughts raced through his mind, they incapacitated him to an even greater degree.

  Nearly two minutes passed before Martin was able to regain control of his breathing, though the violent shaking of his arms, his legs, and even his head continued unabated. He reached into his right pants pocket, hoping to find his cell phone before realizing that he had left it behind in the Subaru. He had taken his keys with him, something he would never have done normally, but had left his cell phone in the compartment above the gear shift. Never enter a home with incriminating evidence on your person. This rule, which had become habit, had done him in.

  Struggling to bring himself to his feet, Martin turned and began running for his car. He would call the police and then wake the Pearls’ neighbors, including Noah Blake. Flood the neighborhood with light and sound. Scare the bastard off if the police didn’t arrive first.

  Martin had taken three strides across the Pearls’ back lawn when he heard something shatter inside the home and a female voice shout, “No!” before being muffled and then silenced. Martin froze in his tracks. His hands ceased to shake. His peripheral vision returned. He was able to clearly focus on his Subaru, more than two hundred yards away on the other side of the park. His legs felt strong and steady again. He heard something else shatter in the house, a vase, a lamp, a plate, and another cry, though softer and more in pain than in terror, as the first had been. There was a struggle taking place inside the house.

  Martin turned and walked to the Pearls’ back door.

  The door was unlocked, as Martin had expected. Clive Darrow was not as cautious as Martin had once thought. He opened the door, stepped inside, and then closed it behind him, trying not to make a sound. Standing in the kitchen, under the pale light of a single bulb above the sink, Martin looked into the living room and saw Sherman Pearl stretched out across the floor, motionless. He was lying face down, with lengths of black cord wrapped around his feet and binding his hands behind him.

  Martin was relieved. The man was probably still alive, or else Clive Darrow would have had no reason to tie him up.

  Still motionless, Martin waited by the door for a moment, listening and examining every shadowy corner of the kitchen and living room for possible danger. He could hear movement upstairs; a man’s muffled voice, and footsteps.

  He couldn’t believe how calm he was.

  “Mr. Pearl,” Martin whispered. “Can you hear me?”

  No answer. Martin tried again with the same result.

  Next, he looked to the far end of the countertop, where the recharging base of the Pearls’ telephone was located. Martin spotted the number 2 flashing in red, indicating that the Pearls had two unheard messages. He moved closer and saw through the shadows that the phone was not resting on its base.

  Freezing again, trying to listen and look and think at the same time, Martin scanned the kitchen for any signs of the Pearls’ cordless phone. The kitchen table, the countertops, the end tables adjacent to the sofa.

  Nothing.

  Martin knew that the phone could very well be down the hallway in the couple’s office, or upstairs on a nightstand. Or even in the bathroom. Clive Darrow might have removed
it from the base himself. There was no way of knowing.

  Martin decided to move on, remaining watchful for the phone as he did so. Had he thought that there was time to search for a telephone and call the police, he would have run back to the Subaru, grabbed his cell phone, and done it there. But there was a struggle of some kind going on upstairs, and Sophie Pearl was in grave danger. Every second counted. He had been standing inside the Pearls’ home for a full minute now, and Martin knew that he had already wasted too much time.

  Knowing the Pearls’ kitchen as well as his own, Martin slid open the drawer closest to him and removed a knife from its tray. The eight-inch blade gleamed in the sixty-watt light, its tip looking impossibly sharp, and Martin shivered at its menace. He didn’t think he could bring himself to stab another human being, but he wanted the knife just the same.

  Next he moved into the living room, walking as quietly as possible, passing by the unconscious Sherman Pearl. At the fireplace, he removed one of the four perpetually unused logs from the hearth stand, making sure that the other three didn’t shift in the process. Though he couldn’t imagine plunging a knife into the chest of another man, he thought he was perfectly capable of bashing the son-of-a-bitch over the head with a chunk of wood if necessary.

  This was not Alan Clayton, loyal client who had done no wrong. This was a dangerous criminal with a full head of hair.

  For a moment, Martin thought about cutting the cords that bound Sherman Pearl’s wrists and ankles, in case the man regained consciousness, but quickly decided against it. Martin had entered this house knowing that Sophie Pearl’s life was in imminent danger. His Hedgehog Concept was perfectly clear. Rescue Sophie Pearl.