The Snoring Burglar

In Cologne, in 2014, on a Tuesday at approximately ten in the morning, a man forced a kitchen window of a four-room apartment on the second floor of a residential building. The owner was at work. The apartment was empty. The bed in the master bedroom had been made that morning — sheets pulled tight, duvet folded, pillows arranged. The owner was, by his sister's later testimony, an unusually tidy man.

The burglar entered, walked through the apartment, and methodically began to search. He found a laptop. He found some cash. He found a small jewellery box on the dresser. He loaded everything into a backpack. By approximately eleven, he had completed what would, in a normal burglary, have been the entire job. He should, at this point, have left.

One minute

He was tired. He had, by his own subsequent account in court, broken into another flat the previous evening and had not slept since. He had been awake for approximately twenty-six hours. The bed was made. The bed was, by the case papers, of high quality — with a memory-foam mattress and what one German tabloid would later describe as extremely fluffy pillows.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. To rest, by his own account, for one minute. To regather his energy. To think about his exit route. He took off his shoes — the court papers note this carefully, presumably so as not to dirty the duvet. He lay back. He told himself he would close his eyes for sixty seconds.

He did close his eyes for sixty seconds. After which he was deeply, soundly, and immovably asleep.

The owner's afternoon

The owner returned home at approximately two PM, having completed his half-day at work and stopped for a sandwich on the way back. He approached the front door. He inserted his key. He turned the lock. He pushed the door open. He stood in his entryway. And he heard, from the direction of his master bedroom, a sound he did not recognise.

It was loud. It was confident. It was the snoring of a man in deep, restorative, fully unconscious sleep — the snoring of a man who had not slept in a day and a half and was now making up for it, in someone else's bed, on a Tuesday afternoon.

The owner stood in his entryway. He listened. He concluded — and the court would record his conclusion when he later described it on the witness stand — that there was an intruder in his bedroom. Asleep.

He did not run. He, very quietly, closed the front door behind him. He took out his phone. He called the police. He whispered. He explained the situation. The Cologne Polizei dispatch operator asked him to confirm. Was the intruder asleep. Yes, he whispered. The intruder was asleep. Could the homeowner safely exit the apartment. He said yes. He left. He stood on the landing of his building. He waited.

The arrest

The Polizei arrived approximately seven minutes later. They went in quietly. Officers later described it, in the press, as one of the most relaxed entries to a burglary in progress they had conducted. Because the suspect was, throughout, snoring. They could hear him from the corridor. They could hear him from the entryway. They could hear him, at one point, three rooms away. He was not difficult to locate.

Two officers entered the master bedroom. They found him on the bed. Backpack on the floor. Stolen items in the backpack. Shoes neatly placed at the foot of the bed. He was lying on his back. His mouth was slightly open. He was, by all accounts, peaceful. One of the officers said, in German: wake up. The man did not wake up. The officer said it again, louder. The man stirred. The officer said it a third time. The man opened his eyes. He looked at the officer. He looked at the second officer. He looked at the ceiling. He said, in German, the German equivalent of what.

He had, in the moment of waking, no immediate awareness of where he was, why two German police officers were standing over him, or why he had a backpack of stolen jewellery at his feet. The realisation arrived slowly. He sat up. He apologised. He stood up. He held out his wrists. He was arrested. He did not resist.

Trial

The case was prosecuted at the Amtsgericht in Cologne. He was convicted of burglary under section 244 of the German criminal code. The custodial sentence was within the standard range. The judge, in passing sentence, noted that the case was unusual: that the defendant had been in possession of stolen goods, and had also been in possession of, in the judge's phrasing, an admirable capacity for sleep.

The owner, when asked by the German press whether he would replace his locks, said he would. When asked whether he would also replace the bed, he paused, and said that he had been thinking about it. He did, eventually, replace the bed. He told the German tabloids that he simply could not sleep in it himself, knowing that a stranger had, on a Tuesday morning, slept in it more soundly than he ever had.

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Listen to the full story on Dumb Crimes Europe, Episode 15. Stream the episode here.