The HOA reserved the right to impose a daily fine if the condition continued.
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was absurd.
I called Valerie.
She answered immediately.
"Marcus."
"Where did you get that photograph?"
"What photograph?"
"The one in your email."
"Oh. The pool."
"You took it?"
"I documented a community violation."
"From inside my property?"
There was a pause.
"I'm not discussing technicalities."
"Then let's discuss something else. Who put the garbage bag in my pool?"
"I have no idea."
"You don't?"
"No."
"Then why are you fining me for it?"
"We're not fining you for the bag. We're fining you for failing to maintain sanitary conditions."
I looked through the window at the pool.
"Valerie, someone put garbage in my pool."
"You should keep the area secured."
"The gate was locked."
"Then perhaps you should improve your security."
I lowered my voice.
"Did you enter my property?"
"No."
"Did anyone from the HOA enter my property?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Good."
I hung up.
Then I called my security company.
The technician arrived that afternoon.
He examined the camera.
"The camera didn't fail," he said.
"What happened?"
"It was manually disabled."
"Can you tell when?"
"Approximately 5:51."
I felt the anger rising.
But I pushed it down.
"Can you recover the footage?"
He looked at me.
"Maybe."
"Do it."
That evening, I added another camera.
Then another.
I wasn't going to play Valerie's game.
I was going to document it.
The second garbage bag appeared the next morning.
The third appeared the day after that.
By Friday, there were four.
By Sunday, there were six.
The pattern was always the same.
The bags appeared between 5:45 and 6:20 in the morning.
The cameras were disabled shortly before the bags arrived.
The gate remained locked.
And every bag contained ordinary household trash.
Food wrappers.
Plastic containers.
Coffee cups.
Used paper towels.
Rotten vegetables.
Broken glass.
Once, there was a dead mouse.
I stopped touching the bags.
I photographed them from a distance and called a sanitation company.
Daniel helped me install temporary motion sensors.
The sensors showed something important.
The person entering my yard wasn't climbing the fence.
They were using the gate.
That meant someone had a key.
I called the HOA office.
"How many people have access to my property?" I asked.
The receptionist sounded confused.
"Your property?"
"The pool area."
"We don't have access to your pool."
"Does the HOA have a master key?"
There was a pause.
"We have emergency access keys for certain properties."
"Does mine have one?"
"I'd have to check."
"Please check."
She promised to call back.
She never did.
On the eighth day, I went to the HOA office.
Valerie was sitting behind a glass desk.
"You've been dumping garbage into my pool," I said.
She didn't look surprised.
"That's an accusation."
"I have cameras."
"Then call the police."
"I intend to."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You should be careful, Marcus."
"About what?"
"Making accusations you can't prove."
I placed a folder on her desk.
Inside were photographs of every bag.
Dates.
Times.
Damage.
Cleanup invoices.
Camera logs.
"Eight days," I said.
She glanced at the folder.
"You've been collecting trash?"
"I've been collecting evidence."
She closed the folder.
"You're becoming increasingly hostile."
"I'm becoming increasingly tired."
"You've always been difficult."
"And you've always been interested in my property."
Her expression hardened.
"You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Then answer one question."
"What?"
"Who has a key?"
Valerie leaned back.
"The HOA maintains keys for emergencies."
"Who has access to those keys?"
"The board."
"All of them?"
"I don't discuss security procedures."
I stood.
"Then I'll discuss them with the police."
For the first time, Valerie looked nervous.
It lasted only a second.
But I saw it.
And I remembered it.
That night, I added a hidden camera inside the pool equipment enclosure.
I also placed a tamper seal over the gate lock.
Then I waited.
The ninth morning was different.
At 5:58 a.m., my motion alarm went off.
I was already awake.
I ran downstairs and opened the camera feed.
A figure was standing beside the pool.
Black jacket.
Black cap.
Gloves.
The face was hidden.
The person held a garbage bag in one hand.
I grabbed my phone.
Then I stopped.
I wanted to run outside.
But I knew that was exactly what the person expected.
Instead, I watched.
The figure walked toward the pool.
They looked around.
Then they reached toward the security camera.
But this time, the camera was hidden.
The person didn't know.
They threw the bag.
It hit the water.
The figure turned toward the gate.
I zoomed in.
Something hung from the person's belt.
A rectangular object.
A key ring.
The person unlocked the gate.
I recorded everything.
The moment the gate opened, the motion light came on.
The person froze.
Then ran.
I rushed outside.
The tamper seal was broken.
I didn't chase them.
I photographed the broken seal.
Then I called the police.
Officer Daniel Carter arrived twenty minutes later.
He walked around the pool.
"How many times has this happened?"
"Nine."
"Do you have video?"
"Yes."
I showed him the footage.
He watched silently.
Then he replayed it.
"Can you identify the person?"
"Not the face."
"Anything else?"
"The keys."
He zoomed in.
His expression changed.
"Can you send me this?"
"Absolutely."
He wrote something in his notebook.
"Don't touch anything else."
"I haven't."
"Good."
He examined the garbage bag.
Then he noticed the torn bottom.
"Did it tear when it hit the water?"
"I don't know."