"Oh, I know everything about you, Harry." He taps on the folder in front of him. "I have…

"Yes, that's what I said. Try to keep up, okay? Let's move on."

He got the name from the Census Bureau and everything else from your behaviour here in Martinaise.

"But I really got you good there for a moment, didn't I, Harry?" He laughs like he just pulled off a successful prank. "Now what can I do for you?"

Evrart's large hands are covering the folder, but the look on his face says I know everything about you, Harry.

"He knows everything about me."

"I'm sure it's not that bad," the lieutenant whispers. "At worst he has an old RCM folder, and I very much doubt even that."

"Harry..." he says gently. "I just know the things that matter to our friendship. And I want you to feel free to ask me about those things."

"I've got nothing to hide."

"Oh Harry..." He peeks into the folder -- as if it's hard to turn away from the mysteries inside. "Oh wow... this is really something."

"I'm sure it's not that bad," the lieutenant whispers. "At worst he has an old RCM folder, and I very much doubt even that."

"So how about it, Harry?" He leans back in the chair. "You need assistance, I presume."

"Let's talk of other matters for a moment."

"Of course, Harry, of course! Let's not linger on personal details and amnesia. You wanted something from me?"

"Let's get this straight... what is my full name?"

"It's Harry..." He glances at the folder. "Harry Du Bois."

You feel like a Du Bois, but you don't feel like a Harry. Strange.

You don't feel like any of these things -- you know what your name is. You have a sophisticated name. Like that of a count. Or a beautiful man.

"I feel like a Du Bois, but not quite like a Harry. Something longer."

"Sure, okay. You're Harold. Harman. Haroldemus. But that's not what the record says. The record says 'Harry Du Bois'." He taps on the folder. "A real man's name. "

The lieutenant covers his face and sighs audibly.

"Mr. Kitsuragi doesn't seem even slightly empathetic to your memory loss, Harry." He frowns at the lieutenant. "I, however, wish to help you any way I can."

"That's not my name, my name is Raphael Costeau."

"Fine, Harry." He waves you off. "You can even be Harry Raphael Du Bois De Costeau -- or whatever you choose to be."

"I don't really like it."

"Don't be silly, Harry." He smiles broadly. "Harry Du Bois -- That's a real man's name. A Union man's."

"Okay, I like it. I can work with that."

"And I can work with you, Harry!" He raises his index finger. "Now, what else can I do for you?"

"I am Tequila Sunset."

"Excellent! I know you RCM people like your call signs. Harry 'Tequila Sunset' Du Bois -- I can see that. But to me -- and the census bureau -- you will always be little Harry."

"Wait, I thought you are Harry Du Bois."

"No. I'm really, really not. You are, Harry."

You don't feel like either one of these things -- you know what your name is. You have a sophisticated name. Like that of a count. Or a beautiful man.

"Where did you get that folder?"

"Ah, this?" He closes the folder. "My friends in your organization gave it to me, Harry."

This translates into: "Ha-ha, you guys are so corrupt."

"I find that very suspicious. May I have a look?"

"I'm afraid this is meant for Union eyes only, Mr. Kitsuragi. I'm sure you understand." He turns back to you. "Please continue, Harry."

"Do you know where I live?"

"But of course, Harry." He nods. "Your precinct is the 41st and you live in Jamrock. You're a Jamrock boy. A long way from home, but that's okay."

He doesn't really seem to know any more about it.

"Mr. Kitsuragi, would you mind?" His eyes never leave yours. "Me and Harry are talking about his lost identity right now."

"You must have questions, Harry. C'mon on now..." He makes a come-hither motion. "Don't be shy. Let's hear them."

"My memory is fine. Don't worry about it."

"So good to hear that, Harry. Apparently my sources were wrong." He pats the brown folder again.

"However if you would have a spot of memory trouble -- well, let's just say a fat juicy folder could really fill in the blanks." He winks at you.

Words flow like a river of honey from his lips.

I guess word has already reached him. No matter, no harm done.

"Of course, let us dispatch with the formalities. You call me Evrart, I call you Harry!"

That's what the hanged corpse called you -- Harry.

"Is that my name?"

"My god so it's true! I didn't want to believe it, but you are a fantastic science-fiction amnesiac cop, aren't you?" He shrugs with an amazed expression. "What are the odds of that?"

"I think the odds of that..." He looks at you. "Are very low."

It might be a good idea to hide your confusion... I mean, see what his game is first.

"It's true. My memory is a bit hazy."

"I assure you, there's nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. You're among friends and the good news is..." He taps on the folder in front of him.

"I have a big fat folder on you, Harry. I'm sure you have a lot of questions to ask -- maybe I can help you out?"

Don't trust him. For all you know Du Bois might be his name. You need to confirm this.

"I'm sure you had some concerns you thought I might be able to address," he pauses to look down on a brown folder on his desk. "And you were probably right -- I can."

It's just a brown folder. You can't make out what's written on it.

"My memory is fine -- I'm just testing you."