Sweetheart. That thought triggered another: could one of the officers been involved, romantically, with Jan Harsson? I remembered Mrs Harsson’s reluctance to talk of the subject. Would such a match have been the source of shame, of scandal? Perhaps if the officer in question had not been someone of the church, or they had gone to bed before marriage, or if the officer was a man and Mrs Harsson did not approve? I stopped myself. There were so many reasons for a relationship to be frowned upon, especially in a small town like Drekenford. But it was a possibility worth bearing in mind.

Mayor Eder’s office was in the westernmost part of the town, an area that had an altogether quieter, more restrained character. Homes were tastefully decorated, streets well-swept and in good repair. On the neat pavements I met only governesses, either pushing large prams with well-wrapped parcel-babies or leading a string of eerily silent children. Eder’s office was a large building fronted by substantial columns and a manicured lawn. My footsteps echoed on the polished stone of the entrance hall, where a great number of lamps – lamps, not candles – worked alongside large mirrors to dispel much of the evening’s gloom. I spoke to an excitable young woman at a desk, who appeared positively crestfallen that I did not have an appointment.

‘I’m sure the mayor would find a minute or two for me,’ I said.

‘He is terribly busy.’

‘I don’t doubt it. Upstairs I assume?’ I started towards the huge winged staircase.

‘Excuse me, sir! Sir? Excuse—’

‘That’s quite all right, Sophia,’ the mayor called. He stood at the top of the stairs, one large hand resting on the balustrade like a count in his castle. A substantial pipe smouldered in his other hand.

I took off my hat and ascended, neck craned under his mayoral majesty. I found him much transformed from our previous meetings, the events surrounding which had shaken him. Now, he was on significantly firmer ground.

‘Inspector Morden,’ he said, his bass voice somehow managing to fill that enormous space. ‘I hope no new disaster brings you to my door?’

‘Not new, no, just the ongoing.’

‘Well, in that case, you had best come in.’ He gestured me through the large glass panelled doors. I entered a comfortable office that would have been the envy of any Esteberg official. A soft, deep carpet was a welcome change to the cold stone, though the southern preference for dark wood and brass fittings was still evident. Brooding portraits of men and women of a mayoral bearing stared down at me as I sat.

‘Do you mind?’ Eder said, waving his pipe.

I told him I did not. And then he simply stared at me in silence for what could only have been half a minute, though it felt much longer. I withdrew my notebook with a deliberate care and wet the end of my pencil. I rarely had need of it, happily able to rely on an excellent memory for detail, but I found it useful for the impression it gave certain people: an atmosphere, or shared understanding, that what was said was being recorded and was part of my investigation. This established, the absence of the notebook could be just as useful.