Werner grimaced. ‘I believe it would have been me, Inspector. I recall now that I paid the girl her wages and I saw her leave through the kitchen doorway. I remember thinking to myself that she would be cold going home, walking out to Rathmines, since she had no coat, just a light shawl.’

‘That was thoughtful of you,’ Swallow said. ‘She was fortunate to have encountered that sort of kindness in you. And you have a good memory for detail,’ he added.

‘Thank you, Inspector.’

Swallow stood. He was tired, and he could see that Mossop was wilting too.

‘I’m not sure that it will be necessary to speak further this evening, Mr Werner. I understand that you’re busy with many things to attend to here. We can call back at a more convenient time. And we will need to interview other employees. You’ve been very helpful with your information. It’s getting late. Detective Sergeant Mossop and I have reports to write up and we’d best be going.’

Werner spread his hands in a gesture to indicate a willingness to assist.

‘I am very happy to assist, Inspector. If there is anything further I can help on, please let me know. It is important that you should catch whoever is responsible for this . . . Verbrechen . . . this dreadful crime.’

They walked the couple of hundred yards along South Great George’s Street to the Castle Lane. The streets were quiet now and the pavements were sparkling with the night frost.

‘What did you think?’ Swallow asked.

Mossop wrinkled his brow in concentration. ‘A smooth operator, boss. But maybe not as open as he wants to appear. He claimed to know nothing of her family or background, yet he knew she had to walk home to Rathmines.’

‘Fair point,’ Swallow acknowledged. ‘He put on a big show of wanting to be helpful, but every question we asked was simply deflected.’

They were at the junction of Dame Street and South Great George’s Street.

‘Go on home, Pat. Get a night’s rest and we’ll resume in the morning. We’ve done what we can for the day.’

He turned into Dame Street to make his way home to Maria.

Chapter 9

By the time Swallow reached Grant’s it was closing time. The walk from Exchange Court through the wintry air was invigorating, but it also made him realise he was hungry. He had eaten nothing since he had taken the steak and kidney pie in the early afternoon.

The additional beat men on street patrol that Boyle had promised were visible. Two stood under the shadowy bulk of Christ Church. Another was at old St Audoen’s on High Street, his blackened night helmet barely discernible in the darkness. A sergeant and a constable stood half-hidden in a shop doorway at the junction of Francis Street and Thomas Street. In theory at least, Swallow reckoned, the streets should be safer.