If there was a connection between Jan’s crime and the murder of Constable Webber, beyond the employment of sorcerous powers, it was unlikely to be found in the constable’s own files. His records and histories were concerned with facts, not secrets. But in this regard I did have one weapon in my arsenal. I descended to the common room and took a stool at the empty bar.

‘Up early this evening, Inspector? I’m the same after cold days.’

‘And why is that, Mrs Lehner?’ I said, feigning concern.

‘My day-sister, it is, curse the woman! Never thinking of me; her hands get so sore, I end up pained the night through.’

‘How dreadful. Just what does your day-sister do to get sore hands?’

Mrs Lehner tutted. ‘She washes sheets – ours and the inn’s and others’ – says she likes it, simple work she says. But it’s both of us that suffer for it.’

‘I know exactly what you mean,’ I said.

‘Oh, from what I hear your day-brother is just wonderful.’

‘But what he does to our hands; the callouses alone, Mrs Lehner. I think we share that kind of suffering, you and I.’

She beamed like a praised child.

‘Awful business with Constable Webber,’ I said. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard.’

‘Just awful,’ she echoed.

‘I only met him briefly, but he struck me as a warm, gentle man—’

‘Oh, he was!’

‘—and it’s hard to wonder who would wish him such harm.’

Mrs Lehner nodded sagely. ‘It’s a hard lot, isn’t it, Inspector? Hard to keep friends and keep the peace.’

‘Eloquently put, Mrs Lehner. Would you say the constable lost many of his friends?’

‘Over the years, I suppose he did. We had him in here, of course, from time-to-time. He and Stefan saw a lot of each other, if you understand my meaning, but then they had what you could call history.’ She was enjoying this conversation far too much for my liking and, worse still, I was only to benefit from it.

‘Stefan, that is the framer, yes? He and Constable Webber had problems?’

‘Of the lady-kind. Of the only kind, really,’ she said. ‘She chose the constable.’

‘I wasn’t aware Constable Webber was married.’

‘Widower. And that was the constable’s fault too, depending on who you asked.’

‘I see.’ I tried to recall if Alexsander had been inside the framer’s shop, or if he had seen anything in the painter’s home that might be of use. But the memories were thin on detail and dominated by the strangeness of seeing the same painting over and over: I had an almost complete picture of that room. ‘What of Mrs Harsson?’ I said.

‘Anna? Well, there was some bad business with her son. But he was sent away. Up north, I think it was, to…’

Mrs Lehner experienced an almost religious epiphany in that moment. It hit her with such force that she actually staggered, catching herself on the bar, and seemed to struggle under the weight of her own grin. I had, as my day-brother would say, over-played my hand.