A touch. The electronic counter buzzed red.
It had all been one motion, his lunge, his avoidance, his strike. No hesitation whatsoever. Yet again, her opponent was the one who got his point across. She offered a sportsmanlike nod to congratulate him on a good match, but he was already walking toward the bleachers with a fist in the air.
“Who says chivalry is dead?” she mumbled into her mask.
She walked off the gym floor and began shedding her gear. She read the text on her phone that caused the buzz. It was from Faith and said, “Call me!!!”
Faith answered on the second ring. “Where are you?”
“I told you. I have fencing tonight.”
“I can’t keep track of all your tomboy stuff. I need a favor.”
Lindsay’s face got red, but she said nothing.
“Come on, you know I think you’re adorable playing Zorro.”
“What do you need?”
“It’s for my mother, actually. She needs you.”
“Sissy hates me. What could she possibly need with me?”
“There’s a board meeting and she needs you to play zookeeper. Literally. Apparently, there’s a neighborhood in Arlington that’s overrun with rats or something. It’s disgusting. Anyway, I told her you’d be perfect.”
“Perfect for what?”
“To answer questions.”
“Faith, do you even know what I do?”
“I know, I know. But come on, you’ve forgotten more stuff about animals than most people will ever…give a shit about in the first place. Besides, I thought it might help, like, break the ice or something.” Faith dropped her voice: “I’ll make it up to you.”
Lindsay sighed. “Fine, when is it?”
“Seven thirty.”
“Tonight? You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m still in the District and I’m a sweaty mess.”
“Ditch the musketeers, get cleaned up, and hustle over there.”
“God damn it, Faith. Where?”
“I’ll text you the address.”
“She better be nice.”
Within the hour, Lindsay parked the car and pulled the collar of her coat up against the wind as she approached the brightly lit building on South Buchanan Street in Arlington. The white Barcroft Community House on the corner had been designed as a small Methodist chapel in 1908, but was quickly sold to the Barcroft School and Civic League and operated as a one-room schoolhouse for years until larger schools were built. Eventually, the small building was designated as an Arlington Historic District itself. Lindsay read all of this from a plaque outside as angry residents streamed in, alone and in pairs. Next to the plaque was a corkboard plastered with community minutiae—flyers for babysitting and housecleaning services, used cars for sale, advertisements for high school plays, and missing pets. Lots of missing pets, she thought.
Lindsay was dressed in khakis and a sweater, her blond hair still wet from her rushed shower and pulled back in a ponytail. She watched as leaves swirled in a small cyclone on the street. Something about the place tugged at her. Suddenly, stepping inside was the last thing she wanted to do. She told herself it was just apprehension about Faith’s mother and not the dozens of sad eyes that stared out at her from the pamphlets tacked to the corkboard.
Last chance, she thought. She took a deep breath and went inside.
Inside, the space was light and warm. It had been renovated recently. The hardwood floors were light and polished. Arched windows ran along the sides of the room toward a stage in the front. Standing by the stage was Sissy Chapman, chatting with an elderly couple. Lindsay looked closer—the residents were chatting; Sissy had her listening face on. Furrowed brow, nodding along slightly, eyes intently focused on the speakers and limitless in their sincerity. When Sissy interjected, a smile flashed across her face as if the sun had come out after a storm. She had a great smile, Lindsay conceded, just like her daughter. When she discreetly scanned the crowd and noticed Lindsay, she broke off the conversation as quickly as she could, apologizing profusely and pledging to resume their conversation with a light touch on the elderly man’s arm. To her credit, Sissy’s smile never left as she strode toward Lindsay, high heels clacking across the hardwoods, but her eyes lost their softness. Like her daughter, Sissy was a striking woman, but instead of owning her age, she tried diversionary tactics and feints. Hair piled just a little too high, makeup a little too thick. She sported blouses that plunged to her ample décolletage and power suits so bright they screamed. Clearly, Arlington County did not seem to mind—its residents elected her three times to the County Board.
“That’s what you’re wearing? Seriously?” asked Sissy. Her smile was wide and never faltered for an instant.
A lunge. No time wasted, thought Lindsay.
“Faith called me in the middle of a workout. I got here as quickly as I could.” A firm reflection of the blade. A counter six.
Sissy looked around. “This crowd,” she said. She waved to the elderly couple. “Worse than last time.”
“Can you tell me what this is about?”
“Long story short, there’s a…rat problem in Barcroft. Some crackhead lives here and keeps feeding the birds or something and it’s attracting rats.”
“Can’t the county do anything?”
“Residents can file a complaint with the Department of Human Services, who cite her for violations of the county code. She has thirty days to comply, and if she does not comply, the county can levy a fine.” She recited this by rote. “So far, the crackhead has always complied.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“She’s dead. From what I hear, her family’s from out west and the house is all tied up legally speaking, so no one can get inside yet and no one is doing the bare minimum. She was enough of a pain in the ass when she was alive, but if I don’t get reelected because of a dead crackhead…”
“All this is well and good, but what am I doing here?”
“The Public Health guy is a no-show and I need you to talk about rat control.”
“Mrs. Chapman, I’m the assistant curator of great cats at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Zoo.”
“Well, then, a couple of rats should be no problem at all for someone as bright as you.” Attack and touch. Match: Sissy.
The head of the Barcroft Community Board called the meeting to order and introduced Sissy Chapman, member of the county board. Sissy stepped forward and thanked everyone for coming and acknowledged that there was a serious problem in the neighborhood. “But if we all work together, we can come up with a solution,” she urged. Lindsay scanned the faces of the crowd. She had seen Sissy speak before, and despite their differences, Lindsay had to admit the woman was masterful. Faith learned everything she knew about persuasion at her mother’s knee. But this crowd wasn’t buying it. Through the eye rolls and the coiled postures ready to strike with questions, Lindsay could tell they had heard it all before. And they still had rats.
“We all know how this started,” continued Sissy. “I learned last time how unconventional this issue is, so I brought in some unconventional assistance to help us solve the matter. I’d like to introduce a representative from the National Zoo, Lindsay…”
She looked toward Lindsay and wrinkled her brow, never losing her bright smile.
“Clark,” said Lindsay.
“Clark!” chirped Sissy. “The floor is yours, Miss Clark.”
Lindsay’s cheeks turned crimson. I thought I was here to answer questions, she thought, not be served up as the main course. She checked her ponytail as she made her way to the front of the room.
“Hello, everyone…as Sissy said, I work for the National Zoo. With lots of different animals and environments and foods…and being surrounded by a wooded area, we too have to worry about Rattus norvegicus, or the Norway rat, which is the most common rat in these parts…” Now she did feel stupid for wearing khakis. “Some of the measures we use are bait stations. Have you tried those?”
She
reviewed some of the common measures the zoo took to combat rats, and what little she had remembered from her biology classes, but she was losing the already impatient crowd. It reminded her of a scene in a Three Musketeers movie when an army charged the swashbucklers. But there was just one of her, not three, and she was unarmed. Finally, a tall man stood up, and said in a southern accent, “Look, I’m sure everyone appreciates you coming here, but you’re not really telling us anything we haven’t heard a thousand times already.”
The crowd murmured its assent.
“Once again,” he said, gesturing toward Sissy, “we get a lot of lip service from the county, but what can you do? The house is filthy, the owner is dead, and the family’s not from around here. And now it’s a safe haven for rats. It’s a public health hazard, not a damn embassy. They don’t have diplomatic immunity, they’re stinking rats!”
Sissy spoke up: “Sir, I understand your frustration, but until the family can resolve the house issue, we’re forced to play defense.”
“How do you defend against cougars?” someone asked from the back of the room.
A young man leaned against the wall by the doors she had just entered, eschewing the few empty seats left in the center of the room. Lindsay had not noticed him when she had walked in. She estimated he was her own age, maybe a few years older, but it was hard to tell at this distance. He was nondescript, with brown hair, of average size and build, though maybe an inch or two shorter. More than anything else, what stood out about him was that he looked angry. It was in the eyes, which bore into the officials at the front of the room. Of which she now numbered.
“My dog was killed three days ago, right in my own backyard. It was huge—if it had decided to go after me instead of my dog, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. All the flyers outside for the missing pets? I’m pretty sure this is what happened to them.”
Many in the crowd gasped. Side conversations sprang up and new questions were shouted at Sissy and Lindsay.
The man continued above the din. “First, it’s the pigeons and the rats. Then it’s foxes. Now a cougar. The food chain is in overdrive in our neighborhood because of that house. Does a kid have to get taken before you actually do something?”
The room erupted. Sissy raised both hands and waved them up and down, as if the crowd were on fire and she was trying to fan the flames. She looked over and saw the small smile on Lindsay’s face. “You wanted cats,” Sissy hissed, “so say something, genius.”
Lindsay cleared her throat and raised her hand. “If there is a cougar in Arlington—”
“Not if. There is a cougar in Arlington,” said the man.
“I don’t doubt you, sir. I was just going to say, it’s an anomaly.”
“Fine, an anomaly killed my dog. But it looked an awful lot like a cougar.”
Lindsay looked at Sissy for a moment. She was trying to keep her smile afloat, but it was capsizing. She jutted her head toward the man with the questions as if to say, “Shut him up already,” but Lindsay pursed her lips and rubbed her forehead.
She thought for a moment, then faced the man again. “But they’ve been hunted out of this region for a hundred years or more…”
The man was about to interrupt, but she lifted her hand to cut him off and continued, more to herself than the crowd, “It could have wandered into this area from somewhere else. A couple of years ago, a mountain lion that had been tagged in South Dakota was killed by a car in Connecticut.” She looked up at the man. “Sorry, sir, just trying to get some context here.”
She addressed the rest of the crowd. “Mountain lions, cougars, pumas, catamounts—they’re all the same species—are really very adaptive creatures that can survive in any number of environments. And diets. Normally, that diet consists of ungulates—deer, sheep—but it will eat whatever it can catch. And they’re ambush predators. They’ll hide in brush, trees, places with cover, then they’ll pounce, taking the animal down and breaking its neck in the process.”
“That’s disturbingly accurate,” said the man.
“An animal will not see it until it’s too late. Sometimes that means pets if the opportunity presents itself.”
“Kids?”
“It’s extraordinarily rare, but it has happened.”
The crowd erupted once more. Sissy moved close to Lindsay and grabbed her by the elbow. Her smile was manic. Low, through gritted teeth, she asked, “What in God’s name are you doing?”
“Mrs. Chapman, you might have an actual cougar in Arlington. Do you have any idea how rare that is?” To the man: “Can you show me where it happened?”
“Now?” The man looked surprised, but not unhappy. “Sure.”
“Where are you going?”
“Sorry, Mrs. Chapman, you can take the girl out of the zoo, but you can’t take the zoo out of the girl.”
“This is all very interesting, but I think the bigger issue right now is the rodent situation…”
“I disagree.”
As Lindsay followed the man out the door, the Barcroft Community House became a zoo. Residents shouted over one another, yelling questions at Sissy. She heard folding chairs screech against the floorboards as members rose out of their seats.
Sissy yelled, “What about the rats?”
“Cougars eat rats too,” said Lindsay, and she was out the door.
Chapter 5
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 13
Ben watched her from outside the bushes, closer to them than where he had been standing the night Bucky was taken. He had wanted them cleared immediately, but he hoped maybe there was a silver lining in that his contractor wasn’t available until Saturday. Maybe a helpful clue remained in the thicket. Just standing there, waiting, he wanted to pace, but every time he started the new motion sensor lights he had installed illuminated the yard—on, off, on, off.
“Please stop,” a voice called from inside the bushes.
Ben resigned himself to craning his neck, looking up to the house and scanning the yard in every direction.
Lindsay rustled inside the bushes where the cougar had dragged Bucky, her flashlight dancing inside.
“Oh!” she said.
“Find a footprint?”
“No, it’s too kicked up in here.” She emerged from the bush with a tuft of tawny hair between her thumb and forefinger. “Found this though.”
“That could be my dog’s. They were the same color.”
Lindsay smiled and shook her head. “Which way did he go?”
Ben pointed over the fence. Lindsay threw a leg over it.
“Wait a minute. Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“How big was your dog?”
“Ninety pounds. Greyhound.”
“That’s a big meal. That’ll last it a week or two. Unless the cat was a female nursing cubs, but I think that’s unlikely.”
“Reassuring.” Ben followed her over the fence.
He led her through the yards where he had chased the animal. Like Ben’s, each successive yard was on a grade, sloping toward Four Mile Run. A few houses’ motion sensor lights blared to life as well, but none of the residents investigated; either they were still at the meeting or out elsewhere, in bed, or too accustomed to wildlife strolling through their yards. Ben and Lindsay clambered over a fence to the final yard, where Ben had given up the chase. He pointed across the neighbor’s front yard to the spot in the street where the beast had dropped Bucky. In a muddy, grassless patch by the fence, Lindsay spotted a print. She knelt down next to it and retrieved a small tape measure from her coat pocket that she had brought along from her car. “Five inches. This is tremendous.”
When she looked up at him, Ben wanted to remind her that the owner of the “tremendous” print had killed his dog. Even in the dark, he could see she was beaming. She had a twig in her hair. Kids at Christmas should look this happy, he thought.
“So that’s big then?”
“Massive.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“This mus
t have been the route it took to your yard.”
“Maybe, but that’s where it landed when it came back for me.” He recounted the cougar’s leap, how it abandoned Bucky and bolted for him, only to change its mind.
“It just sat there?”
“And sniffed me.” He rubbed his neck. “Maybe he didn’t like my deodorant.”
“No, that’s…odd. If he was going to attack you, you never would have seen it coming. And he already had his kill…”
“Hey.”
“Sorry, your dog…he already had that, and was outpacing you…”
“I was by no means getting in his way or impeding him. There was no reason for it other than to, I don’t know, put me in my place.”
“Cougars don’t do that. Not to humans, anyway.”
“Well, nobody told this cougar.” Ben looked at Lindsay’s hair and pointed to his own. “You have a…”
She swiped at her hair. “A bug? Is it a bug?” She bent over and shook her hair out.
“Here, let me.”
Ben stepped forward and pinched the twig from her hair. “Just a stick.” Suddenly, the porch light of the house in the yard where they were standing came on. “Let’s go,” said Ben, and they jumped over the fence and ran until they were back in his backyard. He smiled. His first in months. “You’re wandering out here in the dark, looking for a giant killer cat, and you’re worried about bugs?”
“Bugs are not my favorite.”
“Anything else not your favorite?”
“Bears. You?”
“Clowns. And now cats. Last I checked, it’s still illegal to kill clowns, but I’m hoping that’s not the case with this bastard.”
The smile fell from her face. “Kill it?”
“It’s running around a residential neighborhood. My dog is bad enough, but it could very easily have been a kid.”
“This cat, being here, is a marvel. We don’t know where it came from or how it got here. It’s either come here from a very long way away, which is extraordinary, or it’s been here all along, which is even more extraordinary. And the size of it!” She paused for a moment, then continued, quieter. “Ben, I’m truly sorry for your loss, but it wasn’t malicious, I assure you. It’s just its nature. And this is an incredible opportunity for study.”
The Beast of Barcroft Page 4
