‘So, have you actually seen him in your attic or discovered how he is getting in there?’

‘I sit up there two or three nights a week but he never comes in when I’m up there. No doubt he has a spyhole or something and doesn’t come in if the coast isn’t clear. I lie down behind the old metal cold-water tank but he still manages to spot me.’

‘So, how is he getting into your attic? Is there a hole in the party wall or a gap or something?’

‘I don’t know how he’s doing it. There’s so much shit up there that I can’t inspect the entirety of the party wall. Anyway, what does it matter? I thought I was speaking to a policeman, not a structural engineer.’

‘Well, I think it will be very important in establishing the facts, sir.’

‘No, I don’t think it will be, because I’ve got tape recordings of his midnight creeping. Here, have a listen.’

Mr Clown Shoes pressed a button on his phone and started to play a recording he had made. It began with him whispering, ‘Recording from upstairs hallway 4am, 16th September.’ There then followed an intermittent scratchy or tapping sound and the occasional baby bear ‘growl’. The sergeant interrupted the playback and enquired:

‘Are you sure it’s not a pigeon, rather than a baby bear?’

‘A pigeon!’ barked Clown Shoes. ‘How could a pigeon make noises like that? Are you fucking serious? Do you reckon the pigeon is using dumbbells or riding a fucking skateboard?’

‘Okay, sir, less of the language please. Let’s keep it civil. The problem is that if he is indeed entering your property without any intention to steal or without causing damage…’

Clown Shoes interrupted: ‘HE IS CAUSING DAMAGE! Damage to my mental health! I hardly get any sleep and I’m neglecting my church duties. I’m a warden at St Mary’s Church – yes, that’s the type of person I am – and yet nobody, and I mean nobody, seems willing to help.’

‘Okay, sir, I hear you. Listen, I’ll get one of our officers to take a statement from you and advise you what action, if any, we will be taking. If you have a seat on the bench over there someone will be through to get you.’

Clown Shoes turned around slowly, his body slightly deflated. He walked towards me with one of his shoes making a breathy squeak. As he looked at me I gave him the best sympathetic smile I could muster. This stopped him in his tracks. He stared at me for a few seconds with a disturbing intensity, as if he was trying to decide if I was his long-lost son. He then shut his eyes tightly for a moment or two and strode out of the police station.

The sergeant sighed behind his counter and typed something onto his computer.