Besides, I’m more interested in the back door.
Walking fast because it’s best not to be seen loitering around outside somebody’s house, I go down the couple’s driveway and around the side of the property, in the direction of the back garden. I see the gate ahead of me that I knew would be here and I reach over and fiddle for the latch on the other side, just like I did when I completed my trial run earlier in the week.
The gate opens easily, and now I’m in the garden.
It’s hardly the most secure gate, but like most things in people’s homes, it’s just for show. It looks secure, but it’s actually not. Its existence can deter most people but not those who know how easy it is to open. I’m constantly amused by how little attention people pay to their home security. Accessing inner-city homes can be a nightmare, but out here in suburbia, it’s a doddle. It’s as if people see the news and watch all the reports of the terrible things happening in London or Birmingham or Manchester and shake their heads but feel safe because they’re not there. They’re in some commuter-belt town like Reading or Coventry or Bury, where they feel like nothing bad ever happens.
They think they are safe.
They are wrong.
Rebecca and Sam’s back garden is small but pleasant and offers just the right amount of space for what they need. There is a table and chair set on the patio, which I imagine they use to sit out and eat whenever the weather is nice. There is a tiny patch of grass in the middle, which I imagine Sam cuts every few weeks in the summer or whenever Rebecca tells him that it needs doing. And there is a small shed at the bottom of the garden, which I imagine is filled with all sorts of items that never get used but never seem to get thrown away either. But most importantly, there is no camera back here, which means I’m not going to be seen illegally entering this house in a moment’s time.
It’s irritating how many people have installed cameras outside their homes over recent years, but I was glad to see that Rebecca and Sam were not amongst them when I inspected the exterior of their home before I knocked on their front door. That tells me that they aren’t as paranoid as some other members of society, or at least not about crime anyway. But I imagine they are paranoid about other things right now, mainly who I am and if I’ll ever come calling at their house again.
But like I said, while I am calling again today, I know that neither of them are in. It’s a Monday morning, and both homeowners are at work. Rebecca will be in the site offices at the construction company where she is employed as an engineer while Sam will be in his office in the centre of London where he works as a consultant. Neither of them will be back home until tonight, but I don’t need anywhere near as much time as that to get in and get out of their house.
I will only be here for a short time.
But I will plant something here that will cause problems for a long time.
Reaching the back door, I take out the key that I use for door locks just like this one and slide it into the lock. This process is called ‘bumping’ and all it requires to make happen is purchasing a special modified key online and using a screwdriver to gently bump it when it is in the lock. An amateur might leave evidence behind in the form of damage to the lock, but I’m not an amateur. I’ve done this enough times to get it right because it’s not just about getting in.
It’s about making sure that nobody knows I was in.
The door easily unlocks when I turn the key, as it should do, and now I’m in. It’s as easy as that, but it’s not all easy.
I still have to disable the house alarm.
Walking quickly towards the beeping white box on the wall in the hallway, I know that I have twenty seconds until the full alarm is activated. That’s the one that all the neighbours will be able to hear if it goes off, so it’s important to me that it doesn’t. But this is a common home security system that I have seen plenty of times before, so I know where the weaknesses are. That’s how I’m able to enter the code that makes it turn off instantly. It’s not the code that Rebecca and Sam use to program it, but it is the code the manufacturers of this alarm used when it was configured, and it still works.
Nobody is supposed to know about it.
But I know.
With the alarm dealt with, the beeping sound ceases, and the house is silent. Just the way I like it. Now I’m free to carry out the rest of my work in peace, and I do just that, heading upstairs and into the master bedroom where I take out the item of clothing in my coat pocket. Then I start opening drawers in the bedroom, looking for a particular one. It doesn’t take me long to find it. I find most women keep their underwear in a top drawer close to the bed, and Rebecca is no different.
I put the new item of underwear inside, hidden amongst the items that were already there and then close the drawer so that nobody knows it has been tampered with. Then I go to the wardrobe and open it, looking for Sam’s shirts which I expect to be hanging in here somewhere. Sure enough, there they are, several of them, all different colours and all very smart. These are the shirts he wears to work, and I can see that he would look very dashing in all of these. I decide
