‘Let’s see,’ said Kavanagh. ‘Let’s see what yez got there.’ At first it looked as if Nguyen would resist, but then the tension in his wiry body eased and he handed the bag to Kavanagh. Kavanagh opened it. It contained two bottles of lemonade, a loaf of bread, a can of Heinz baked beans and a brown paper bag full of new potatoes. Seeing that he was satisfied with the inspection, Nguyen held out his hands for the bag, but Kavanagh kept it away from him.

‘Pat him down,’ he said to Murphy. Murphy moved behind Nguyen and ran his hands expertly up and down his body, checking everywhere that a weapon could be concealed. There was a Swiss Army knife in one of the side pockets of the suit, but other than that there was nothing remotely suspicious – a small roll of Sellotape, a box of matches, some string, a set of keys, a pack of cigarettes and a wallet. The normal sort of pocket junk that anyone might have on them. ‘He’s OK,’ he said to Kavanagh, who handed back the carrier bag.

‘Go,’ he said. ‘Before we make yez go.’

Nguyen shook his head. Kavanagh and Murphy roughly seized an arm each and were preparing to frog-march him out, when the door to Hennessy’s office opened. Hennessy’s face creased into a puzzled frown when he saw what was going on.

‘It’s the man who’s been phoning,’ said Beth, before he could speak.

‘Ah . . . The Chinaman,’ said Hennessy, walking across to Beth’s desk. ‘You’re a long way from home.’

Nguyen held the carrier bag tightly to his chest. ‘You would not talk to me on the telephone,’ he said.

‘Out,’ said Murphy, but Hennessy held up his hand.

‘No, if he’s come all this way I might as well talk to him, boys.’

‘Yer man’s got a knife,’ said Kavanagh.

‘A knife?’

‘A Swiss Army knife.’

‘Well take it off him. Look at him, for God’s sake. How much damage can he do with two strapping fellows like yourselves around? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, let the man be.’

Kavanagh took the knife from Nguyen and Murphy took the carrier bag.

‘You can pick them up on your way out,’ said Beth as Hennessy led Nguyen into his private office. He waved him to a hard-backed leather seat in front of his desk while he closed the door behind them.

Nguyen sat with his hands folded in his lap while Hennessy sat down behind the desk and leant forward, his arms folded across the wide blotter which took up most of its surface. ‘Let me tell you right from the start, you are wasting your time.’ Hennessy said each word clearly and slowly as if addressing a particularly thick-skulled juror because he wasn’t sure how good The Chinaman’s command of English was. ‘I realise you are upset and angry, and I understand how you must want revenge for what has happened to your family, but there is nothing I can do to help you. And you must know that it is very dangerous for you to be in Belfast asking about such things.’ He pressed the tips of his fingers against his temples as if trying to suppress a headache and studied Nguyen. ‘It is very dangerous,’ he repeated.