‘There was a spoof on the Internet,’ Keith Li said, savouring the word spoof as if it was one of his all-time favourites. ‘A picture of road signs supposedly in the north of England in both English and Arabic.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Oh, people were very angry! I like this expression – make the blood boil. Wonderfully descriptive! All that cold English blood boiling hot! The signs said, “Five miles – Rotherham”, in English and Arabic. “Ten miles – Leeds”, in English and Arabic. And so on.’ When he relished a phrase in English, he would pause to enjoy it. And so on. He liked that one, too. ‘Many people were very upset to see English signs also in Arabic.’

I got out of the car. He got out, too. I smiled at him.

‘But it wasn’t real,’ I said. ‘The signs in Arabic and English were all fake, right? Yorkshire does not have road signs that are in English and Arabic.’

He nodded.

‘Very good, Detective. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. It was all Photoshopped. This spoof. To cause mischief, shall we say? But in Chinatown – in the heart of London, not Colindale or somewhere similar, not out here in the sticks – street signs have been written in English and Chinese for fifty years!’

I stared at my phone as it called Lee Hill but I was remembering the street signs on Gerrard Street, Newport Place, and Lisle Street – those few short streets that made up London’s Chinatown. Keith Li was right. They were all in both English and Chinese.

‘The bilingual street signs in Chinatown are not Photoshopped,’ he said. ‘But nobody cares! And why not, Detective?’

Lee Hill’s number began to ring. I began walking towards the lorry. Billy Greene was trying the back door.

‘Because no Chinese ever put a bomb on the London underground,’ Keith Li said, keeping pace with me. ‘Because the Chinese mind our own business. Because we take care of our own. And that’s why they call me instead of you.’

Billy Greene was staring at the back of the lorry.

And from inside the vehicle, a phone was ringing in answer to my call.

‘Bust it open!’ I said.

Billy stood there helplessly for a moment and then picked up a half-brick and threw it, quickly jumping backwards when the brick bounced off the lock.

I cursed and ran back to the BMW, removing a pair of forge steel bolt cutters from the boot. An unmarked squad car pulled into the car park just as I was snapping the big metal lock on the back of the lorry.

Edie Wren was driving. Whitestone was in the passenger seat.

They were getting out of the car as the lock snapped open and Billy threw back the doors.