Matthew Dicks, Something Missing

Matthew Dicks' Something Missing is an unusual book, in a good way. The story's unexpected hero is Martin, a brilliant but socially awkward thirty-something whose preternaturally acute attention to detail is a great asset in his career. Martin has a stable of clients—upper-middle-class married couples without young children, dogs, or alarm systems—from whose houses he regularly "acquires" things, a pound of hamburger here, a few cups of laundry detergent there. And every now and again, very occasionally, he'll pick up the odd piece of jewelry. Martin approaches his larceny like a business, indeed, like a particularly well-run business. He carefully tracks what's in his clients' cabinets so as to know what items are in stock and can be safely acquired.

Martin is one of the most interesting characters I've ever run across: he's Adrian Monk without the crippling phobias, Tom Ripley with a conscience. And it's his conscience that provides the storyline, as Martin's unusual familiarity with his clients' personal lives puts him in the position of being able to render them anonymous assistance in a series of predicaments, increasingly more serious and more dangerous. The whole business, which starts with the smallest interruption of Martin's otherwise very strict routine—the merest flap of a butterfly's wings—leads to a drastic change in his circumstances. He emerges at the end of the story a changed man.

Much of Something Missing is spent describing Martin's modus operandi. I suppose some readers out there will find these lengthy descriptions slow going, but to my mind they are not only required to build Martin's character, but they are utterly fascinating. This is a great, great read. I'm looking forward to reading more from this author.