The walls are thin plasterboard. Tapping with his knuckles he finds the stud near the meter box and cuts a small hole beside it with a jab saw; the hole is just large enough for his remote-access wireless router which is already configured with the cameras. He can’t stream through the complimentary wi-fi lest the hosts change the password or have enough technical nous to check how many devices are currently connected to the network and realise there are four extras unaccounted for – the four cameras. Some savvy travellers have apps and devices which check to see if any cameras are running through local wi-fi networks.

He installs a power point within the wall and plugs the router in. Then he takes a piece of plaster from his kit and cuts it to shape, fitting it into the hole to hide the router. He’s a perfectionist. It’s a fault as much as an advantage; he can’t leave a job until everything is polished, finished. He considers everything that could go wrong and devises ways to mitigate the risk, going above and beyond. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail. Those things he can’t account for are what keeps him up at night. It’s in his genes. He was restless as a kid but came into his own in his teenage years. As an adult, what calms him most is sanding down a jag in a wooden bench or buffing out a scuff in floorboards. He’s had a few jobs, that’s the way of the world now, but this job has made him the most money; this work is, oddly, the most satisfying. There is enough risk to keep it interesting, but when you’re as careful and precise there’s almost no chance of getting caught.

Now he mixes a little plaster and smears it over the seams of the replaced plasterboard. While it dries he goes back to the kitchen bench. Opening his tablet, he logs into the surveilance software.

The screen shows a man in a cap hunched over a faux stone benchtop in a terrace house in Auckland city, with boxes open on the carpet of the lounge nearby. He clicks through the streams: the bathroom, a view of the shower and then a view of the toilet, then the bedroom.

‘Shit,’ he says to himself. ‘You idiot.’