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driven past it a few times…” His voice grew soft and weary then. “The wife and I… well, before, we shopped there once. I bought her a picture frame for our wedding photo.” I could hear the tears in his voice as he stifled a sob.
    “Thank you,” I said. “That’s all I wanted to ask. We’re on the case, Mr. Bellman, and will let you know as soon as we find out more. I’m so sorry for your loss; you have both of our condolences.”
    He mumbled some kind of gratitude and excused himself, cutting the line.
    “How is he?” Cordi said.
    “Not good. He said he and his wife once shopped at Kirino’s, but he doesn’t know him well.”
    “Well, at least that’s a connection. Could be the start we need.” Cordi’s anger had dissipated, and she now wore the focused glare of an eagle approaching its prey. And I have to admit, Mr. Bellman’s grief aside, I felt a twinge of excitement to be on the case.
    ***
    We pulled out of traffic and aimed for a parking space outside Kirino’s. A motorbike swerved round us and nearly ran us into another car. Cordi blared the horn and stamped on the brake, making me lurch forward into the seat belt. It pulled against my chest, making me swear all the words under the sun.
    The bike’s rider briefly looked behind us before speeding off. I watched as their sparkling blue helmet bobbed and weaved through traffic.
    “What the hell was that about?” I asked, massaging my shoulder.
    Someone behind us blared their horn. Cordi stuck her head out of the window and gave them a string of expletives in response. She leaned back inside and parked the car. “Sorry about that,” she said, smoothing her cardigan and fixing her hair. “I just needed to get that out of my system. Are you okay? I pulled up pretty sharp there.”
    “I’m good, don’t worry,” I said. Growing up in foster homes meant I had a few issues being the victim of bullying. Getting beaten up and bruised was something I had gotten used to. A slight ache from the seat belt wasn’t so bad.
    “You poor thing. You’ve been in the wars lately. Let’s hope there’s no ninjas waiting for us inside, eh?”
    Or ex-husbands , I thought. Cordi seemed pretty dangerous to be around when she was angry.
    Kirino’s shop wasn’t what I was expecting. It was all clean white tiles and glass display cases lit from inside for dramatic effect. I was expecting something dingier and dustier like many of the antiques shops in London. This was closer to an Apple store. I noticed nothing had prices on them—a case of if you have to ask, you can’t afford.
    I felt entirely out of place as though I had just stepped inside a Prada outlet in my jim-jams.
    A young Japanese girl in a perfectly tailored black trouser suit stood behind a glass-topped counter containing a dozen small, intricately carved stone statues. A single cardboard placard beneath each one contained a string of Japanese characters.
    Cordi had already approached, and I soon joined her.
    “Hello,” Cordi said.
    I was expecting the girl to have a crystal-cut Japanese accent, but when she opened her mouth I almost laughed when she spoke with a born-and-bred cockney accent.
    “Mornin’,” she said. “I’m Katie, welcome to Kirino’s. What can I do for ya?”
    She eyed me funny, perhaps seeing my smirk. I put on my serious face as Cordi explained why we were there and handed her a business card.
    “Ryu’s my dad, innit,” the girl said. “Wait there a sec. I’ll see if he’s up.”
    She turned and went through a door. In the background, I heard her call out. A deeper, definitely Japanese voice responded.
    She opened the door. “Come through. He’s out back ’avin’ his bacon.”
    I smelled it instantly and my stomach clenched. The paltry muesli at Cordi’s didn’t really cut it. Katie led us through a small, dark corridor, the walls covered with small square picture frames containing photos of what looked like a young Katie and her mother and