I glanced at the local news headlines on TV. The financial crisis in Raba City was still the headline news. This time it was about the suspected cause of the problem, a software glitch, an attack by one or more hackers, now definitely believed to be based in Raba City or close by.

It was after midnight, but I was still wide awake. I picked up the papers Spoder had left for me, and began reading.

The False Inspector Harsent

23

The False Inspector Harsent

The account of Det. Sjt Enver Jeksid (ret’d)

The hotel was in a side street, close to the harbour. It had three storeys and faced directly on to a square. A street carrying traffic ran on the far side of the square. Behind were some empty outbuildings and a yard where rubbish was thrown. A rambling flowering plant grew out of control over the main facade, obscuring some of the windows. Inside, the building smelled of sweat, old piss, stale tobacco smoke.

The place was a dump but it was good enough for what I wanted. I paid in advance for two nights but the guy on the desk gave me no receipt. I had checked in under the false name I was using, so I didn’t complain. He asked me to sign a register: the page he gave me was free of other signatures. I wrote in Det. Sjt Waller Alman, Dearth Police. I flashed the warrant card. The desk guy barely glanced at it: it was a fake, but a good one, good enough for his glance. Good enough also for a closer look. I had made sure of that.

I carried my bag up two flights of stairs. The lock on the room door was loose and inside only one light bulb worked. The bed smelled of other people.

I left the room and walked around the town. It was my first visit to Salay Ewwel. The night was warm but a mist drifted in from the sea and a light rain fell. The streets glistened. I stayed in the shadows of buildings, away from the streetlights. All lights were haloed by the misty fall. It was a town for sailors, drug dealers, the rootless young, the lost, the vengeful. A town to die in. I found a diner where I could eat standing. I kept my collar turned up.

I walked some more until I came to the bar that Hari Harsent ran, the one he used as a front. I clocked it from a distance, noted where the street doors were. I couldn’t go in – if he was there Harsent would recognize me. I walked past several times, peering in through the small windows, mosaics with coloured glass. I rehearsed walking away from it, looking for routes through narrow streets. Afterwards I went to a movie house, but left before the end of the main feature. I’d slept through most of it.