They inserted something near the latch.
The video quality was not enough to identify a face.
The gate opened.
Then the recording briefly lost the person behind the fence.
Thirty seconds later, the figure exited.
By daylight, dirty water streaked the pool steps.
Simone watched the footage five times.
Then called the police non-emergency number.
Officer Daniel Ruiz arrived at 10:15.
He was thirty-seven, calm, broad-shouldered, and seemed much more interested in understanding events than performing authority.
Simone appreciated that instantly.
He watched the footage in her kitchen.
“Can you identify them?”
“No.”
“Suspect anybody?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Simone paused.
“HOA president.”
Ruiz looked at her.
“Evidence?”
“Not enough.”
“Good answer.”
Simone raised an eyebrow.
He smiled.
“People usually tell me they're absolutely certain.”
“I’m certain somebody entered.”
“That's what the camera supports.”
“Exactly.”
Ruiz watched again.
“Have you told the HOA nobody can enter?”
“I sent written notice.”
“When?”
Simone opened the folder.
Ruiz blinked.
“You have a folder.”
“I have seven.”
He laughed.
“Okay.”
She showed him the email.
No HOA representative, contractor, board member, or volunteer has permission to enter the fenced pool area without my express consent except in a documented emergency as permitted by governing documents and applicable law.
Ruiz nodded.
“That helps.”
“What happens now?”
“I'll make an incident report.”
“Can you do anything?”
“If we can't identify the person, not much yet.”
Simone expected that.
Ruiz continued.
“If someone comes in again and you see them, don't physically confront them.”
“That might be difficult.”
“I said physically.”
Simone almost smiled.
“I heard you.”
“Call us.”
“They'll be gone before anybody gets here.”
“Maybe.”
Ruiz looked toward the patio.
“Want me to check the gate?”
They walked outside.
The day had become bright.
Heat already rising from the concrete.
Simone had changed into a black one-piece swimsuit before he arrived because she planned to spend the morning cleaning the pool.
Ruiz inspected the latch.
Scratches.
Small marks near the lock.
“Somebody's been working at this.”
“I know.”
He photographed it.
Then stepped back.
“Any reason HOA would come today?”
Simone thought.
“Brenda likes Saturdays.”
“What does that mean?”
“She thinks weekends are when people violate rules.”
Ruiz looked amused.
Simone continued.
“She drives around slowly.”
“Seriously?”
“With a yellow legal pad.”
Ruiz laughed.
“Every neighborhood has one.”
“Mine elected hers.”
He finished taking photographs.
Then they went inside to complete the report.
At 10:43, Simone heard the gate.
A metallic click.
Then the hinge.
She stopped speaking.
Ruiz looked toward the patio.
“Expecting someone?”
“No.”
They both moved toward the glass door.
Simone saw yellow.
Bright yellow.
Then Brenda Whitmore stepped through the gate.
She wore sunglasses, pearl earrings, flat sandals, and a fitted yellow one-piece swimsuit.
Around her waist sat a black pouch.
In both hands she carried a large red bucket.
Simone stared.
Ruiz stared too.
The bucket contained cloudy water, wet leaves, bits of mulch, and plant debris.