So without even thinking about it, I am already moving from the shrubs to the side of the house, out of his field of view. Now I’m glad I unlocked the side gate during the Golden Half-Hour. See? The rules will always protect you.
What am I wearing? A shirt and dark jeans, shoes that wouldn’t look out of place on a professional. This outfit will do. I haul the bag over the wall separating the property from next door – I’ll come back for it later – and chuck the mug into the overgrown bit of the garden. Then, as I approach the front of the house, I stamp loudly on the gravel before knocking with as much authority as I can on the open front door. My hand is shaking.
‘Hello? Is there anyone here?’
Lethbridge pops into the hall. I’m taller than average, but he’s taller than me, and it looks like every drop of blood in his body is currently in his face. He lowers his phone.
‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘Mr Lethbridge? Paul Lethbridge? You’re the rightful owner of this property?’
‘Yes. Why—’
If you let people finish their questions, you never get anywhere in this life.
‘Mr Lethbridge, I’m glad to meet you.’ I step forward and offer a hand. ‘My name’s Rob Lind. I’m with the Metropolitan Police. We’ve been following a criminal who we have reason to believe has been operating in this area recently. We think this house may have been his next target. Have you been at home all morning?’
‘I … No, I’m going away. I just came back because …’ He waves the passport he’s holding. I let my expression grow grave.
‘I see. It’s possible he would have come in just as you left, sir. That’s exactly the sort of move we think he’d make. Do you have a few minutes to discuss this?’
The phone in his hand is burbling something. He looks down, dazed, and presses a button to end the call. Excellent. I’ve got him in a hot state. He doesn’t know which way is up.
‘I don’t understand …’
‘Are you familiar with the name the Ocelot? No? He’s the individual we’re after. Nicknamed for a vicious little South American creature. Cat-like, dextrous, and dangerous when cornered. He’s an aggressive intruder, very violent when he gets the opportunity. Are there valuables on the property?’
Mr L gestures helplessly behind him. ‘There’s a safe in the study …’
‘That would undoubtedly have been his target. Do you have reason to believe the property has been compromised?’
‘There was a coaster … I’m sorry, this is all a lot to take in. I’m just trying to get a flight …’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Lethbridge, I don’t think you’re going to make your flight. In fact, I think it would be best for us to spend a few minutes going over the house. Would that be all right?’
Ten minutes later, I’ve fixed the whole thing up.
It was a moment’s work to rebolt the orangery window I’d climbed out of. He’s shown me the coaster, and I’ve managed to question him about it and its temperature so much that he’s not sure of himself any more. Maybe hedidleave it out. Also, I’ve put gloves on – I had a pair in my pocket for emergencies (Rule 4) – and I’ve tried to smudge any fingerprints I might have left around the place, although you’ll never catch them all. I’ve reassured him there’s no sign of the sort of forced entry the Ocelot specialises in, and offered him a few home-safety recommendations to boot.
Back in the front hall, I give him my phone number so he can ring if he has any concerns. I also advise him to wait a few days to call (‘we’re so busy, you see, and this will give us time to get everything together’) – that should help degrade any DNA I’ve left in the place – then shake his hand again. He thanks me. He’s going to try and get a night flight, and ask a friend from the village to look in every day or two. No harm done.
As I head down the drive, I pass Dev, still waiting for hisirascible customer. I give him a businesslike nod, then walk on. Once I can see he’s safely back on his phone, I slip into the side lane, from which I’ll be able to climb into the next-door property to retrieve my bag. Then I lean against an old dry-stone wall and almost throw up from the postponed terror of it all.
Right. Now I have to find somewhere else to sleep tonight.
2
And that’s my job. Fun, eh?
You may be thinking: that doesn’t sound fun. That sounds very, very stressful. But when you’ve successfully got in somewhere, lived like a king for six weeks, and left undetected … there’s no feeling like it.
I feel like you might have some questions at this point. I also feel like I might have come across a little bit pleased with myself back there. I should probably point out that I have a few likeable qualities too, to balance out all the breaking and entering. So for the avoidance of doubt:
I’m an interloper,nota burglar. I’ve never taken anything from these places (Rule 14). That would be bad for business. It would create far more trouble than I need, as well as an entire new job in terms of fencing the stolen goods. Do people still say ‘fencing’? Feels a bit Dickens. Anyway, it would cause lots of paperwork and negotiations, and the police would be far more interested in all the places I’ve visited. No thank you. If you follow the Al method, and the owners can’t find anything missing, the odds are the police won’t even bother sending anyone round.
OK, fine: I’d be stretching the truth if I said I’d never had a bottle of the house wine. But I don’t take people’s personal possessions. There’s the line.
In fact, that’s the whole point. I’ve read descriptions of ‘squatters’, ‘aggressive squatters’, ‘housebreakers’, that kind of thing … that’s not me at all. Not that I’ve got anything against squatters. Most of them are just doing their bit under horrendous conditions, dealing with whoever owns the place, with the authorities, sometimes even with organised criminals who are trying to drive them out … The squatter’s path is a stony one. There are a few in here on short sentences, and they have the slightly dazed look of people who were just trying to house themselves with decency and never thought it would come to this. And while I personally reject the S word, we’re doing the same thing. We’re taking space that isn’t used and making it useful again. Frankly, we’re battling the housing crisis. These places are all –all– unoccupied. And the ones I go for are all second homes (or third, or fourth). Why not put them to good use?
