Something Missing (35 page)

Martin had told the hospital staff that he had tripped on a cat toy and fallen down the stairs head over heels, which in fact wasn’t far from the truth. Including an exposed nail on the railing to explain the cut in his palm, his story seemed to be consistent with his injuries. No one had doubted his account.

In the past three hours, Martin’s head, chest, and knee had been X-rayed several times. After examining the films and putting him through a physical examination, the doctor explained to Martin that he was fortunate in that his patella fracture was nondisplaced, meaning that he would not require surgery. Martin was shocked. As he hobbled into the emergency room, he had been sure that his entire leg would need to be amputated. By the time he had arrived at Hartford Hospital, the knee had swollen to three times its normal size and the pain was near blinding. Almost immediately following his arrival, doctors inserted needles into the knee to drain the building fluid, thus exponentially reducing the swelling and the amount of pain that it was transmitting to his brain. The doctor, a balding, seemingly disinterested
man in his fifties, explained that Martin would be fitted for a knee immobilizer that he would need to wear for at least four weeks.

As for the broken ribs, these would heal on their own. “As long as you’re not coughing up blood,” the doctor explained, “there’s not much that we can do for your ribs. Just be careful and have them rechecked in a few days.”

The nurse had told Martin that, as a result of his concussion, he would not be allowed to drive home and would need to call someone for a ride. He was surprised when he found himself giving his father’s phone number to the nurse.

Martin Railsback, Sr., arrived at the hospital just after 4:00 a.m. Having been a police officer, he was familiar with the workings of an emergency room and found his son rather quickly. The doctor was handing Martin prescriptions for pain medication and antibiotics, in order to ward off any potential infection from the open wounds on Martin’s head and palm. The padded immobilizer was already strapped onto Martin’s leg.

“Fell down some stairs, huh?” his father asked with a combination of suspicion and humor on his face.

“Yeah. Not very smart, huh?”

“Nope.”

A minute later the doctor shook Martin’s hand and left the two men alone.

“Thanks for coming,” Martin said as he reached for the crutches that the doctor had left propped against the wall. “I’m sorry about this.”

“No problem, son. I’m glad you called. Let’s get out of here.”

As they ambled down the hallway toward the exit, Martin found himself feeling more normal than he had in a long time. He was hurt, had been treated in the emergency room, and his father had come to pick him up. Just a week ago, Martin
would’ve had to call his best friend, Jim, for a ride, and though Jim would have come without complaint, it wasn’t your best friend whom you wanted in these moments. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Martin had a father when one was needed most. Despite his injuries, he couldn’t help but feel great as he hobbled toward the automatic doors of the emergency room, side by side with his dad.

Ten minutes later, Martin was sitting in the front seat of his father’s truck, crossing through the Frog Hollow section of Hartford and into West Hartford. Even with the medication that he had already been given, every bump in the road caused Martin’s chest and knee to flare up in pain.

The two men had been silent for most of the ride, but as the truck crossed over the Hartford–West Hartford town line, Martin’s father finally broke the silence.

“This has something to do with your friend, right? The one in trouble?”

“Yes,” Martin answered, feeling like a little boy for the second time today.

“You didn’t call the police, did you?”

“No. I planned on calling but things happened faster than I thought.”

“They always do,” his father said with a sigh. “Is your friend still in trouble?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“You took care of it yourself?” his father asked, taking his eyes off the road to look his son in the eye.

Martin nodded.

“Do you foresee any problems for yourself? Legally, I mean.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” his father said. “Then that’s that.”

The two men drove the rest of the way to Martin’s house in silence. Rather than parking in the empty driveway, Martin’s father
pulled along the curb in front of the house, leaving the engine running. “If you can get inside on your own, I’d rather drop you off here. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this place, and I’m not ready to go inside.”

“Sure, Dad,” Martin answered, feeling relieved. The tension between the two men had become more than he could bear. “I can manage.”

“You need a ride to the hospital tomorrow? To pick up your car? To get your prescriptions?”

“I don’t know,” Martin answered, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe.”

“If you do, call me.”

Martin gathered his crutches and the plastic bag containing enough pain medication to get him through the night, and gingerly climbed out of the truck. He didn’t know what else to say to his father, so, without any pleasantries, he turned up the cobbled walk and began hobbling.

“Son!” Martin’s father shouted through the descending passenger-side window.

Martin turned and waited. It seemed as if his father was debating whether or not to say anything at all. After a moment, he began. “Listen. I don’t know exactly what happened tonight, but I’ve dealt with enough criminals to know you ain’t one. At least not tonight. You got pretty banged up, but if your friend is out of danger, I’m guessing that you were some kind of a hero tonight. And there’s probably some other guy out there looking worse than you. If that’s the case, son, I’m proud of you.”

Before Martin had a chance to reply, the passenger-side window had returned to its closed position and his father was gone.

The phone woke Martin at nine the following morning. As he rose to answer it, his knee and ribs flashed brutal reminders of their current condition, causing him to cry out in pain. Moving
more gingerly, Martin reached out and plucked the phone off the receiver on the bedside table on the third ring despite his difficulty in getting to it.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. Are you excited about tonight?”

It took a moment for Martin to process the voice and the question that had been asked. After a few seconds, he managed to respond. “Laura, how are you?”

In order to combat her tendency to launch herself into a conversation absent pleasantries, Martin had been using the strategy of answering Laura’s questions with questions of his own, thus providing him with the time to formulate an answer to her original question in the event Laura returned to it, which she usually did.

“I’m fine,” she answered, not missing a beat. “I’m excited about tonight. You?”

Martin had no idea what to say. Though he wanted to be excited about a party that he should have never planned on attending, he doubted that he could go in his current condition. “Can I call you back in a minute?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” Martin lied. “Just let me call you back. Okay?”

“All right,” Laura answered. “I’ll be waiting.”

Martin clicked off the phone and assessed his current condition. He had a headache that seemed to be awakening and gaining steam. His chest hurt like hell when he took a deep breath, and his knee was throbbing away underneath the sheets. His car was still in the hospital’s parking garage. He had four more pain pills and would need to find a way to fill his prescription soon.

Hoping for a miracle, Martin shifted his legs to the edge of the bed, placed his feet on the floor, and tried to put weight on his injured knee.

It hurt like hell.

There was no way that he could attend Daniel Ashley’s surprise party tonight. Even with crutches, the doctor had warned him that the first three days would be tough, and restricting his mobility would be best. Though he had never been pleased with the notion of attending a party for a client, the prospect of canceling on Laura pained him more than any of his physical ailments. Missing an opportunity to spend some time with her was bad, but the thought of disappointing her was almost too much to bear.

But he had no choice.

Martin spent the next ten minutes reviewing what he would say to her, and then dialed her number, which he knew by heart.

Laura picked up on the first ring. “Okay, what’s going on?”

Martin had anticipated a question like this, and his response was well rehearsed. “I have some bad news.”

“Let me guess. You don’t know how to dance.”

“No,” Martin replied, though this too was true. “I had an accident last night. I fell down the stairs in my house and broke my leg.”

“That’s not funny.”

“No, I’m serious. I broke my leg and a few ribs and I have a concussion. Or I had one. I don’t know how long a concussion lasts.”

There was a long pause before Laura finally spoke. “I’m not kidding around, Martin. Tell me. Are you serious?”

“I’m afraid so. It was an ugly fall,” Martin said. He had originally planned on using the word “nasty” to describe the fall but felt that it might sound too cliché. “I’m so sorry, Laura. I know how excited you were about tonight.”

“I’m coming over. Give me your address.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Martin said, regretting it almost
immediately. He would need help in getting through the day, and there was no one in the world he wanted by his side more than Laura.

“Shut up and give me the address.”

“Really it’s not…”

“Martin, shut the hell up and give me your address. Now.”

Martin did so and, before he could say another word, the line went dead.

Less than thirty minutes later, Laura burst through Martin’s front door, shouting, “Where the hell are you?”

Expecting her arrival, Martin had managed to don a T-shirt and slide a pair of sweatpants over his leg immobilizer before descending the stairs, one at a time. In the downstairs bathroom, he swallowed the last of his pain pills and brushed his teeth before unlocking the front door and ambling over to the couch to wait for Laura’s arrival. This would be her first visit to his home, and though it had been unexpected, Martin was relieved to see that the house, save the unmade bed upstairs, was in its usual order.

“In here,” Martin answered, making no attempt to move. Though he had taken the pain medication almost fifteen minutes ago, it had yet to make its presence known. Even the brushing of his teeth had caused him considerable ache.

“Oh my God! You were serious,” Laura said, rushing over and reaching out to embrace him.

“Careful,” Martin warned, shying away. “My ribs are pretty sore.” He could see from the look on Laura’s face that she was genuinely concerned. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. Or at least I will be.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Martin spent the next twenty minutes explaining to Laura how he had been on his way to the kitchen for a midnight snack
when he missed a stair and fell. He told her about his visit to the emergency room, the diagnosis of his injuries, and his prognosis. For once, Laura listened intently with few interruptions, waiting until Martin seemed finished before speaking.

“How did you get home?”

“My father. I tried my sister but she didn’t pick up the phone. It was late.”

“You could’ve called me. You know that, right?”

Martin would’ve never thought of calling Laura, but her assurances sent his heart soaring. “Of course. Calling my dad just seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Good. Does this mean you’re not going to make it to your parents’ anniversary party either?”

“I’m afraid so,” Martin answered, trying to sound disappointed.

“Does your sister know?”

“Yeah. I called her about fifteen minutes ago. She wanted to come over and check on me, but I convinced her that I’m fine. She has a lot to do today, especially with me stuck here at home.”

“I could drive you to the party,” Laura offered. “Just to make an appearance.”

“No,” Martin answered, ready for the offer. “The doctor wants me as immobile as possible for the first seventy-two hours. It’s best that I stay right here.”

“Okay. So what are we going to do about you?”

“Me?” Martin asked. “I’m going to be stuck on this couch all day. But you’ve got a busy day ahead of you. Don’t let me ruin it.”

“Martin, don’t be a moron. I’m going to spend the day with you.”

“You can’t…”

“Shut up. Okay? I can’t just leave you on this couch all day. Alone. You have a broken leg, for Christ’s sake. And broken ribs. Someone’s got to take care of you, and I want the job.”

“Honestly, Laura. I’ll be fine. The pain medication is starting to kick in. And I know how much you’ve been looking forward to the party.”

“Listen to me, you idiot. It wasn’t the party. I was excited about spending the day with you. I don’t care if we’re at a party or stuck on this couch. I just wanted to be with you. Okay?”

Martin couldn’t remember the last time he had been so happy.

When the knock on the door finally came, Martin was more surprised than he had ever been in his life. Though he had never seriously considered the possibility of being caught, he had envisioned the arrival of the police at his front door from time to time, and had even rehearsed his possible responses to their questions. Though he knew that his skill, planning, and precision protected him from the possibility of detection, there was no harm in mentally preparing for all possible circumstances, and though he would never admit it, the prospect of discovery was fun to imagine. Without the constant danger inherent in his occupation, Martin’s skills and the pride that he took in them would be meaningless. It was exhilarating to remind himself about the risks of his profession. It kept him focused on and engaged in the work at hand. Nevertheless, when he opened his front door, sixteen memorable days after his encounter with Clive Darrow, he was speechless.