Richie was already at his desk, with his phone clamped to his ear, swinging his chair back and forth and listening to perky hold music loud enough that I could hear it too. “Pest-control companies,” he said, nodding at a printout in front of him. “Tried all the numbers Pat got off the discussion board: no joy. This here, this is every exterminator in Leinster, so we’ll see what shows up.”
I sat down and picked up my phone. “If you get nothing, we can’t assume that means there’s nothing to get. A lot of people out there are working off the books these days. If someone didn’t declare a job to the Revenue, you think he’s going to declare it to us?”
Richie started to say something, but then the hold music cut out and he swung around to his desk. “Good morning, this is Detective Garda Richard Curran, I’m looking for some information…”
No message from Dina—not that I had expected one, she didn’t even have my work number, but a part of me had been hoping anyway. One from Dr. Dolittle and his dreadlocks, saying he had checked out the home-and-garden board and, whoa, some mad shit there or what? According to him, the lined-up skeletons sounded like something a mink would be into, but the idea of an abandoned exotic pet was also way cool, and there were totally guys out there who would smuggle in a wolverine and worry about the pet-care angle later. He was planning to have a wander around Brianstown over the weekend and see if he could find any signs of “something fun.” And a message from Kieran, who at eight on a Friday morning had already started pumping his world full of drum and bass, telling me to call him.
Richie hung up, shook his head at me and started dialing again. I rang Kieran back.
“Kemosabe! Hang on there.” A pause, while the music went down to a volume that meant he barely even had to shout. “I checked out your guy Pat-the-lad’s account on that home-and-garden board: no private messages, in or out. He could have deleted them, but to check that out, we’d need a subpoena to the site owners. Basically, that’s what I called to tell you: we’re running out of road here. The recovery software’s finished doing its thing, and we’ve checked out everything it gave us. No more posts about weasels or whatever, anywhere that’s in the computer history. Literally the most interesting thing we’ve got is some idiot forwarding Jenny Spain an e-mail about non-nationals kidnapping a kid in a shopping center and cutting its hair in the jacks, which is only interesting because it’s like the world’s oldest urban legend and I can’t believe people actually still fall for it? If you really want to know what was living in your guy’s attic, and you figure he told the net, then your next step is to put in a request to the vics’ service provider and keep your fingers crossed they hold info on visited sites.”
Richie hung up again; he kept one hand on the phone, but instead of redialing he watched me, waiting. “We don’t have time for that,” I said. “We’ve got less than two days to charge Conor Brennan or release him. Anything on his computer that I should know about?”
“Not so far. No links to the vics—none of the same websites, no e-mails to or from. And I’m not seeing any deletions over the last few days, so it’s not like he wiped the good stuff when he knew we were coming—unless he wiped it so well I can’t even see that, and excuse me if this sounds arrogant but I don’t think so? Basically, he’s barely even touched his machine in the last six months. Occasionally he checked his e-mail, he did some design upkeep on a couple of websites, and he watched a bunch of National Geographic animal documentaries online, but that’s about it. Real thrill seeker, this guy.”
“Right,” I said. “Keep looking through the Spains’ computer. And keep me posted.”
I could hear the shrug in Kieran’s voice. “Sure, Kemosabe. One needle in a haystack coming up. Catch you later.”
For a treacherous second I thought of leaving it. Whatever else Pat had said about his vermin problem, out there in cyberspace, what difference did it make? All it would do was give people yet another excuse to write him off as some nutter. But Richie was watching me, hopeful as a puppy watching his leash, and I had promised. “Stay on that,” I said, nodding at the pest-control list. “I’ve got an idea.”
Even under stress, Pat had been an organized guy, efficient. In his place, I wouldn’t have bothered to re-type my whole saga when I switched discussion boards. Pat might not have been a computer genius, by Kieran’s standards, but I was willing to bet he had known how to copy and paste.
I pulled up his original posts, the Wildwatcher one and the home-and-garden one, and started pasting sentences into Google. It only took four tries before a post by Pat-the-lad came up.
“Richie,” I said. He was already scooting his chair over to my desk.
The website was an American one, a forum for hunters. Pat had shown up there on the last of July, almost two weeks after he flamed out on the home-and-garden site: he had spent a while licking his wounds, or searching for the right place, or it had just taken that long for his need for help to reach a pitch he couldn’t ignore.
Not much had changed. I hear it most days but no real pattern—sometimes could be 4/5 times in a day/night, sometimes nothing for 24 hours. Have had a video baby monitor rigged up in the attic for a while now but no joy—am wondering if maybe the animal’s actually in the space between the attic floor/the ceiling underneath—tried to check w torch but can’t see anything. So I’m planning to leave the attic hatch open and point another video monitor at the opening, see if this thing gets ballsy + decides to go exploring. (I’ll put chicken wire over the hatch so it doesn’t show up on one of my kids pillow, don’t worry, I’m not totally mental… yet anyway!)
“Hang on,” Richie said. “Back on that home-and-garden site, Pat went apeshit about how he didn’t want Jenny knowing any of this; he didn’t want her scared. Remember? Now, but, he’s putting up that monitor on the landing. How was he planning on hiding that from her?”
“Maybe he wasn’t. Married couples do talk occasionally, old son. Maybe Pat and Jenny had a good heart-to-heart somewhere along the way, and she knew all about the thing in the attic.”
“Yeah,” Richie said. One of his knees had started jiggling. “Maybe.”
But since the first monitor hasn’t been a big success I was wondering if anyone has any other ideas? Like species it could be or bait it might go for? PLEASE for Christ’s sake don’t tell me to use poison or get an exterminator or any of that shit because those are out, end of story. Apart from that any ideas welcome!!!
The hunters gave him the usual list of suspects, this time with a heavy slant towards mink—they agreed with Dr. Dolittle about the lined-up skeletons. When it came to solutions, though, they were a lot more hard-core than the other boards. Within a few hours, one guy had told Pat: OK so fuck this mousetrap bullshit. Time to grow a pair and break out the serious weaponry. What you need here is a real trap. Check this out.
The link went to a site like a trapper’s candy store, pages and pages of traps aimed at everything from mice to bear and everyone from animal lovers to full-on sadists, each one described in loving, semi-comprehensible jargon. Three choices. 1. You can go for a live trap, the ones that look like wire cages. Won’t hurt your target. 2. Go for a foothold trap, the one you probly picture from the movies. Will hold your target till you get back to it. Watch out though. Depending what you’ve got, the animal could make a lot of noise. If that would bug your wife or kids then maybe forget it. 3. Go for a Conibear trap. Breaks the target’s neck, kills it pretty much right away. Whatever you pick you want like a four inch jaw spread. Good luck. Watch your fingers.
Pat came back sounding a lot happier: again, the prospect of a plan had made all the difference. Man thanks a mil, you’re saving my arse here, I owe you big time. Think I’m going to go w the foothold—sounds weird but I don’t want to kill this thing, at least not till I’ve had a good look at it, I’ve got a right to come face to face with it after all this. At the same time though after all the hassle it’s given me, I don’t feel like going all out to make sure I don’t hurt
a hair on its precious little head! To be honest I’m like fuck it, I’ve spent long enough taking shit from this thing, now its my turn to give it some shit for a change and I’m not going to waste my chance right?
Richie’s eyebrows were up. He said, “Lovely.”
I almost wished I had given in to temptation and left this whole thing to Kieran. I said, “Trappers use leghold traps all the time. It doesn’t make them psycho sadists.”
“You remember what Tom said, yeah? You can get ones that do less damage, don’t hurt the animal as much, but Pat didn’t go for one of those. Tom said they cost a couple of quid extra; I figured it was that. Now…” Richie sucked on his teeth and shook his head. “I’m thinking I was wrong, man. It wasn’t the money. Pat wanted to do damage.”
I scrolled down. Someone else wasn’t convinced: Foothold is a dumb idea for indoors. Think it through OK. What are you gonna do with your catch?? Fine you want to look at it or whatever but then what?? You can’t just pick it up and take it outside or it’s gonna take your hand off. Out in the woods you just shoot it but I don’t recommend that in your attic. Doesn’t matter how great your old lady is… women don’t like bullet holes in their pretty ceilings.
That didn’t faze Pat. Have to be honest you’re right, hadn’t even thought about what I’m gonna do with it once I’ve caught it! Just been focusing on how it’ll feel when I go up there and see it in the trap—I swear I can’t remember the last time I was looking forward to something this much, its like being a little kid waiting for Santa!! Not sure what I’ll do after that. If I decide to kill it I could just hit it on the head with something hard I guess?
“‘Hit it on the head with something hard,’” Richie said. “Like someone did to Jenny.”
I kept reading. Otherwise if I decide to let it go, I could leave it in the trap till it gets too worn out to attack me, then wrap a blanket or something around it + take it out into the hills + release it there right? How long would it take for it to wear itself out enough to be harmless? Like a few hours or like a few days? My spine twitched. I felt Richie’s eyes on me—Pat, the pillar of society, daydreaming about something dying a three-day death above his family’s heads. I didn’t look up.
The guy who had doubts about the foothold trap still wasn’t convinced: No way to tell. Way too many varaibles. Depends what the catch is, when it last ate/drank, how much damage the trap does, whether it tries to chew off its paw to escape. And even if it looks safe it could come round one last time when you try to release it and take a chunk out of you. Seriously bro… I’ve been doing this a long time and I’m telling you this is a shit idea. Get something else. Not a foothold.
It was a couple of days before Pat came back to answer that. Too late, already ordered it! Went for something a little bigger than you guys recommended, I figure what the hell, better safe than sorry am I right? Little faces, laughing and rolling. I’ll just have to wait till I catch the animal + figure out what to do with it then. Probably just watch it for a while + see if inspiration strikes.
This time Richie didn’t look up. The same skeptic pointed out that this wasn’t meant to be a spectator sport: Look a trap isn’t for torturing. Any decent trapper picks up his catch as soon as he can. Sorry bro but this is fucked up. Whatever’s in your walls, you got way bigger problems.
Pat didn’t care. Yeah no shit, but this is the one I’m working on now OK? Who knows, maybe when I see the animal in there I’ll feel sorry for it. Seriously doubt it though. My son is three, he’s heard it a few times, he’s a gutsy little fella doesn’t scare easy but he was terrified. Today he said to me You can go kill it with a gun Daddy, right? What was I supposed to say to him, No, sorry son, I can’t even get a look at the little fucker? I said Yeah course I will. So yeah I’m kind of having a hard time picturing me getting up much pity for whatever this is. I never deliberately hurt anything in my life (well, my little brother when we were kids, but hey who hasn’t) but this is different. If you don’t get that then tough.
The trap took a while to arrive, and the wait got to Pat. On the twenty-fifth of August he was back: OK I kind of have a problem (well, more of a problem). This thing has got out of the attic. Its going down inside the walls. Started hearing it in the sitting room, always in one specific spot by the sofa, so I made a hole in the wall right there + set up a monitor. Nothing, just the thing moved to the hallway wall—when I set up another monitor there it moved to the kitchen—etc etc etc. I swear its like its deliberately messing with my head for a laugh—I know it cant be but thats how it feels. Either way its definitely getting braver. In some ways I kind of think thats good, cos if it comes out of the walls into the open I’m more likely to get a look at it, but should I be worried that its going to attack us??
The guy who had suggested the trap website was impressed. Jesus! Holes in the walls? Your old lady is out of this world. If I told my girl I wanted to bust up the walls, my sh!t would be out on the street.
Pat was pleased—a row of grinning green faces. Yeah man, she’s a total gem all right. One in a million. Shes not too pleased, specially since she STILL hasn’t heard any of the really serious noises, just the odd bit of scraping that could be a mouse or a magpie or anything. But she’s like OK, if thats what you need to do then go for it. Now you see why I HAVE to catch this thing yeah? She deserves it. Actually she deserves a mink coat not a half dead mink/whatever, but if thats the best I can get her then shes bloody well getting it!
“Look at the times,” Richie said quietly. His fingertip hovered by the screen, moved down the time stamps beside the posts. “Pat’s up awful late, isn’t he?” The board was set to American West Coast time. I did the maths: Pat was posting at four in the morning.
The skeptic wanted to know, What’s all this shit with baby monitors? Believe me I’m not some expert on those but they don’t record right? So the animal could like dance a polka in your attic but if you’ve gone to take a leak and your not actually there to see it then tough shit. Why don’t you get video cameras and get some actual footage??
Pat didn’t like that. Because I don;t WANT “actual footage.” OK? I want to actually catch the actual animal actually in my actual house. I want to actually show it to my actual wife. Anyone can get footage of some animal, YouTube is full of it. I need THE ANIMAL. Anyway I didnt ask you for advice on my technology OK? Just on what to do about this thing being in the walls. If you dont feel like helping me out thwn fine that’s your perogative, I’m sure there are plenty of other threads that could use your genius.
The trap guy tried to soothe him down. Hey man, don’t worry about it getting into the walls. Just fix up the holes and forget the whole thing till you get your trap. Till then anything you can do is just pissing into the wind. Just chill and wait.
Pat didn’t sound convinced. Yeah maybe. I’ll keep you updated. Thanks.
Richie said, “He didn’t fix up the holes, though, did he? If he’d had chicken wire or something over them, we’d have seen the marks. He left them open.” He left the rest unsaid: somewhere along the way, Pat’s priorities had shifted.
I said, “Maybe he moved furniture in front of them.” Richie didn’t answer.
On the last of August, Pat’s trap finally arrived. Got it today!!!! Its a beauty. I actually went for one of the old-style ones with the teeth—hey, what’s the point of getting a trap if you can’t get the kind you saw in movies when you were a kid? I want to just sit here stroking it like some James Bond baddy—more laughing faces—but I better get it set up before my wife gets home. She’s a bit dodgy about the idea already + it looks pretty lethal which I think is a good thing but she might not feel the same way! Any advice?
A couple of people told him not to get caught with that thing: apparently they were illegal in most of the civilized world. I wondered how it had made it through Customs. Probably the seller had marked it “antique ornament” and kept his fingers crossed.
Pat didn’t seem worried. Yeah well, I’ll take my chances—
its still my house (up until the bank comes and takes it back) and Im protecting it, I can put out any trap I want. I’ll let you know how it goes down. Can’t WAIT for this. I was so tired that my senses were getting their wires crossed. The words leapt off the screen like a voice in my ears, young, intent, overexcited. I caught myself leaning closer, listening.
He came back a week later, but this time he was sounding a lot more subdued. OK tried raw mince for bait, no dice. Even tried raw steak cos its bloodier so I thought maybe that might help but no. Left it there for three days so it would smell good + rank, nothing. Kind of starting to get worried—not sure what the hell Im going to do if this doesnt pan out. Going to try live bait next. Seriously guys please keep your fingers crossed that it works OK?
OK heres the other weird thing. This morn when I went up to take the steak away (before it could get rank enough that my wife smelled it, that wouldn’t go down well) there was this little pile of stuff in a corner of the attic. Six pebbles, smooth ones like they came off the beach, and three seashells, old white dried out ones. I’m 110% sure they were never there before. What the fuck?!
Nobody on the board seemed to care. Their general opinion was that Pat was putting way too much time and thought into this and who cared how a few rocks had got into his attic? The skeptic wanted to know why the whole saga was still going on: Seriously dude why are you making this into some big soap opera? You need to put down some damn poison go for a couple beers and forget the whole thing. You could have done that like months ago. Is there some huge secret reason why you don’t just do it?
At two the next morning, Pat came back and blew his top. OK you want to know why I wont use poison, heres why. My wife thinks Im insane. OK? She keeps saying Oh no I dont you’re just stressed you’ll be fine, but I know her + I can tell. She doesnt get it, she tries but she thinks I’m inagining this whole thing. I need to show her this animal, just hearing the noises isn]t going to be good enough at this stage, she has to SEE it in the actual flesh so she knows I’m not a) hallucinating the whole thing or b) exagerating something stupid like mice or whatever. Otherwise shes goign to leave me and take the kids with her. NO WAY AM I LETTING THAT AHPPEN. Her + those kids are everything Ive got. If I put down poison then the animal could go off somewhere to die + my wife will never know it actually existed, she’ll just think I was crazy + then I got better + she]ll always be watching for the next time I go off the rails. Before you say anything YES Ive thought of boarding up the hole before I put down poison, but then what if I shut it out instead of in and it fucks off for good???? So since you ask I’m not using poison because I love my family. Now FUCK OFF.