Harri could see faces in the high cliffs. The judgmental brow of an old aristocrat. The patrician nose of a Roman senator. The gritstone cracks and crags sparked her imagination as she steered her Volkswagen Golf along the lane that led from Upper Hulme to Ash Ridge.
To her left, a grand reservoir shone cobalt beneath a cloudless sky, and beyond it were rising green fields stocked with grazing cows and sheep. The cliffs loomed to her right, half a mile beyond boulder-strewn stretches of gorse. Harri had walked these inland cliffs many times and had always been moved by the rugged landscape. It was a place where the imagination could run wild. It wasn’t just the striking beauty; she loved the grandeur. It gave her a sense of perspective, camouflaging her. The vast wilderness dwindled her significance, and she liked the idea of being hidden from the universe so it could neither notice nor judge her. She particularly relished the prospect of insignificance now, but she wasn’t here for a walk. She was on a private mission, following a thread that started with what she assumed was Elizabeth Asha’s message in the book.
Harri turned right and followed a narrow lane that circled around the cliffs. She had to slow a couple of times to allow sheep to move out of the road and stopped and left the car to deal with gated cattle grids on three occasions. Finally, a mile farther on, Harri saw what she was looking for: Longhaven, the Asha family home.
Harri parked on a patch of grass beside the driveway and got out. The two-story detached cottage was the only building in sight. It stood behind a dry stone wall in a large garden that looked as though it hadn’t been tended for months. Weeds mingled with flowers, and shrubs and creepers spread beyond their beds. A gate blocked the short drive that connected the lane with a parking area in front of the house. Behind the property, a gentle hill met the cliffs, and Harri could see a footpath leading from the stone wall at the very end of the garden up to the high ridge.
She drew back the bolt, and the gate squeaked treacherously as she walked through. The cottage had six small square windows on each floor, evenly distributed on either side of the front door. The window frames were painted black, a distinctive contrast against the gray walls and storm-cloud slate roof.
A shiver traced a cold finger down her neck, and Harri looked up to see a young boy with brown hair and sad, striking blue eyes staring at her from the upper window to the right of the front door. He stepped out of sight when he realized he’d been spotted.
A wrought-iron owl had a heavy hoop in its beak, and Harri took hold of the knocker and rapped it against the door. She heard muffled words and footsteps, and after a few moments the door opened, and she was shocked to see a face she recognized.
She’d met Ben Elmys a little over a year ago, soon after she’d first transferred to Staffordshire, and for a brief time she’d loved him. She still did. He represented a life that might have been. A different life. A good one. But he hadn’t wanted it.
“Hello,” he said awkwardly.
He’d changed since their last date at the Hand and Trumpet, a fine pub on the Cheshire border. He’d lost weight, leaving his six-foot-one frame teetering on the edge of gaunt. His shoulders were hunched and his face, which she recalled being so bright and alive, exuded a hangdog sadness. His eyes still made her think of polished amber. His brown hair was tousled and in many ways he reminded Harri of the child she’d seen in the window. Was he the boy’s father? Is that why he hadn’t called her? Did he have a secret life?
“Ben?” She couldn’t help betraying her surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” he replied.
“I was… I mean…” She was flustered now. He was the last person she’d expected to meet.
“I’m in the middle of something.” He wiped his hands on his black T-shirt. The words I’m Fine were stitched in red across his chest. He slipped his fingertips into the pockets of his jeans in an effort to appear casual, but Harri sensed a little too much effort. Was that it? Was that all he was going to say? Wasn’t he going to even acknowledge the fact they’d once been in love?
“I was hoping to ask some questions about David and Elizabeth Asha,” Harri said, keeping her tone friendly and light.
Ben’s face fell. “They’re dead.”
“Is that their son?” Harri probed, nodding towards the upstairs window.
He didn’t even bother glancing up. “Yes.”
“Elliot, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
It was like drawing teeth.
“If that’s all,” Ben suggested, moving to shut the door.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Harri asked hurriedly.
He said nothing.
“You broke up with me, Ben. You didn’t respond to any of my messages or calls.”
“I know,” he replied. “I… things changed.”
Harri didn’t know what to make of his response. It was so vague, it was meaningless.
“I read about the vigil people held.” She tried to connect with him. “It sounded very touching.”
“It was,” Ben replied. “The Ashas were good people.”
“Is that why you didn’t call? Was it because of what happened?”
Why hadn’t he told her about the Ashas and what they were going through? If they were the reason he’d broken things off, an explanation would have helped her understand. He’d said a friend had been ill, but that didn’t even begin to convey the tragedy of what had happened to Elizabeth and David Asha.
He looked as though the question had stirred painful memories. “I can’t explain. It was just bad timing. I’m sorry if I hurt you. Why are you here? You’re not with the police anymore, are you?”
Harri’s hackles rose. He obviously knew about her dismissal from the force. He’d been keeping tabs on her but still hadn’t called. “No. I’m not. Why do you ask?”
“Isn’t that normally who knocks on doors, raking through people’s lives?” Ben replied.
If it was meant to be a scathing remark, it fell wide of its target, because he delivered it with an innocent tone and an uncomprehending smile. Was he mentally unwell? He was still handsome, but the air of trauma was impossible to ignore. What had happened to the confident man she’d fallen for? This was a damaged soul in need of repair.
Much like you, Harri caught herself thinking. Maybe you could find solace with each other?
It was a testament to her strength of feeling that she was still drawn to him after how he’d treated her. This man had rejected her in the coldest possible way. He’d ended their relationship, dropped her calls, and ignored all her messages. Was it a connection she wanted? Or absolution for failure? Before she’d died, Harri’s mother had called her a collector of broken toys. She was drawn to damaged people and always tried to make things better for them. She was a helper, a savior. That’s why she’d been drawn to police work. She’d wanted to save people, help the innocent, punish the guilty. Maybe the attraction she felt wasn’t an expression of her vulnerability but instead a manifestation of her habit of trying to heal others. Did she like Ben even more now that she knew he was broken?
“Maybe if we’d met under different circumstances, we could have made each other happy,” Ben said. “But the timing was wrong. And now this.”
“What do you mean, ‘this’?” she asked.
“You’re digging into the deaths of my friends. I don’t think it’s going to give us much of a future.”
“Why?” Harri asked. Was he admitting there was something for her to investigate?
“I wish we had.” He hesitated. “Met under different circumstances, I mean.”
“Different how?”
Did he still feel something for her?
“If none of this had happened,” he replied. “If we’d met in another world, I think we might have been good together, don’t you?”
Ben looked at her earnestly. Why had he said that? Was he trying to mess with her emotions? Throw her off-balance? Or did he still have feelings for her?
She was in uncharted territory. She’d never had to interview someone she knew personally, but she took her lead from Ben’s strange and chilly reception and used a cool, no-nonsense tone she’d perfected on hundreds of other suspects.
Is that what he is now? Is he a suspect?
“I didn’t come here to talk about us. I want to ask you about Elizabeth Asha,” Harri said.
“No one called her Elizabeth. She was Beth.”
“I’d like to know about Beth,” Harri tried.
“Did you ever meet her?” Ben asked.
He didn’t seem all there. Was he on drugs?
“No. I’d like to ask you some questions about how Beth and David Asha died.”
Ben’s eyes glazed over and his gaze drifted past her to the garden and valley beyond. “ ‘But when the high gems shimmer and the shutters fall, I still feel those worlds tenderly traced.’ ”
He doesn’t seem well, Harri thought, but she immediately checked herself. Don’t get confused. You don’t owe this man your compassion.
They’d bonded over a shared love of poetry, but that was then. The lines sounded out of place, detached from the world, perhaps reflecting his current state of mind.
“Were you listening?” he asked suddenly, as though a slipped cog had suddenly reengaged with reality. “It’s from a poem I wrote for someone dear to me.”
“Beth?”
Ben didn’t answer and his attention drifted again. This did not seem like a person who should be in charge of a child.
“Is there anyone else here?” she asked.
“No. Just Elliot. And we’re busy,” he said. “We don’t have time for questions.”
His words were hard, but his expression was almost pitying as he shut the door on her.
As she walked away from one of the strangest encounters of her life, Harri looked back and saw the boy, Elliot, watching her from the upstairs window.
Maybe it was her imagination, but he seemed to be judging her.