Something Missing (32 page)

Martin had decided that, in order to guarantee Darrow’s incarceration, he would need to locate evidence that implicated the man in the stalking, break-in, and planned attack on Sophie
Pearl. He knew that the police officers’ hands were often tied when it came to obtaining search warrants, so he thought that if he could specifically identify evidence in Darrow’s home in his tip to the police, that might be enough to secure them a legal search of the premises.

Entering Clive Darrow’s home would be dangerous, Martin knew. First, he didn’t have much information on the man, so he had no knowledge of the type of schedule he kept. Because Martin had seen him exiting the Pearls’ home this morning, he reasoned that Darrow was either unemployed or worked odd hours, perhaps the night shift. If Martin could be certain that the house was empty, he might be willing to risk entry, even though he wouldn’t be sure when Darrow might return home. Sophie Pearl’s life could be at stake, and if not Sophie’s, then that of the next woman. For this, he was willing to take the risk.

In addition, Martin had little to fear from police intervention in the event that he was caught by Darrow inside the home. In the planning stages of a violent crime, Darrow would be unlikely to seek police attention, so he would be more inclined to deal with the situation on his own. This might mean Martin’s own life would be in danger, but that was a risk he was willing to take. If he was careful and planned his escape carefully, Martin was confident that he could exit the house safely, even if detected.

Martin’s plan was to maintain surveillance on Darrow’s home until he could determine if the man was home. Walking up and down Ascension Street and the side streets that made up the block that Darrow lived on, Martin would watch for lights to come on or other signs of life until he felt confident in his assessment of the situation. If it became clear that Darrow was occupying the premises, he would head home, pack an overnight bag, and park in the lot close enough to the Pearls’ home so that he could maintain surveillance on their rear door. Sacrificing a
good night’s sleep would be problematic considering that the Ashleys’ party was tomorrow, but he would have to manage. This was serious business. If Sherman Pearl left the house for an early round of golf or a morning of boating and fishing, Sophie would be alone and Darrow might attempt to strike. This was especially true since tomorrow was Saturday and it was likely that Noah Blake would be home, asleep, without an alibi. Once Sophie and Sherman Pearl had left their home for the day and Martin was certain that Sophie was not home alone, he would return to Darrow’s home, looking for an opportunity to gain entry.

Hopefully all this could be accomplished before the party.

Martin began his walk, wondering how many times he might round the block before he could determine if Clive Darrow was home. Realizing the number might be high, he slowed his pace and steeled himself for a long evening.

Despite his high level of physical fitness, Martin felt uncommonly tired as he turned the corner and headed back up Ascension Street, this time on foot. Though the sun was still blazing on the horizon and it was not yet dinnertime, it had been a long day. The investigation into Clive Darrow, his impromptu lunch with Laura, and his visit with his father had been more excitement in one day than Martin was accustomed to, and he felt both physically and emotionally drained. Nevertheless, he was also feeling hopeful and optimistic. The visit with his father had gone better than he ever could have expected, and he chided himself for not making the effort sooner. It was remarkable how a fear of the truth and an unwillingness to be honest had kept the two men apart for so long. Regardless of the awkwardness that might still exist between them, Martin vowed to call his father soon and plan for another meeting.

Remarkably, he found himself looking forward to it.

Martin had been walking the block for more than an hour in
the dimming light when he spotted the blue pickup coming down Ascension Street toward him. He was standing at the corner of Ascension and Quaker, ready to approach Darrow’s home for the tenth time when the truck, with Darrow at the wheel, came to a stop less than five feet away. Martin watched as the man looked left and right, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, and then turned right onto Quaker Lane. Had Martin’s car been close by, he would have tailed the man to his destination, but since the Subaru was more than four blocks away, this was impossible. Instead, Martin turned up Ascension Street, walking briskly toward Darrow’s home while transferring the pick gun from his backpack to the waistband of his sweatpants. Though he couldn’t be sure how long the man was going to be gone, Martin knew that this might be the best chance he had of gaining entry to the house.

He had to try.

As he approached 414 Ascension Street, he liked what he saw. Though the neighbors’ homes were situated uncomfortably close to Darrow’s house, the lights in all three were out and there appeared to be no cars in the driveways. Across the street stood a row of two-family homes, and though lights were on in some of the units, Martin always preferred renters to homeowners when it came to his clients’ neighbors. Renters never cared about the neighborhood to the degree that someone who actually owned a home did, and therefore they were less likely to be suspicious of a stranger approaching a neighbor’s home. Besides, Martin had an inkling that Clive Darrow was not the friendliest of neighbors and had probably made few allies on his block during the past couple of years.

Moving with as much confidence as he could muster, he then turned up the driveway and climbed the five steps to the concrete landing on the side of the house as if he owned the place. The door was made of wood with a pane of glass filling
the top half, but maroon curtains concealed the space behind. There were two locks on the door, a locking mechanism in the doorknob and a dead bolt. By quickly examining the crack between the door and the frame, Martin could see that the dead bolt was not engaged.

More good news.

After slipping on the surgical gloves, rubber moccasins, and hairnet, Martin reached out and rang the doorbell three times, waiting for the sound of a barking dog but hearing none. He tested the knob and found the lock to be engaged. Taking one final glance and finding no one within sight, he removed the pick gun from his waistband, inserted it into the lock, and turned it on. In less than ten seconds, the lock was disengaged. Martin took one final look behind him and entered Clive Darrow’s home.

For a man who had been living in the home for almost two years, it was apparent that Clive Darrow had no interest in decorating. The kitchen in which Martin found himself standing was nearly empty. A single wooden chair was pushed up against an open TV tray, with the remains of a Taco Bell dinner covering the wooden surface. The countertops were nearly bare except for a pair of salt and pepper shakers and a dirty frying pan, and nothing hung on any of the three bare walls. Before exploring any of the rooms in more detail, Martin moved from the kitchen, through a wide archway, into a carpeted, nearly unfurnished living room. A single sofa chair resided in one corner, and flanking it was a rack of wooden TV trays, two slots vacant. Otherwise the room was startlingly empty.

On the far end of the room, opposite the stairway to the second floor, stood the front door to the home. Martin checked the locks on this door and was surprised to find both disengaged. Preparing for the possibility of a quick exit, he opened the front door slightly so that a quick pull, rather than a turn of the knob,
would gain him access to the front yard and street. He then moved past the door and into the adjoining room, presumably meant to be a dining room, now empty, and into a hall that connected the kitchen with the bathroom and another room at the end of the house. This room was also empty save for a stack of empty boxes, another TV tray stacked with mail, and an upright, rotating fan.

Martin moved back down the hallway toward the kitchen, opening a closed door opposite the bathroom and finding an empty closet, leaving him to assume that the house was built on a slab and had no basement. More important, there was also no other exit to the outside. If Clive Darrow arrived home, it was the front door that Martin would use for his escape.

With the layout of the first floor set in his mind, Martin ascended the stairs to the second floor, where he found two empty bedrooms and a small, unused bathroom. No beds, no bureaus, no clothing of any kind.

As he returned to the first floor, Martin grew concerned. Though town records indicated that Clive Darrow had lived in this house for almost two years, the house was barely furnished, with no living room furniture, no television, and no telephone to be found. Other than a room full of cardboard boxes and a couple of TV trays, the house was nearly empty, as if someone had broken in and stolen everything of value from the place.

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.