The West End at 2 a.m. wears the high-end suit and too-polished shoes of a man who used to be something, back in the day. Bursting through the service access on to the street, the Inspector casts around for Lönnrot. Bright lights dazzle, rickshaws spin, and the doors of respectable and less respectable members’ clubs are watched by discreetly muscular bouncers.