1. Overcoming Obstacles
Monday
I’d almost been caught in two recent burglaries due to dogs living nearby. I didn’t think my latest target had the irritation of dogs near her. The homeowner may or may not be a bitch, but I had no intention of being in a situation where I’d find out. The house was a converted farmhouse one mile from town, remote, and away from the main road.
During my shift at the local supermarket, I had overheard a snippet of conversation between two women. From what I could make out, the new owner of the farmhouse had moved in, and it was a woman. While tidying the displays and shelves, it was easy to loiter near the busybodies to pick up more information. I moved the occasional can or packet to pretend I was rotating the stock on the shelves. Stealth was, after all, a part of my regular nocturnal activity. The more I learned from the idle chat, the more I was attracted to the idea of visiting the new resident or her property at least.
Later in the day, after my shift, I drove out and parked one hundred yards from the farmhouse entrance road. Leaving my car in a recognised lay-by meant that it didn’t look suspicious, and thanks to the line of trees between the lay-by and the road, my car wouldn’t be easily seen. The nearby woodland made it easy for me to disappear from view quickly, and I stopped now and then to ensure no one witnessed my adventure.
It was my first daylight survey of the property, so I’d pulled on a woolly hat, threw on a backpack and hung my binoculars around my neck. The binoculars were excellent, and I’d only stolen them a few weeks earlier. I made myself look like a birdwatcher to not appear out of place as I wandered among the trees or along tracks.
I found a dirt track no more than four hundred yards from the old farmhouse, so I stepped among clumps of bushes at various points along the way. From a few different angles, I was able to get a close look at the windows—my usual point of entry. I quickly surveyed the doors, too—locks were usually easily recognised by the brass outer casings. The building may have been renovated, but the sash windows had been refurbished instead of replaced.
“Thank you,” I whispered. Sash windows were a real godsend for me.
A jogger paused as he was going past and gave me a strange look, so I raised the binoculars. “Birdwatching.”
The man nodded, smiled and carried on with his run.
Ten minutes later, a couple on mountain bikes slowed near my location, so I smiled at them and held up my binoculars and notebook. They were as easily pleased as the jogger and nodded to me before setting off again.
It was a pleasant day, and I’d seen enough during my first look to believe that the place would be worth a visit.
*
Tuesday
I returned, but I was a bit earlier because of my shift. I hoped there would be no more fitness fanatics around because I didn’t need to be spotted in the area too often. As before, I got in among some bushes and pulled out my small notebook to scribble the points I wanted to remember. For example, I noted where the sash windows were fitted around at the back and side.
Apart from the renovated farmhouse, I noted that the other two buildings associated with it had been given a makeover too. Judging from the door, one of the two barns had been converted for use as a large garage. The other barn, while not as big, had been cleaned up, and the big door had been replaced by wooden panelling and a suitable modern wooden door. Unless there was some peculiar invisible security, it looked like I could easily gain access to any of the buildings.
I heard someone on the track nearby, so I stepped back out from the bushes instead of waiting for discovery. A tall woman wearing a long wax-coated jacket, cords, and boots.
I nodded. “Hi there.”
“Hello.” She was attractive, about forty, and appeared to have a fuller figure. Her dark hair hung beyond her shoulders. “Twitcher?”
I held up the binoculars and my notebook. “Birdwatcher.”
She smiled and nodded. “A twitcher.” She held up a camera with a zoom lens fitted. “I’m a snapper.” Her voice was sexy. “You and I have a few things in common.”
“Really?”
“Yes. We’re both prepared to be out when other people are snuggled up in bed or sitting in a cosy room.”
“I see what you mean.” I smiled.
“I’ll leave you to it, but maybe our paths will cross again.”
“Maybe.” One of my golden rules had been broken. I always aimed not to leave a lasting impression on anyone when casing a target.
I returned in the evening, parked in the lay-by and walked through the woodland to see the place at night. Due to modern blinds, there wasn’t much light showing, but I looked at the home from various angles. When I found a good location, I settled down to watch for any lights switched on and off. The lack of lighting was a fair indication that it was a sole occupant.
After about an hour, I’d seen enough and headed back to my car. I wasn’t scheduled for work on Friday, so I’d rest in the evening and visit the farmhouse at about one o’clock in the morning.
*
Wednesday
I was called to the manager’s office, and when I knocked on his open door, he stood and ushered me in. He was tall, blond, handsome, and his physique stretched his clothes impressively. The boss was in his mid-thirties and would be a fine catch.
“Sam,” Luke Ferris said. “I’m sorry about the short notice, but Martin can’t make it in for his late evening shifts on Thursday and Friday. I was hoping that you’d change shift and step in.”
“That’s the twilight shift … six in the evening until eleven?”
“Yes, mate, and I know that Friday is your regular day off. If you’d be able to do the swap for me, I’d appreciate it.” He glanced at the staff rota. “You’re owed a couple of lieu days, so if you do those two shifts, you can have the weekend free and have Monday to make it a long weekend.”
“It’s not ideal, Mr Ferris, but—”
He raised a hand. “Hold on, Sam. I’ll put Martin on your shift on Tuesday, so that will give you four days off after Friday’s late shift.”
“Okay, Mr Ferris, I can’t argue with that, and I wouldn’t want to let you down.”
“Thanks, Sam. I always repay those who do me a favour.”
The main reason I’d planned to perform my next burglary on Friday night was that there were fewer people around on that particular evening, thanks to social events. I might still decide to go ahead, but I’d be tired after a late shift.
*
Thursday
I grabbed the local newspaper to check one of my favourite sections. The editor had a thing about making people feel welcome in our small, rural town. Hence, he occasionally did a short piece on any minor celebrity residents.
‘The council are delighted to announce that Nadia Lorimer, an award-winning photographer and short film-maker, has moved into our parish. She will be setting up home and her studio at the refurbished Moor Field Farmhouse.’
I studied the photograph accompanying the article and realised I knew this woman. She’d been the dark-haired photographer who’d spoken to me on the dirt track.
“I think I’ll be paying you a visit, Nadia, and I hope you won’t catch me fumbling around in your drawers.” I laughed, but at the same time, I considered the newcomer to be attractive.
I had made enough notes and didn’t want any more surprise meetings, so the next night was my preference.
*
Friday
It was ten minutes to midnight when I got into my black overalls, black trainers, gloves and woollen hat. I lifted my backpack and set off.
Thanks to a line of trees between the main road and the lay-by parking area, my car was almost invisible from passing traffic. I’d been through the woodland a couple of times, but I didn’t want to get my trainers covered in dirt, knowing that they’d leave footprints indoors. I remembered that the driveway was part gravel and part tarmac. I took careful steps to avoid noise, and it was easy to cover the final few yards to the side of the extended garage. No security lights flashed.
As part of the renovation, the main farmhouse and attached buildings had been fitted with continental wooden shutters. I thought they were unusual, but at the same time, smartened the look of the place. I tried a long bread knife I carried for some hooks and catches. I slipped the thin blade between the wooden shutters and met slight resistance. After five minutes of twisting and turning, I caught the hook and parted the shutters. I opened the shutter and eased my jemmy bar under the garage window shutter, trying to avoid excess damage.
“So easy.” I used my small jemmy bar to jerk the base of the sash window. It loosened the catch, and it took two minutes with my long blade to slide the catch open. The window on the garage side kept a uniform look with the property but was easy for someone like me.
I pulled the window down gently to close it once I was inside and confirmed an adjoining door. The owner would most likely have an adjoining door from the next building through to the main house, so this would be easier than I thought.
“Nice wheels,” I whispered as I made my way around the back of a dark-coloured Jaguar. The moonlight shone through the window I’d used for entry, so I didn’t use my penlight; another bonus. I turned the handle, and the door to the next building opened easily.
The minimum light faded to leave me in darkness, and I heard a click. I spun around to find that the shutters of the window I’d entered had closed. I couldn’t remember seeing a return spring on them.
Whatever this building was, the sash windows would normally let in the daylight or moonlight, but with the closed wooden shutters, it was pitch black. When I’d had moonlight, I’d glimpsed another door, but I couldn’t see a light switch. I played my penlight around and saw a string-pull hanging from the ceiling. I gave it a tug, heard a click and the room was filled with a red glow.
“Red lights, what the hell is that all about?” I looked around and saw what looked like photographs hanging. “Of course, it must be a photography darkroom.” Curiosity overcame me, so I went to the window and gently closed the blinds.
“Oh my god,” I murmured when I flicked on my penlight torch and looked at some of the pictures. A click caused me to turn with my small torch. “Shit.” The business end of a shotgun was aiming at me. As I started to raise my penlight upwards, a bright beam near the shotgun shone directly into my eyes.
***
Katya Cumming Erotica 