Through the Squid she connects to the Public Records Office and requests tax and location data for Oliver Smith going back twenty years, and for good measure Diana Hunter as well, wincing as the software automatically also searches for 35,000 similar records—no doubt resulting in a measurable drag on legitimate requests and a slight blip in the department’s processing bill—and upon receipt dumps them into a trash folder. Without looking at the Hunter data, she logs off and brings up the National Health database, checking the DNA from Hunter’s autopsy against the statutory samples which have since the middle part of the century been kept of all hair and nail clippings from salons and beauty parlours for the early detection of disease and addiction, then brings in blood samples from standard tests and inoculations, hospital and dental visits. The Squid checks with its server hub for proximate areas of public concern and initiates a baseless scare into the possible carcinogenic effects of an urban pesticide. Whoever wrote this thing, the Inspector realises, had absolutely no sense of civic or personal responsibility at all. The Squid grabs her data and runs, leaving administrative chaos in its wake.