The guy's standing there, half out of it, watching us, pretending not to. He's dressed for housebreaking (sneakers, backpack) but this hardly registers. Our rear lane, heritage-listed, has its peak and its off-peak. But the junkies are always there, supplicant at the gate of the local heroin dynasty, and most of them dress for work. Occasionally, when the congregation gets too, too obvious, the dynastic matriarch waves her broom, shooing them off like a bunch of chooks, whereupon they, disappointed, disperse to look for sources of income. Us, for example.

It's Sunday arvo and we take our time, loading the car - which, as it happens, is new - with kids and dog, a ball for throwing, bags for collecting pine cones. It's bin night, so we put the wheelie bin in the back lane while we're at it. "See you around the front," I say, oblivious to extraneous ears, then withdraw through the house, locking back gate, back door, front door, in that order. Our 19-year-old is home, simulating study, but we lock up anyway, because what kind of reality can compete with TV, iTunes and Facebook in parallel?

Two hours later, we arrive home and said teen is downstairs cooking something nourishing like carrot consomme. She is noticeably underdressed for winter, especially considering the back door is wide open. "See what someone did to the door?" she mutters into the potage, scarcely interested. "It's broken." Her tone says the children have been destructive, again.

We inspect, mystified since the glass is clearly intact, find the bolt wrenched and gaping. Yet more sinister, unsheathed on the outside table lies a 30-centimetre bone-handled hunting knife that lives inside. Sixty seconds on we know the ghastly truth.

Someone has vaulted from the wheelie bin over the back fence, jemmied the door and, in relaxed and methodical manner, ransacked the entire downstairs, escaping with tens of thousands of dollars in professional camera and computer equipment; photos, business records, software, bank details, the lot. Also gone are the spare car keys, with remote - and we know he knows which car.