My hard disc was humming as it worked busily. I was holding the key card from the hotel in case I was ordered to re-engage the ‘source’, but it seemed the program could be uninstalled without it. There was no sign of the slow-moving green bar at the bottom of the monitor display, glacially reporting percentages. I was yawning, my eyes were tired.

At last the message came: Salay Raba, Financial Services Protocols Uninstalled.

In the morning I ate breakfast at the long table, Jeksid’s handwritten notes lying across from me. I fed Barmi the cat. In my study I sent a brief email to Jo, letting her know I was up and about. I read other emails, and looked at my regular social media feeds. I did not look at any of the online news services. I did not open my bank’s website.

I returned to the kitchen/diner, sat at the long table and carried on reading Jeksid’s account from the place where I had stopped, after his unappealing image of the runnels of sweat.

Jeksid, continued:

I was ready to go. I first removed my street clothes, then put on one of the pairs of cotton gloves. I removed each garment in turn from the store’s plastic bag, cutting off identifying labels: size, manufacturer, country of origin, laundry instructions. When all the garments were ready I pulled them on over my own underclothes.

I made sure the safety catch was on, then slipped the gun into the deep pocket of the trainer pants. In the other pocket I put the four empty bullet cases I had taken from the firing range, then thrust in the rest of the cotton gloves on top. I removed my own shoes and put on the slip-ons. I glanced at my watch.

It could still go wrong.

Transgressions in Dearth City were often solved because matters ran out of the control of the perpetrator. The act of doing something wrong can break down your reserves, your sense of cool. In the heat of the moment you think nothing of impulsively punching someone in the face, but moments later, when you’ve done it and your victim is lying huddled on the floor, perhaps with blood oozing, and you know you’ve really done it because your hand is hurting where contact was made – your understanding of the violent act has changed.

Human responses, emotional and mental, cannot be controlled or predicted. Transgressors give themselves away. Their behaviour changes – some become defensive and guilty, other toughen up, act more brazenly.

But I was calm. I was a trained cop. I would be calm throughout. I had prepared for many weeks and travelled a long way to achieve this. I had researched, had timed every move and action, factored in alternatives, errors. If there were any slips I had backups ready.