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only then that McKean had begun digging for information. So this is how the big boys roll , he thought. They interrogate you soft and gentle like, so you don’t know they’re doing it. This was a shocking revelation. It was so different than the cops he had seen on television that he wondered why anyone would have scripted anything different.
    George smiled. “Do I get to make a phone call? In the movies people are always getting one call and using it to phone their lawyers.”
    Martin lifted an eyebrow. “Do you have a lawyer?”
    George leaned his back against the padded wall and ran his fingers through his hair, thinking about his brother-in-law Dan.
    Dan was a lawyer; worked in real estate mostly. He was also a big mouth know-it-all that had a part-time gig as an asshole. The idea of getting Dan involved made George feel sick.
    “No,” he said, admittedly.
    “That’s what I thought,” Martin said. “Believe it or not, most people don’t have a law firm on speed-dial. If you need to make a call or two for some reason, just let us know. We’re not unreasonable. We’re trying to help you here, Mr. Lewis. Understand? Do you need to make a phone call?”
“Not really, I suppose… but maybe later.”
“Okay. Let us know and we’ll work something out. No problem.”
“Thanks. Can I have a cigarette?”
“Sorry. No smoking allowed.”
“Come on, please?”
“Sorry.”
    George pursed his lips together. Of course smoking was forbidden; it was a government building for crying out loud. He said, “I understand that smoking is a no-no, honest. But I’d like a cigarette anyhow, okay? You want to know why? Because I’m going to make things really easy for you guys. I’ll give you a full confession if you give me a smoke. Sound like a deal?”
    “A full confession?” Martin said. “Do you have something to confess, Mr. Lewis?”
    “My cigarette?”
    “Smoking is not allowed. We don’t make the rules, Mr. Lewis. We just follow them.”
“Fine. Have it your way.”
“My way is that you cooperate, so we can get this ugliness behind us.”
George shrugged. “Whatever.”
McKean waited a few seconds, then he hit a button on the recorder. A little red light turned dark and the tape stopped rolling.
    He said, “Off the record… let me tell you something, George. I’m telling you this, not so you’ll feel threatened, or in jeopardy, but so you’ll understand. By law we can keep you here for a long while, George. If we have reason to believe that you’re dangerous, or thinking about becoming a fugitive, we can keep you here for a very, very, long time. But if you’re smart, which I think you are, you can be out of here really soon. Helpful people tend to get along better than others, get it?”
He switched the recorder on.
Martin said, “Can you tell us what time you left home today, Mr. Lewis?”
George looked at the floor. He was done talking.
McKean, slightly swaying from character, said, “Should I remind you that we have thirty-two witnesses?”
“Unless I can have a smoke to help calm my nerves, you’re going to need thirty-two witnesses.”
    After a bout of silence, Detective Martin stood up and knocked on the window. The door opened and Martin disappeared. A moment later he returned with a cigarette, an ashtray, and a book of matches.
    He placed the items on the padded bench and said, “I’m not giving you a cigarette, Mr. Lewis. However, you’re a grown man and you’re old enough to make your own decisions.”
    “Thank you.”
    McKean looked annoyed. He didn’t enjoy bending the rules, not even a little. It made him feel like a bad cop. “Are you going to talk to us?”
    “You bet.” George took the cigarette, leaving behind the matches and the ashtray. “I was coming into Toronto from Oshawa,” he said, tucking the cigarette behind his ear. “I was alone. I got on the six fifty five. Like usual, a thousand people got off the train and nobody got on. The train, as you might know,