“I’m from England,” said Jack, “and I’m a friend of the Queen.”

“Is that so?” Sam nodded. “And your name is Jack, no surname. Just Jack.”

“Just Jack,” said Jack.

“As in Jack the Ripper?” asked Sam. “English psycho, said to be in league with the royal household?”

“I think we’re going off on a bit of a tangent,” said Jack, uncomfortably shifting from one bottom cheek to the other. “Could I please have my clothes back, please?”

“No,” said Sam. “Those clothes of yours could well be my passport out of here.”

“I’m certain that if I listen long enough,” said Jack, “I will be able to learn whatever language it is that you are speaking. But I do not have time. I must be off at once.”

“You’re going nowhere, fella. Nowhere at all.”

“But I’ve done nothing. I’m innocent.”

“Innocent?” Sam laughed and loudly, too. And then he coughed, because laughing too much always brought on a touch of the malaria he’d contracted whilst fighting U-boats in the jungles of South-East Asia. “Cough, cough, cough,” went Sam.

“If you’ll unlock these cuffs,” said Jack, “I’ll gladly pat your back.”

“I’m fine.” Sam reached into a desk drawer, drew from it the bottle of bourbon that he’d promised his specialist he’d poured away down the sink, uncorked it and poured away much of its contents down his throat. “I’m fine. Goddamnit.”

“Can I go, please?” Jack asked.

“No, fella, you cannot. You and your girlfriend held a crowd of managers and chefs at gunpoint, beat a chef called Bruce to within an inch of his life –”

“We never did,” said Jack.

“Took two hostages. Famous movie stars – Sydney Greenstreet and Marilyn Monroe.”

“Well …” said Jack.

“Beat poor Sydney nearly to dea –”

“Hold on.”

“Sexually harassed Marilyn –”

“I did what?”

“And we caught you with your chopper in your hand.”

“Cleaver, please,” said Jack. “Let’s not sink to that level.”

“Resisting arrest, et cetera, et cetera.” Sam closed the file. “You’re looking at twenty to life, if not the chair.”

“The chair?” said Jack, looking down at the chair. “This chair?”

“The electric chair, Old Sparky.” Sam mimed electricity buzzing through his own head and then death. And well he mimed it, too, considering that he’d no formal training in mime. Although there had been that incident that the department had hushed up, regarding that female mime artist, the raspberry jelly and the bicycle pump. That could always blow up in his face if he sought further advancement.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Jack.

“You won’t like the feel, either, or the smell as your brains boil in your head.”

“Listen,” said Jack, “you don’t understand. I’ve been trying to explain.”

“Explain to me about the clothes,” said Sam.

“Well,” said Jack, “it’s pretty basic stuff, really. The shirt is worn much in the way that you wear yours, although mine doesn’t have those large sweat stains under the arms. The trousers, well, that’s pretty basic also – you put your left leg in the left-leg hole and –”

Sam brought his fists down hard on his desk. Inkwells rattled, things fell to the floor. Jack was showered with paperclips. Jack ceased talking. And the glass partition door opened once again.

A young male detective stuck his head through the opening; he had a cigarette in his mouth. “Any trouble, Chief?” he asked. “Only I’ve just solved that other case that has had you baffled for months. I –”

“Get out!” bawled Sam. The young detective removed himself, slamming the door behind him.

“Now listen, fella, and listen good,” Sam said unto Jack. “The clothes, your clothes, the ones with forensics – I have a preliminary report here. Let’s deal with the labels first.”

“The labels?” And Jack shook his head.

“The Toy City Suit Company, Fifteen Dumpty Plaza. Explain that if you will.”

“It’s the shop where the trenchcoat came from. It’s not my trenchcoat.”

“So you stole it.”

“No, it belongs to someone who was murdered.”

“You took it from their corpse. Do you wish to make a confession?”

“I’d like to see a solicitor,” said Jack. “I believe I am entitled to one.”

“Ah, yes,” said Sam. “As I recall, your girlfriend shouted that at you when we had to have her carried down to the cells after she injured several of my officers.”

“I warned you not to try to cuff her,” said Jack. “She knows Dimac.”

“That I know,” said Sam, sipping further bourbon. “We located the official licence for her hands and feet. Registered here! But no matter. There is no Toy City Suit Company. No Dumpty Plaza.”

“It’s in England,” said Jack.

“Which part?” asked Sam.

“The whole shop,” said Jack.

Sam didn’t smile. But then who would?

“Which part of England is the shop in?”

Jack thought hard. “The south part?” he suggested.

“The south part,” said Sam. And he said it thoughtfully.

“Next door to the Queen’s palace,” said Jack.

“Right,” said Sam, and he plucked at his shirt collar. And, leaning back, he thumped at the air conditioner. Further strange noises issued from this and then it fell silent. Sam took to mopping his brow once more. “There is no Dumpty Plaza in England,” said Sam. “There is no Dumpty Plaza anywhere. And as for the fabric of this trenchcoat, there appears to be no such fabric.”

“Could I see a solicitor now?” Jack asked.

“Soon,” said Sam. “When you have answered my questions to my satisfaction.”

“I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work,” said Jack.

“Tell me again about this bear,” said Sam. “This …” and he consulted the notes he had taken down (before his Biro ran out), “this Eddie.”

“A valuable antique toy bear,” said Jack, as this was his present stratagem. “Stolen from my client by an employee of the Golden Chicken Corporation. I tracked the bear to the headquarters of this corporation. I was interviewing two suspects.”

Sam did further big deep sighings. “Ah, yes,” he said. “Because you are a private eye, sent here from England to recover –”

“The Queen’s teddy bear,” said Jack. “Like I told you.”

“And the Golden Chicken Corporation stole the Queen’s teddy bear?”

Jack made a certain face. It wasn’t perhaps the best stratagem that he’d ever come up with, but he was committed to it now. “Which is why I am here, undercover,” said Jack. “With no identification.”

Sam did further shakings of the head. And further noddings, too. “I wish,” said he, “I just wish that for one day, one single day, everything would just be easy.”

“Listen,” said Jack, “you’re not going to believe me no matter what I tell you. If I were to tell you everything and the whole truth and nothing but the truth, you wouldn’t believe me. You wouldn’t believe a word.”

“But you won’t tell me the truth.” Sam leaned back in his chair and all but fell from it. “Because no one tells the truth. No one. Take my wife, for instance …” Sam swivelled round in his chair, rose and gazed through the window. Outside, LA shimmered in the midday sunlight, high-finned autos cruised along the broad expanse of thoroughfare, palms waved drowsily, birds circled high in the clear blue sky.

“My wife,” said Sam. “I gave that woman everything. Treated her like the Queen of England, I did, me. She wanted dance classes, I got her dance classes. She wanted voice tuition, I got her voice tuition. She wanted singing lessons, I got her singing lessons. I paid for that woman to have plastic surgery, breast implants, nail extensions. And what does she do? Becomes a Goddamn movie star is what she does. Signs that contract and dumps yours truly. Is that fair? Is that just? Is that right? I ask you, fella, is that right?”

Sam turned to gauge Jack’s opinion on the fairness and rightness of all this.