Breaking-in, CH 08 (Patreon)

Johnathan Wagler’s home security is ADT, according to the sticker in his window. I watch him for eleven days after seeing him escort the woman in his home. Mostly from Alex’s house, but twice I timed my jogging to put in front of Johnathan’s home as he left and then returned. Unlike most who advertise making use of a high-quality security company, Johnathan does.

Even without Helen’s information, I have his scheduled down, as well as everyone in the neighborhood, with enough precision I know tonight is when I can act. Every Monday he leaves at eight fifty-three in the evening, and only returns after two-sixteen in the morning. Helen provides me with context. Mondays are when Johnathan donates his time to the shelters, and that includes being there in the evenings to help with problematic people.

I have watched him for that time, because the incident with the woman is an aberration in his behavior I can’t account for. Johnathan likes beautiful and expensive women. He likes art for its beauty and value. He puts himself out there to help those in need, but nothing I have observed of the man indicates he would ever bring one of them here. Whatever help he’d give would take place where ever the woman had been.

So why did he bring her here?

The possibilities are many, including that I don’t have all pertinent information on him. This is what tonight’s incursion will resolve.

“Another breaking in?” Alex asks, watching me from the doorway as I assemble my tools. “You need help?”

I shake my head. “I have a key to bypass the security on his door. And a bypass for the alarm. This is a private house, so he won’t have a camera system inside the house.”

“Are you leaving now?”

“No, I have to wait until the neighborhood is asleep.”

“Then dinner’s in half an hour. I’m making your favorite.”

The nod stops halfway as a box ticks dark. I look at him over my glasses. “I don’t have a favorite.”

“Oh, good.” Alex smiles. “Then you won’t mind having lasagna with us.” He leaves before I can resolve what happened. This is not the first time he has used trickery to imply an agreement to eating what he cooks. 

I let the incident go. While not the ideal food before an operation, there will be time for me to work it off. And I will make sure Alex helps.

* * * * *

The neighborhood is as quiet as a city allows. Cars in the distance, even at this late hour, the buzz of an electrical transformer that needs to be adjusted. Dogs barking and somewhere behind the treeline, cats are fighting. No one stirs in the houses. The last person to go to sleep did so fifteen minutes ago. Everyone here respects their work day, whatever other vices they may have.

It is ten minutes after midnight when I step along Johnathan’s house. The sensor net covering the back door is too advance for the expected returns, so the front door will do. All I need to avoid is the static camera. The people here are aware of how the back of their home being exposed to woods is a security risk, even when they have a fence, so they take care to cover that, to varying degrees of success.

Johnathan’s is better than most.

The lock on his front door’s claim to security is that it can only be opened via an app on Johnathan’s phone provided by his security company. What that means in reality is that the keyway can only be accessed by unscrewing the cover, which is too time consuming for any would be thief.

It’s also more time than I care to spend on getting in.

Part of what makes remote unlocks effective as a security measure is the number of ways that can be used to communicate between the phone and the lock. Each one brings its own set of challenge to overcome. Wi-Fi allows encryption. Cellular requires knowing the right bandwidth, RFID the proper frequency. The person wishing to break in needs to figure out which method is used and then how to resolve the issue brought up by that method.

These are why I needed to job by the house, and Johnathan’s on care why I needed to do it twice. The fact his lock use RFID is why I didn’t have to do it more often. Five years ago, I needed to order an RFID bypass from The Mechanic to reach a blackmailer who drove a young woman to commit suicide. Her grand father sought me out after exhausting all methods to bring the man to justice.

He was dead when I returned to let him know I had accomplished the task. Stress, the nurse told me, had taken its toll.

It took me six months to reverse engineer the RFID bypass.

I slip under the camera and enter the house. I slip the card into the alarm’s port and the reader cycles numbers. Another of The Mechanic’s tools. This one has been too useful over the years for me to risk taking it apart. Once it no longer keeps up with the security panels, I’ll see how it works. I may be able to improve it myself.

I enter the number the reader gives me and the beeping stops.

I pause as I notice the motion sensor. Nothing in what I accessed from the security company indicated Johnathan had those as past of his package. Something he added independently? Or something I missed because hacking is not my strength? Once I’m done, I’ll have Asyr do a check to confirm it.

A box shivers.

No, Alex. I should have asked him to look over my work. Hacking is his expertise, and he wanted to help. I quiet the other box. I am well aware I am not used to working with a partner yet. I don’t need to feel shame about it.

How paranoid is Johnathan? He isn’t. He is security conscious. This means the sensor array is mostly likely connected to the alarm panel and is now deactivated. I do a visual survey before I move in case I am wrong. I can see part of the living room. The couch is white leather. There is a framed painting on the wall next to the screen. At the end of the hall, I see a table. Set for four people. I can’t see enough of the second floor to ascertain anything.

If the motion sensors are active, this will be a complete bust.

I step within the sensor’s field, ready to exit the house.

No reaction from it or the alarm panel.

If I am wrong about Johnathan’s level of paranoia, he has received a message on his phone about the intrusion. There are no cameras, so he won’t know who is moving about.

It also means I no longer have as much time as I expected.

I walked through the house to get a better sense of the man. Everything is clean and in its place. Every room has a first-aid kit. The workout room has three, one by each of the machines, with a higher probability of causing an injury. Johnathan’s work as a paramedic makes him keenly aware of the need to treat injuries quickly. Every room has art on the wall. The only one which is a reproduction is the Van Gogh, the only one from a famous artist, but they are all excellent work.

The walk through reinforces the image of a man who likes beautiful things. Once I’ve run the picture I’ve taken of the painting through a search program, I expect to find they are all valuable.

Nothing I have seen explains why Johnathan would bring a woman that belongs more on the street than in this neighborhood to his house.

It’s been thirteen minutes since I stepped into the sensor’s field. Without knowing where Johnathan was at the time, I can’t tell when he will be back.

Boxes glow and rattle. I should leave now, not take the risk. I have to think about Alex and Emil; they need me. I can’t go now. I haven’t found the proof that Johnathan is up to something nefarious.

With a breath, I silence them all. As usual, Alex’s and Emil’s are the more difficult to bring under my control.

I am not looking for some justification to an unsupported possibility. I am here to understand who Johnathan is better. I can not tardy, but I still have time.

I start with the attached bathroom. The shower was cleaned with bleach, as was the toilet. The medicine cabinet is filled with everything an expert would need to perform an array of medical procedures, from treating wounds to performing minor surgery.

Does Johnathan perform illegal medical procedures? Offer help to those who can’t afford it? That fits his personality, but why bring such a person here? It would be safer for her and him to take her to a clinic and pay to have her treated.

I have not seen anything that hints at an operating table.

The bathroom serving the other bedroom has more medication than I’d expect, including two unmarked bottles filled with Percocet, which is illegal for Johnathan to have here since no doctor would prescribe this in such quantities. 

The closet in the bedroom converted into storage contains more boxes. Looking into two, I see papers, medical forms, newspaper clippings, and other papers with official-looking letterhead. With more time, I would go through them.

In the workout room, the locker contains a similar assortment of related equipment as the one in my room, minus the Desert Eagle I have secured under the lower shelf and three knives hidden among the towels.

Another difference is that, unlike mine, the outside is eight inches deeper than the inside. I check the time. Thirty-eight minutes since I stepped into the sensor’s field. I should leave.

Even as I quiet the box, I know I won’t. 

I search the locker for the latch.

This is not something I can explain within what I know of Johnathan, so the content will deepen my understanding of the man, and I can not let this opportunity pass.

I find the latch and the inside of cabinet slides forward, then to the side and I whistle in time to the pulsing of the box at what I see.

I darken it.

Knives. A lot of knives are on display. Unlike mine, they are all on the finer side, but that does not make them any less effective. They are also good quality and all have scratches and notches indicating that, for as well cared for as they are, they have seen use.

The leather roll at the bottom is heavy. When I unroll it, I am not surprised to see more bladed implement, but I am surprised at the kind. These are more butchering tools than the kind one would use to defend himself with or used to heal someone.

They also have the distinct smell of blood on them.

Johnathan is extremely clean, in all he does. So why are these tools not bleached and disinfected? As with everything, there are multiple possibilities. Few stand up to serious consideration, but one does.

Johnathan hides a part of himself from the world, a part the world would not approve of. Johnathan uses these blades on people.

I roll it back and put it where I found it.

Before I close the cabinet, I take a picture of one knife, so I can find the manufacturer. I think that once Alex in no longer obsessive about avoiding using knives, he will enjoy this one.

I carefully walk through each room, looking for anything I have not put back in its place, then exit the house and lock it back up.

Once home, I head to my workroom and put my tools away.

“Found anything interesting?” Alex asked, stifling a yawn. He favors his left leg as he walks to me, and his neck is already showing marks where I strangled him.

“Johnathan is a killer.”

“Okay.” Another yawn. “You coming to bed?”

Boxes flash and rattle and a question I find myself unable to answer surfaces. “Should we stop him?”

Alex stares at him, then shrugs. “I don’t know. Who does he kill?”

“I didn’t find anything in the house indicating his targets. The only thing I have to go on right now is the woman he brought home.” Those boxes with medical papers might have that information. I silence the box. Remorse isn’t helpful.

“Did she leave?”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t who I was looking into when I saw her.”

“Then I guess we need more information.” Another yawn. “Come to bed. It’s late, and while you don’t have to go to work in the morning, I do.”

I undress, and he watches me. By the time I’m done, he’s hard. His box causes others to react and I stand before him, crossing my arms over his chest. I smile as I let my body react to his admiration, then my smile turns feral as I step to him.

He swallows hard. I raise my hands to his neck, at first caressing it, before shoving him against the wall.

Sleep can wait.