Glen Ross parked his car at the back of the Sunshine Cafe. He was wearing his best suit, a press conference expected, but his face was ashen, as if he hadn’t slept. As he went in, all eyes turned towards him. He saw some familiar faces. One or two nodded, the news now through that a policeman had been killed overnight, but it seemed like no one knew what to say. They returned to their food and conversations, the noise level quieter.
The cafe was busy. He looked around hopefully; he couldn’t see the American at first. But then he noticed the black shirt, the bald dome, at a table in the corner, his face turned towards the window.
‘What can I get you?’
He turned around and looked blankly at the waitress. He thought she sounded quiet, looked upset, but then he remembered Bob Garrett had breakfast here most days. He flicked a hand towards the menu on the board behind her. ‘Just a coffee.’
He waited for his drink and then he walked over to the American, who didn’t look up until he sat down, the vinyl seat squeaking as he shuffled across to the window.
‘Good morning to you, Inspector. Working solo this morning?’ he mocked.
Glen Ross took a deep breath. He wanted to throw his drink over the bastard, hear him scream.
‘Don’t be a smartarse,’ was all he could muster, hissed through gritted teeth.
The American pointed at his plate and said, ‘Good food,’ but then he patted his stomach and glanced around. ‘Doesn’t do much for the waistline, though. Maybe I’m used to some city finesse.’
‘It’s nice and simple,’ replied Glen Ross, his voice terse. ‘It’s how we like it round here.’
The American smiled and nudged the plate further away. ‘I’m sure you do. Now, on to business.’
‘Just you wait there,’ Ross snapped, reaching forward and gripping the American’s hand. ‘You killed a police officer last night,’ he whispered. ‘You will go to prison for the rest of your life if I take you in.’
‘If, if, if. You’ve got your head so full of negatives, Chief, you can’t see the positives.’
Ross gripped the hand harder. ‘There aren’t any positives, you cop-killing bastard. You murdered a man I’ve known for years.’
The American sat back, leaving his hand on the table inside Glen Ross’s grip, and smiled. ‘Don’t create a scene, Inspector. It doesn’t look good in public.’
Glen Ross started to squeeze, trying to get a reaction. The tendons in his hand stood out like dorsal fins, his mouth set in a grimace.
The American took a drink of his coffee. He looked at his hand as an afterthought and said, ‘You move your hand now, or else I’ll pin it to the table with a knife. You’ve got ten seconds.’ A pause. ‘Ten, nine, eight…’
Glen Ross thought about keeping it there, but something in the American’s eyes told him otherwise, so he pulled his hand away and sat back. His complexion was red and hot. He flexed his fingers, his face flushed with suppressed anger, and looked at the table. He was losing control.
‘That’s better. Now, more coffee? I’ve finished mine.’ The American looked up and caught the eye of the waitress, asking for another. He noticed a few people were watching. When the waitress came over, her hips rolling, he thanked her loudly. When she’d gone, he took a sip and said, ‘This is a good town for me.’ When Glen Ross glanced up, he continued, ‘No one knows who I am, but the accent stands out like a tree on the prairie. Better than London, where I’m just another tourist. Here, I could get myself a profile.’
‘What are you talking about, you fucking murderer?’
‘Is that what you said to David Watts when he killed that poor girl?’
‘David Watts didn’t kill anyone.’
‘Well, he’s sure panicking a lot for an innocent man. Anyway, wasn’t I with you when I set up the meeting with Bob Garrett? Come to think of it, aren’t we in a conspiracy?’
Glen Ross’s complexion peaked into a pale grey, his breathing heavy.
‘Are you okay, Inspector? You don’t look so good. Maybe it’s all that simple food catching up on you?’ The American shook his head dismissively. ‘No, Inspector, I think a profile is good.’ Then he slipped in a glacier-sharp look behind the smile. ‘I could have just sneaked into town, done what needed to be done and then sneaked out again. But now, I’ve been seen around. If people talk about an American as a suspect, they will say, ‘Hey, he was in Inspector Ross’s office. And didn’t PC Garrett also arrive? And didn’t Inspector Ross dine with him when PC Garrett’s corpse was still cooling?’ He paused to let the simplicity of it sink in. ‘You see, Inspector, our fortunes are now inextricably entwined,’ and then he laughed, making sure that everyone in the cafe turned round again.
‘I could arrest you,’ snarled Ross, his voice low. ‘You’ve confessed to a murder.’
‘But you won’t. I know that. You know that. So stop shitting me with empty threats.’ He took another drink of coffee and watched Glen Ross through the steam. Then he put the cup down and continued, ‘I can offer you two ways out of this mess. Easy or hard.’
Glen Ross said nothing for a while, instead just thinking about what he should do. He realised pretty quickly that there was nothing he could do.
The American took the silence as a come-on.
‘Good to have your ear, Inspector.’ He put his fingers together and rested his nose on their tips, looking thoughtful. ‘Tell me this: was Bob Garrett on his own that night, the night the young girl died?’
Glen Ross looked puzzled. ‘No, not as I remember. He was with James Radley. But he’s dead now.’
The American smiled. ‘Good. So the easy way out is this. Bob Garrett unburdened himself yesterday afternoon.’
‘Did he?’
The American nodded. ‘That’s right. He came into your office and confessed to feeling responsible for the death of that young girl. He saw her, walking on her own, and thought about giving her a ride home. But he did nothing. And he saw the murderer lurking and did nothing.’
Glen Ross paused for a moment. Then what was being said slowly dawned on him.
‘That’s disrespectful. He has only been dead a few hours and you want to use him as a scapegoat.’
The American leant forward, trying to catch Glen Ross’s eye, and with a voice packed full of menace, said, ‘Let’s not pretend you have ever cared for that poor girl, so cut the bullshit.’
Glen Ross said nothing.
‘That’s right, Inspector, you look away, and you keep your eyes dancing, because you’re going to have to watch your back every day for the rest of your life if you don’t go along with me.’ He paused, then continued, ‘You are going to give a press conference in an hour’s time, and you are going to tell the good people of Lancashire that PC Garrett was a depressed man. You are going to tell them how PC Robert Garrett, recently deceased, came into your office yesterday and confessed to seeing Annie Paxman walking on her own, and that he had seen the guy who killed her, the one locked up in jail, walking behind her, but he did nothing. Garrett did nothing because he thought he was just a harmless old drunk. But he could have been stopped. And Garrett didn’t tell anybody, because everyone would know that he could have stopped it. He told you all this, and then went up to that park and blew his own brains out.’
Glen Ross shook his head but said nothing.
‘Don’t fuck me about, Inspector, and let me give it you straight: I don’t like you, and I would hurt you with a smile on my face. So don’t give me the pleasure. You are going to give that press conference, and you are going to take the heat off David Watts. Then, if the shooter gets caught and tries to blame Watts, no one will believe her.’
‘And if she doesn’t get caught?’
The American shrugged. ‘I’m going to kill her, but it means no more heat on you if the shootings stop. But I’ll catch up with her, and when I do, she will die.’
Glen Ross looked out of the window. It looked like he might have been fighting back tears, but it could just have been the reflection from the sun beaming into the cafe.
‘What if I say no?’
He shrugged. ‘There’s the “hard” way I mentioned.’
‘Which is?’
‘I kill you.’
The simplicity of the response halted Ross for a moment, but then he said, ‘I’m arresting you for Bob Garrett’s murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if …’
The American shook his head. ‘No, you’re not arresting me, because you’re a coward. People like you always are. You want to wear the badge and walk the big man’s walk, but when it comes down to it you only care about yourself, and your interests are not best-served by turning me in.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Inspector Ross, it’s like having breakfast with a child. Pay attention please. You turn me in; I talk. I have one rule in life: never go down, but on the day that you do, take as many as you can with you. If you lock me up, I will tell everybody everything, and everything includes you.’ Then he winked. ‘And what if I say that you told me to kill Bob Garrett when I spoke to you yesterday? Conspiracy. Remember that word.’
Ross rubbed his chest with his hand, grimacing at sharp pains jabbing him there. ‘And what if I just ignore you?’ he said, sounding uncomfortable.
The American shook his head.
‘You can’t. I’ll come and kill you. Either way, you lose. So go public. One hour. You might want to call your officers together first. You want them with you for this one.’
Glen Ross looked down at the table. ‘I can’t sacrifice one of my officers.’
‘You didn’t mind sacrificing that poor girl for the sake of a football career, or should I say your career and the chance to get close to David Watts.’ The American checked his watch. ‘And don’t forget: I need details about the girl’s family. I’m going after the shooter soon. I can’t wait any longer.’
And then he dismissed Glen Ross with a flick of his hand. He pulled out a newspaper and spread it on the table.
Glen Ross slid out from behind the table and walked slowly towards the door. He looked at the floor as he went, now oblivious to his surroundings. He didn’t notice everyone watching him as he walked out.
The American made a play of reading the newspaper, but he watched the inspector’s car pull away from the cafe. Once he had gone, he slid out of the booth himself and headed back into town. He had the feeling that today wasn’t a day to stay still.