I was sitting on the couch Saturday morning, enjoying a rare moment of peace while Mr Whiskers groomed himself on my lap. Pandora was making breakfast in the kitchen, and John Mercer was still asleep in his room, which meant nobody had questioned my intelligence or accused me of overthinking anything for at least twenty minutes. It was a promising start to the day. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of looking at the coffee table, where John had left an old computer monitor and a tangle of cables. I recognized the equipment immediately. Dave had been asking John about it earlier in the week, and at the time, I’d assumed he was simply interested in computers. Now, with nothing more pressing to occupy my thoughts, I began wondering why Dave had been so interested in a machine that John hadn’t used in years.
Dave and I work together, and I know him well enough to recognize when he’s up to something. Usually, that something involves a terrible joke, a complicated explanation nobody requested, or an attempt to convince me that a problem I’ve spent three hours solving could have been fixed by restarting something. He’s not exactly the sort of person you’d expect to run a sophisticated surveillance operation. On the other hand, that would make him an excellent candidate for one. Nobody suspects the guy who spends fifteen minutes looking for his glasses while they’re sitting on his head. I was considering this possibility when Pandora walked in carrying two plates of eggs. She glanced at the computer equipment and asked why John hadn’t put it away. I told her I was beginning to suspect Dave had an unusual interest in our household technology. She gave me the same look she uses when I’ve said something that requires either a long explanation or immediate medical attention.
“Dave asked John about an old computer,” she said, setting my breakfast on the table. “That’s hardly suspicious.” I explained that the questions had been unusually specific, particularly the ones about the computer’s network connection and whether John still used it. Pandora pointed out that those were perfectly reasonable things to ask about an old computer. I agreed that they were reasonable individually, but I wasn’t prepared to dismiss the possibility that they became suspicious when considered together. She sat beside me, scratched Mr Whiskers behind the ears, and suggested I eat my eggs before they got cold. I took that as a polite way of telling me she wasn’t interested in joining the investigation. Fair enough. Every great detective has to work alone occasionally, although most of them probably get to finish breakfast first.
The situation became more interesting when John finally emerged from his room, looking like someone who had lost an argument with his alarm clock. He stepped around the cables, poured himself some coffee, and asked whether Dave had called. That caught my attention immediately. Why would Dave be calling John on a Saturday morning? John explained that he’d promised to help Dave with a computer problem, but when I asked what kind of problem, he said it was complicated and he’d explain later. There it was. The classic response of a man who either didn’t want to explain a technical problem before his first cup of coffee or was concealing something of enormous significance. I watched him disappear down the hallway with his mug, then looked at Pandora. She was spreading jam on her toast and appeared completely unconcerned. I found that almost as troubling as John’s answer.
By eleven, I’d developed a theory. Dave wanted information about our household, and John was providing it through his computer. I hadn’t worked out what information Dave wanted, how he intended to use it, or why he’d go through John instead of simply asking me questions at work, but those seemed like details I could address later. I began inspecting the equipment on the coffee table, being careful not to touch anything that might erase evidence. Mr Whiskers followed me, which I initially interpreted as support. He sniffed a cable, batted at a loose connector, and settled directly on top of a folded instruction manual. It wasn’t the assistance I’d hoped for, but at least somebody was taking an interest. I leaned closer to the monitor and noticed a small circular opening near the top of its frame. A camera. Of course. Dave hadn’t just been interested in John’s computer. He might have been interested in what the computer could see.
I called John back into the living room and pointed at the opening. “Does this thing have a camera?” He looked at it for about two seconds and said yes. I asked whether it still worked. He said he wasn’t sure. Then I asked whether Dave knew about it. John slowly lowered his coffee mug and asked why I was interrogating him about a monitor. I explained that I was trying to establish whether someone could use the equipment to observe activities in our living room without our knowledge. John stared at me, looked at the unplugged power cord lying on the floor, and asked whether I’d considered the possibility that a computer needed electricity to spy on somebody. I told him that was exactly the sort of assumption a clever person might exploit. He laughed so hard he nearly spilled his coffee.
Pandora heard the commotion and came in from the kitchen. By then, John was explaining my theory between bursts of laughter, which did nothing for its credibility. She looked at the monitor, then at me, and asked what I thought Dave would be watching. I considered the question carefully. Most evenings, our living room contains John playing video games, Pandora reading or watching television, me trying to understand why everyone else finds my observations amusing, and Mr Whiskers licking himself in places no respectable surveillance operator would want to see. I admitted that the potential intelligence value was limited. Still, I argued, the principle mattered. Pandora nodded thoughtfully and said that if Dave really wanted to monitor us, he’d probably be disappointed to discover how much time we spent discussing what to order for dinner. I couldn’t argue with that either.
Around lunchtime, Mrs Jenkins stopped by to return a baking dish Pandora had lent her. She’s our neighbor, and she has an unfortunate habit of arriving just as I’m trying to make sense of something. I mentioned Dave’s interest in John’s computer, expecting her to confirm that she’d noticed something unusual. Instead, she told me she’d spoken to Dave earlier in the week because he’d asked about her garden. Apparently, he was trying to identify a plant that kept growing beside his driveway. I immediately wondered whether his gardening questions were connected to his interest in computers. Perhaps he was collecting information from multiple sources. Mrs Jenkins listened patiently, then asked whether I thought Dave was planning to spy on her hydrangeas. Pandora laughed. John, who had wandered back into the room, said that would probably make for more interesting footage than our living room. I was beginning to feel that nobody appreciated the seriousness of the situation.
The mystery finally began to unravel when Dave called that afternoon. John answered on speakerphone while sorting through the cables, and I positioned myself nearby under the perfectly reasonable pretense of looking for the television remote. Dave asked whether John had found the old webcam and whether it was compatible with his computer. That was enough to make me straighten up. A webcam. So there really was a camera involved. Before I could say anything, Dave explained that he wanted to use it for video calls because the camera built into his laptop had stopped working. John told him he’d found an old monitor with a camera but wasn’t sure it would work without the original computer. Dave sighed and said he’d probably have to buy a replacement. The entire conversation was disappointingly ordinary, right up until John mentioned that I’d been investigating the equipment all morning.
There was a short silence on the other end of the phone. Then Dave asked, “Investigating what?” John told him I thought he might be spying on us. Dave started laughing, and I could hear him trying to get himself under control before asking whether I’d discovered his secret headquarters yet. I told him I was glad he found the situation amusing, but I had legitimate questions about his interest in our computer equipment. He said he had one legitimate question of his own: why would he want to watch John sit in his underwear eating cereal? John objected to that characterization of his morning routine, which was a mistake because Pandora immediately confirmed it. Dave laughed even harder. I began to suspect that putting him on speakerphone had been a tactical error.
Just when I thought the matter was settled, Mr Whiskers made his contribution. He’d been watching John sort through the cables, and apparently he’d decided that the long black cord hanging off the coffee table was a toy. He grabbed it in his mouth and backed away, dragging the unplugged webcam across the table. John reached for it, but the cat moved faster. Within seconds, Mr Whiskers had pulled the little camera onto the floor and was retreating beneath the couch with the cable trailing behind him. John got down on his knees and tried to retrieve it. Pandora was laughing too hard to help. Dave, still listening through the phone, asked what was happening. I looked at the cat disappearing into the darkness beneath the sofa and announced that we’d just witnessed the destruction of potential surveillance equipment by the only member of the household who had taken my concerns seriously.
John eventually recovered the camera, although not before Mr Whiskers swatted him twice and attempted to steal the cable again. When John stood up, he was holding the device in one hand and a thoroughly unimpressed cat in the other. Dave said he appreciated the effort but thought he’d buy a new webcam rather than risk receiving one that had been chewed by a suspicious animal. Pandora suggested that Mr Whiskers had probably mistaken the cable for a mouse tail. I wasn’t convinced. The timing was remarkable, and I felt it deserved recognition. John pointed out that the cat had also attacked a shoelace that morning, which somewhat weakened my argument. Still, I wasn’t going to let one inconvenient fact erase an entire afternoon of investigative work.
By dinner, the household had moved on. John had put his old computer equipment back in storage, Pandora was choosing something for us to watch, and Dave had sent me a message asking whether Mr Whiskers offered cybersecurity services. I considered ignoring it, but that would have been childish, so I replied that his rates were reasonable as long as payment came in the form of tuna. Dave responded with a picture of a can of cat food and asked whether that covered a full security assessment. I showed Pandora, who laughed and said I’d finally found someone willing to encourage my nonsense. I told her that was an unfair description of a perfectly legitimate investigation. She kissed my cheek and said she was glad I’d solved the case.
Later that evening, I found Mr Whiskers sitting on the couch, staring at the empty spot where the computer had been. He looked pleased with himself, although cats generally look pleased with themselves even when they’ve accomplished absolutely nothing. I sat beside him and scratched his head. Dave wasn’t spying on us, John wasn’t secretly sharing information, and Mrs Jenkins’ gardening conversations had nothing to do with anything. The whole mystery had come down to a broken laptop camera and an old piece of computer equipment. I could accept that. What I couldn’t explain was why Mr Whiskers had gone straight for the webcam instead of any of the other cables on the table. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe he liked the way it moved. Or maybe, just maybe, he’d recognized a threat that the rest of us were too quick to dismiss. Then he sneezed directly into my face, rolled onto his back, and began licking his stomach. Whatever secrets he possessed, he clearly wasn’t interested in sharing them. And frankly, after watching that performance, I was starting to think Dave had made the right decision about buying a new camera.