When I think about the burglar menacing my mother, the memories are slippery. She wasn't chirping. She was screaming

My mother is chirping, like a small bird. I laugh. What a fun game. And when I run through the house to find her, there is a man in a balaclava with a knife to her throat. She is not chirping. She is screaming. The expectation of one thing when the opposite is true. And yet in my memory it is still a chirp, not a scream.
When I think about the robbery, even now, decades later, it is my toes that tingle. My ankles. I was four at the time. Or five. I do not remember. Time, what a slippery thing. My friend Hayley was over to play. Sometime after the chirping, the man with a knife to my mother's throat told us to go upstairs to my room and not to open the door. I do not remember this happening but, when I reverse-engineer the events, I know it to be true. Until it's not. Maybe it was my mum. Maybe my mum had told us to go to my room and not to come out. What I do remember is sitting on my bed. I remember a dollhouse at the foot of my bed, its white pointed roof. I remember thinking we had to jump from the dollhouse to the bed. We could not let our feet touch the floor. If we did, the burglar (Did I know he was a burglar then? The intruder? The man?) would be able to reach through my bedroom floor and grab our feet, our ankles, his arms stretching up through the ceiling above him. We could not let our feet touch the carpet.
I remember standing on the street. I remember the police. I remember my mum's wrists, bound with rope. I remember begging the police to take off the rope. There is no in-between. There is the chirp/the scream, the man, the dollhouse, the feet through the floor, the wrists bound with rope.
'I don't know,' she says, in the years that follow, when I ask her the man's name. 'I used to know. But I always forget. It wasn't relevant. He was caught. I didn't want his name in my head.'
I don't know his name. I don't know if I ever did. If it was a detail I knew and then forgot or never knew at all. I know he drove a blue van. Whenever I see a blue van now, my toes tingle. My ankles. I think of the dollhouse and the floor, my knees tucked up under my chin.
More than 30 years later I receive a message on a social media account I rarely use. It is Hayley. She apologises, knows it is out of the blue, but wonders if I may be free to talk about the robbery. The incident, she calls it.
I try to identify the emotion that bubbled up when I saw Hayley's message in my inbox. It was not fear. There were no flashbacks of the event. The incident. No terror or anxiety. No apprehension. But the feeling was sudden and strong and all-consuming. Red, hot shame.
Before I meet Hayley, I tell my mum. I ask her if this is OK. Yes, she says. I ask her again if she remembers the robber's name. No, she says. Is he still in jail? I'm not sure how long he got in the end, she says. But is there anything else you want to know?
She says that it was a Friday afternoon. That kindergarten was a half-day on Fridays, so she had picked us up early and taken us home. That my two older brothers weren't home from school yet and my dad was at work. That Hayley and I were playing in the living room after eating lunch, and a man came up behind her. I asked if he had a knife. A boxcutter, she said.
My mother is chirping, like a small bird. I laugh. What a fun game. And when I run through the house to find her, there is a man in a balaclava with a boxcutter to her throat.
She told him that there were two young children in the house and that he could take anything he wanted, do anything he wanted to her, but not to touch the children. Do not touch the children. That when he attacked her, she had screamed and we had rushed in and she said to us slowly, calmly, go upstairs to your bedroom, close the door and do not come out. And that we went upstairs and closed the door. And that the man told her to take off all her clothes. That he had covered her head with a pillowcase so she wouldn't see his face. That he tied her up, and that he led her around the house naked and bound from room to room to room. And that she didn't stop talking. She was a social worker and had worked at a rape crisis centre. She knew from what she heard there that she could not remain faceless and nameless. That she needed to become a person to him, that he was less likely to hurt her; or less likely to hurt her as badly, if she could personalise herself. Even while she was naked. Even with a pillowcase over her head. And so she talked about my brothers and school and holidays and what we liked to do on the weekends and our favourite foods and hobbies and my dad and which music we liked, as he led her from room to room to room. Take whatever you want. Do not touch the children.
At one point, after what felt like a few hours, he threw her on to the couch in the living room, face down, wrists bound, head covered. And then there was silence. She waited a few moments. To make sure it was over. To make sure he had left. She did not move. Did not make a noise. She waited longer. And longer, still. She wriggled her wrists through the rope, and that was when he came back.
Sign up for a weekly email featuring our best reads
At some point, not then, but later, she heard the front gate slam. That was when she ran, wrists loose from their binding. Ran to throw a dressing gown over her naked body. Ran to my room. Bundled us up into the bathroom, the only door with a lock, grabbing the landline phone as she ran, closing the door behind us to call the police. As she says this, I can picture the loops of the phone cord under the door.
I ask her if he drove a blue van. No, she says. He didn't drive a blue van.
I do not have a memory of the dollhouse, except for in this memory. Its sharp, pointed roof. Growing up I played with my brothers' hand-me-down toys. Trains. Blocks. Transformers. I have no memory of the dollhouse, except for in this memory. A memory in a memory. A house in a house. Did I own a dollhouse, or invent it? Invent the danger of the pointed roof.
I meet Hayley near the hotel where she is staying in South Yarra. She lives interstate now and is down for a few days to visit her parents. Her dad is not well. I ask her how often she thinks of the robbery. Often, she says. I'm so sorry, I say. She says that after her mum picked her up from our house, they went to buy a present and that was that. That they never spoke of it again. Which made her think about it more. That she never came over to my house after that. That whenever her sisters have mentioned my name in the decades that followed, I'm referred to as Hayley's First Best Friend. It's only then that I start to wonder what else was taken that day.
The table where we are sitting is sticky with spilt beer. Yeasty and heated by the December sun. She remembers my mum screaming, she says. She remembers us running in and seeing a man on top of my mother, pinning her down, with a screwdriver to her neck. She remembers he told us to hide, or he would kill us. She remembers the fear. She remembers being told to go upstairs to my room and not to come out. She does not remember who said this. She remembers the waiting. She remembers sitting on my bed reading Mr Men books. She remembers my mum opening the door, the way she grabbed us, running to the bathroom and locking us in. She remembers the phone dragging behind her as she did this. She remembers my mother in her dressing gown. She remembers the phone call to the police. Her memories are crisp and fully formed. They are in her mind's eye, she says. I tell her that because of my mum's experience as a social worker she knew to talk and talk and talk, to not stop talking. That she told him over and over again not to hurt us. She calls my mum brave. She says she's a hero. Hayley is also a social worker. My mum and Hayley are the only social workers I know. I'm jealous that she remembers the phone call. Remembers the bathroom. Remembers the dressing gown. I do not tell her why my mother was in a dressing gown. She doesn't ask.
I ask if she remembers the dollhouse. Remembers that he drove a blue van. No. And no.
She asks if he was caught. Yes, I say. I ask if she was told that there was a trial and that he went to jail. No, she says. She had spent every day since then thinking he could be anywhere.
There is a file in my dad's filing cabinet about the robbery. I know this because every few years when I ask my mother if she remembers the man's name and she says that she doesn't, she says there is a file in my dad's filing cabinet and I can see it if I'd like to. I never ask for the file. Even after Hayley asks to speak to me. Even after Hayley asks me his name and I say I do not know.
Sign up to Five Great Reads
Each week our editors select five of the most interesting, entertaining and thoughtful reads published by Guardian Australia and our international colleagues. Sign up to receive it in your inbox every Saturday morning
after newsletter promotion
It is years after my conversation with Hayley that I ask for the file. Another hot day, in another December. It feels urgent and important in that moment but I can't explain why. A repurposed manila folder, a thick White-Out block on one side and, over the top, my dad's pointed handwriting: ROBBERY. Inside there is a subpoena for my mother to appear in court. We command you to attend, it begins. It includes the man's name and the charges against him. I wait to feel something. Burglary (eight counts); Aggravated burglary (one count); false imprisonment (one count); indecent assault with aggravating circumstances (one count); armed robbery (one count); damaging property (one count); theft (one count). I wait, and wait, and wait (three counts) and feel nothing.
His name is underwhelming. I feel almost embarrassed to see it. It is boring. There is nothing that hints at the violence it contains. It's comical in its ordinariness. After I see it, I Google his name on my phone. No trials appear in the search. No burglaries. A LinkedIn profile for a plastics CEO in Alabama is the first result. A news article about a sculptor. An obituary for a cinematographer. I check to make sure I have spelt his name correctly and giggle because I realise I have searched for a completely different person. First name. Middle name. Last name. All completely wrong. In the time it took for me to look away from the subpoena and search for him, I have given him a new identity.
I look at my mother's statement, typed and faded. The one that has been in my father's red filing cabinet for 39 years. The drawers that creak when they're opened, the lock that doesn't quite work. My mother was 39 when it happened, and it is 39 years later that I read her statement. I don't know what this means.
Her statement talks about arriving to our house. How she parked in the garage and Hayley and I ran inside first. How she collected armfuls of shopping and then came inside with them. I picture plastic bags digging into her forearms, leaving a mark, the garage closing behind her. I try to picture my mother at the age of 39 but can't. I can only picture her the age she is now. My image of her constantly updating, overriding the previous versions of her. Her written statement describes the way Hayley and I were playing piano in the lounge room. And I can hear the clank of keys. The laughter. And as we were playing, how she was grabbed by the wrists. The way she struggled. Fought back. Was thrown to the floor. And I can hear her chirp, her scream. In her statement it says he held a yellow screwdriver, its shank to her neck. There is no mention of a balaclava.
My mother is chirping, like a small bird. I laugh. What a fun game. And when I run through the house to find her, there is a man with a screwdriver to her throat.
Also in the statement: the things she said. The things he did. The things she pleaded with him not to do. And yet I still feel nothing. Blank. As if I am reading about someone else and not my mother. Which doesn't make sense actually because when I do read about these things in the news, I feel waves of anger. I feel instant rage, my body prickly with heat.
In the statement she described his hands. A plain gold ring on the third finger of his right hand. Wide hands. Short, fat fingers. The hand which held a yellow screwdriver to her neck. It is these hands that make me feel something. Rising bile. I picture them hairy, though there is no mention of this. I have invented it. And in the days that follow, this is the image that returns to me. Wide hands, short, fat fingers. Hairy knuckles. My breath catches and I count to slow it. Three counts in. One. Two. Three. Three counts out. One. Two. Three.
We moved house straight after the robbery. I do not remember the layout of the original house. The colour of its walls. The feel of it. I remember the house we moved into afterwards. Its brown laminate benches. The way the front door swivelled. The sound of the rain on the skylight. The tread of the carpet.
There are memories that I have that don't belong to me. My parents and my brothers lived in San Diego before I was born. I remember the sound of their voices, the cereals they ate, their visit to Disneyland, that time my middle brother almost drowned and was pulled out of the pool by his curly hair. I know these memories as my own, constructed from stories repeated around the dinner table and photos yellowed around their edges. Their hand-me-down toys and their hand-me-down clothes and their hand-me-down memories.
Before the trial my mother was told to stick to the facts. That after the man was arrested, he told the police that he would not contest anything if they were fair with him. I know what 'stick to the facts' meant, she said. Do not be hysterical. Do not play the victim.
I roll the memory of the robbery around in my mind, try to press it like a bruise until I can feel something. Wait for the ache of it. But it's dull, out of reach.
I play with the memory and change it. I open my bedroom door. I run to her. I scream. I flail my arms. I bite and kick. My four-year-old self. Or I don't. I am quiet and I tiptoe to the phone, and I call the police. I do something. Anything. But that is not what happened. Stay in your room. Do not come out.
I write his name in a note in my phone. I scroll back. My car registration. Our alarm code. Our wi-fi password. Another password that belongs to something I can't place. An old shopping list. Canned tomatoes. Red wine. Writing-related questions: Staring at magpies so they don't swoop you. They remember your face. Is this true? I never checked. The robbery. It's there. Between the magpie and a shopping list. A years-old note to self. The robbery. And again, as I scroll down. A Joan Didion quote, an idea for a character, a podcast recommendation, notes from a doctor's appointment, words without context: Longing (for what?). And The robbery, the robbery, The Robbery. Sometimes capitalised. Sometimes not. I look at his name. The last entry. First name. Middle name. Last name. I hold my thumb down on the screen. Press on his name. Four options appear: Mark as completed. Deadline. Priority. Delete. I press delete. I let the other reminders stay there. The robbery, the robbery, The Robbery. I will continue to forget his name. I don't know if I ever owned a dollhouse. My feet will continue to tingle when I see a blue van.
This is an edited version of The Chirp/The Scream which appeared in Australian Book Review's June issue as runner-up in the 2025 Calibre essay prize. You can read the essay in its entirety here

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Learn with AIFact CheckingText to SpeechAI Summary

Related Articles

BBC News

an hour ago

• BBC News

The murder of John 'Goldfinger' Palmer in Essex still unsolved

In June 2015, John "Goldfinger" Palmer was shot six times in the garden of his secluded woodland mansion in Essex. But due to an oversight in the police response, the 65-year-old's death was put down to natural causes - until a murder investigation was eventually launched six days later. Ten years on, detectives are still hunting whoever killed the man once described as Britain's richest criminal. Palmer earned his nickname following the audacious 1983 Brink's-Mat men disguised in security uniforms stumbled upon £26m worth of gold, diamonds and cash in a warehouse just outside London Heathrow dealer Palmer was accused of melting down the gold in a shed in the garden of his mansion near years later, on 24 June 2015, he was gunned down as he was burning documents in the garden of his home in South Weald near prosecutors had charged him a month earlier with fraud, firearms possession and money laundering. At about 17:30 BST, a suspect believed to be a contract killer scaled his garden fence having seemingly watched him through a carved-out was killed in the only part of the garden not covered by was found unconscious by his son's girlfriend. Two police officers attended at about 19:20 and had assessed his death as "non-suspicious" on account of an operation wound from recent gall bladder surgery. A week later, a post-mortem examination revealed he was, in fact, shot in the chest, abdomen, arm, elbow, back and kidneys. "It's definitely not something I'm going to hide behind; we did make mistakes," said Det Supt Stephen Jennings of Essex Police, speaking to the BBC's Gangster podcast series in 2022."We didn't do enough background checks on John."Had we done that, the officers would have realised he had quite a substantial criminal background."They didn't really check the body well enough to discount any third-party involvement." Roy Ramm, former commander of specialist operations at New Scotland Yard, said it was a "very serious error"."You talk about the golden hour in investigations - that was lost, the day was lost, several days were lost - and I do not envy the senior investigating officer who picked up the case and tried to make progress with it," he told the BBC. "It was nigh on impossible."The two young police officers later faced disciplinary action. Humble beginnings Born in Solihull near Birmingham, Palmer was one of seven children raised in a poor single-parent was a serial truant and left school at 15 without learning to read or teenager worked in roofing but moved on to street trading, which included selling paraffin off the back of a moved to Bedminster in Bristol and made his first £100,000 (£2m in today's money) from a jewellery set up Scadlynn, a company trading precious scrap business partner Gareth Chappell was later jailed for 10 years for conspiring to handle stolen goods in connection with the Brink's-Mat raid. The gold When Palmer was identified as a Brink's-Mat suspect, he accused the Met Police of "overreacting"."I'm completely innocent of anything to do with this so-called 'Mats-Brink' bullion raid," he said, sitting beside a hotel pool in Tenerife in 1985, after being tracked down by BBC war reporter Kate continued to deliberately - or mistakenly - confuse the Brink's-Mat name when he stood trial at the Old Bailey in 1987, and it blew kisses to jurors after they found him not guilty of conspiring to handle stolen gold Brink's-Mat heist, and the cat-and-mouse chases that followed, have been dramatised in BBC One TV series The the final episode, which aired earlier this month, the fictional detective, played by Hugh Bonneville, signs off with: "It's Brink's-Mat - it's never over."Palmer seemed unable to shake off the spectre of the 1983 raid. Timeshare empire Instead of going to ground, Palmer became one of the biggest landowners in Ramm, who oversaw investigations into Palmer and the laundering of the Brink's-Mat gold in the 1990s, said his team was "convinced" he invested earnings from the robbery into the amassed an estimated fortune of £300m which he used to buy a West Country mansion, a French chateau with its own golf course, a jet, turboprop-powered helicopters, a £750,000 yacht, and a classic car collection including Porsches and and Elizabeth II were jointly ranked 105th in the Sunday Times Rich prosecutors accused him of masterminding a timeshare fraud which involved 16,000 victims who were scammed out of more than £ found him guilty of conspiracy to defraud at the Old Bailey and he was jailed for eight years in 2001. David Farrer KC, the lead prosecution counsel, described Palmer as the "biggest shark" in the timeshare waters - a quote that was rekindled for the final episode of The Palmer defended himself, Mr Farrer spent hours liaising with his opposite number in private."He could be quite pleasant and charming," said the retired barrister."That was invariably when he thought the case was going well for him. I've no doubt whatever of his potential violence. "If I had been anything other than prosecuting counsel he would have clouted me a few times."Mr Farrer recalled how during the trial, Palmer wore body armour and was shadowed by Special Branch officers because they were concerned a north London gang had put a contract out on him because he owed them served half his sentence, and in 2009, he moved in with partner Christina Ketley and their son at South Weald. Contract killer Speaking to the BBC's Crimewatch in 2016, Det Supt Jennings said the Spanish fraud prosecution - announced at the end of May 2015 - was the most likely motive for his was complicated when considering his links to the men behind the Hatton Garden heist of April 2015, the detective said, and because of recent "law enforcement intervention with organised crime families"."It was an opportunity for any one of those individuals at any subsequent trial to blame John for what took place and obviously he would not be in a position to answer that or refute it," said Det Supt Jennings. On the evening Essex Police revealed Palmer was murdered, Mr Farrer received an unexpected call from a Scotland Yard detective he had worked with more than 13 years earlier."I asked him, was it the Russians who did it?" Mr Farrer recalled."He said they thought it was much more likely this gang in north London, the Adams, and they certainly didn't think that it was directly anything to do with timeshare - in other words, the same people that caused Palmer to wear body armour during his trial."The Mail on Sunday singled out the Adams crime family as the brains behind the killing in a 2016 "Patsy" Adams, of Finsbury, north London, was jailed later that year for shooting an associate, and other members of the syndicate have received prison time in recent McCunn is more veteran lawyer led civil action against Palmer in the mid-1990s on behalf of insurers acting for the Brink's-Mat business."It could be linked to any number of activities he was known to be involved with," he told the BBC. 'Very dangerous people' A £100,000 reward was put up by Palmer's family and charity Crimestoppers in 2018 for information leading to a conviction - but that reward has Ramm said: "It is particularly important that this murder continues to be investigated because of who Palmer was, the role he played in the network of serious and organised criminals in the UK, in Spain - internationally."He offended and upset some very, very, dangerous people, and we need to know who they were." Palmer always maintained he did not know he had melted Brink's-Mat Ketley was due to stand trial in Madrid in 2019 in connection with the timeshare fraud, but the case against her was dropped. Other individuals were found guilty."Without doubt [Palmer] has made mistakes in his life; I believe he has paid for those mistakes," Ms Ketley told BBC Crimewatch."I was incredibly proud of the way he adjusted to a very normal life."She still owns the gated woodland property where Palmer was murdered. She did not respond to the BBC's approach for comment. A 43-year-old man from Rugby, Warwickshire, was arrested on suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder in 2015, but was released without February 2017, detectives said a 50-year-old man from Tyneside, who lived in southern Spain, was questioned on suspicion of murder in what was a voluntary interview. He faced no further Police says it has taken hundreds of witness statements, pursued hundreds of lines of inquiries and examined thousands of pieces of the failures on the day Palmer was murdered, a force spokesperson said on Friday: "It is always best to secure and preserve crime scenes as soon as possible to achieve the best forensic evidence and regrettably that was not the case in this incident."However, outdoor crime scenes by their very nature have less forensic opportunities."We believe this murder was a professional contract killing and our experiences of similar cases such as this are that these types of murderers are forensically aware, limiting our opportunity to secure evidence." Mr Ramm thinks detectives will need an organised criminal to hand over key information as "leverage"."I think that's probably the only way it's going to be solved - someone on the inside becomes an informer." Follow Essex news on BBC Sounds, Facebook, Instagram and X.

Daily Mail​

an hour ago

• Daily Mail​

Animal trainer and his girlfriend are arrested for killing 10 dogs in their care

A California dog trainer and his girlfriend were arrested after authorities discovered that at least ten dogs died while under their care. Kwong 'Tony' Chun Sit, 53, and his girlfriend, Tingfeng Liu, 23, were arrested and booked into Orange County Jail on Thursday for animal cruelty and destruction of evidence after ten dogs reportedly died while in their care, according to investigators. The Irvine Police Department said they received a call on Wednesday from a pet owner who claimed that they had received a message from their dog trainer saying that their dog has died in their sleep and has been cremated. 'The one family reached out to us [and] thought it was kind of suspicious that their healthy dog died with this trainer,' Kyle Oldoerp, a spokesperson for the Irvine Police Department, told The Los Angeles Times. As the department's Animal Services Unit began investigating, they discovered that at least ten dogs had died in the trainer's care - with nine believed to have died on the same day. Authorities said they then quickly recovered multiple dogs at different crematoriums. 'Our Animal Services Unit and patrol officers immediately began investigating the circumstances. In the initial stages of the investigation, it was determined that at least ten dogs had died in the trainer's care. IPD quickly recovered multiple dogs at different crematoriums,' a press release from the department reads. Kwong 'Tony' Chun Sit, 53, and his girlfriend, Tingfeng Liu, 23, were arrested and booked into Orange County Jail on Thursday for animal cruelty and destruction of evidence after ten dogs reportedly died while in their care Based on suspicious activity - including the attempted cremation of the animals - Sit and Liu were arrested. Police are now working with veterinary professionals to perform necropsies and determine whether the deaths were accidental or intentional. 'We are working closely with veterinary professionals who will perform necropsies to determine how the dogs died. Our priority is determining if the death of the dogs was accidental or intentional,' the department's statement continued. 'If they all died of an accidental poisoning, or something that was all the same, then it's like, OK, maybe this is accidental,' Oldoerp said. 'But if it's not, and they're different causes, then that could take us down a different path.' Sit, who worked with pet owners across Southern California under various business names - including 'Happy K9 Academy' - is facing serious scrutiny. The academy, which specializes in 'obedience, behavior modification, and service dog training,' advertised a compassionate approach to dog training on its Yelp page. Numerous pet owners have since taken to social media to post one-star reviews, sharing similar stories of their dogs dying while in Sit's care 'At Happy K9, our mission is simple yet profound – to enhance the bond between you and your furry best friend through effective, compassionate training. We believe that every dog has the potential to be a well-behaved, joyful companion, and our aim is to unlock that potential,' the company wrote on its Yelp page. However, numerous pet owners have since taken to social media to post one-star reviews, sharing similar stories of their dogs dying while in Sit's care. 'I would give zero stars if I could. Do NOT send your dog here unless you want to be told that your dog died peacefully and the body has been cremated without consent. Shameful. There's a special place in hell for you Tony,' a user by the name Jessica J. posted to Yelp. 'Tony killed my dog Saint! he lied and said that she died peacefully in her sleep - she had no illnesses!! he sent her off to get cremated without our consent!!!! he sent a text HOURS after she died not even a phone call!!' Aimee L. of Glendale, wrote. 'My 5 month old Pomeranian, Cody, died under the care of Tony Sit. My Angel Cody was a healthy dog with a great personality, full of energy and full of love! The night my Cody died apparently 9 innocent dogs died too!' Mary B., a resident of Rancho Palos Verdes wrote. 'I'm praying that the parents of these innocent dogs find comfort and peace knowing that justice will be done to this monster! praying that this monster never be allowed to hurt another innocent dog ever again! I'm so sorry Cody my baby that I trusted this monster!' the user added. Another user, posting under the name Amelia S., of Los Angeles, wrote: 'Not ok to have multiple dogs who died same day and not own some mistake, foul play, poison, or heat exposure or something!' 'This man needs to never ever be able to touch a pet again and go behind bars for a very long time!! Very unhappy pet lover! NEVER EVER CONSIDER THIS SERVICE!' the post continued. The police department is urging people who may have used Sit's services and were notified of their dog's sudden passing while in this care to contact the Irvine Police Department. The investigation is ongoing.

Daily Mail​

an hour ago

• Daily Mail​

Major US cities go on high alert following Trump's military strike on Iran

Cities across the United States are on high alert following Donald Trump 's airstrikes on three nuclear cites in Iran. The president addressed the nation late Saturday and called the attack a 'spectacular military success,' stating that Iran's key nuclear enrichment facilities 'have been completely and totally obliterated.' Trump deployed B-2 stealth bombers to take out Iran's key Fordow bunker, Natanz and Esfahan sites. He issued a doomsday warning to Iran if they don't immediately run to the negotiating table to make peace with Israel. Iran's foreign minister called the strikes 'outrageous' and said that Tehran 'reserves all options' to retaliate. After Trump's announcement, police in New York City and Washington DC revealed they increasing their presence amid fears of a retaliatory attack. The New York City Police Department said in a post to X: 'We're tracking the situation unfolding in Iran. 'Out of an abundance of caution, we're deploying additional resources to religious, cultural, and diplomatic sites across NYC and coordinating with our federal partners. We'll continue to monitor for any potential impact to NYC.' Not long after that post, the Metropolitan Police Department also released a similar statement. It said: 'The Metropolitan Police Department is closely monitoring the events in Iran. 'We are actively coordinating with our local, state, and federal law enforcement partners to share information and monitor intelligence in order to help safeguard residents, businesses, and visitors in the District of Columbia.' Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass posted to X saying the city was 'closely monitoring any threats to public safety.' She added: 'There are no known credible threats at this time and out of an abundance of caution, LAPD is stepping up patrols near places of worship, community gathering spaces and other sensitive sites. 'We will remain vigilant in protecting our communities.' Paul Mauro, a former NYPD Inspector who monitored terror cells in the city, told Fox News that police presence will be increased outside religious intuitions. '[NYPD] will put out special attention patrol cars at locations that could track to the conflict in places that have an Israeli connection, and there's a couple of Shia mosques - Iran, is Shia - and there are a couple of Shia mosques,' Mauro said. He also noted authorities will be monitoring online for any bad actors that could be plotting against the US. 'You never know what's going to develop. So [they'll] liaise with those communities. They'll talk to them, they'll put special patrol, special attention patrol,' said Mauro. 'You're going to look very closely online. You're going to be monitoring a lot of the online stuff. NYPD has a very robust cyber counterterrorism program, and you're going to do that very heavily.'