Harri walked back to her car, and when she reached the Elsewhere House, she paused to admire the view, storing it up to take with her. She tried to picture herself living in Arthog, surrounded by the towering mountains and the endless sea, but her encounter with Margery Allen had tainted her dream, and every time she saw herself in a cozy cottage, there was no love, no family. She was alone. She didn’t know whether Margery Allen was a spinster, but the old lady certainly did a good impression of one. Would that be the price of such beauty? Would Harri be doomed to spin out the rest of her years alone? It wasn’t as though she was setting the men of Staffordshire on fire. The one man she’d felt anything for might well be involved in murder. She’d canceled her eHarmony subscription after losing her job; a combination of financial prudence and “I’m worthless” depression.
She wondered if she should reactivate the account, but she’d lost interest after her experience with Ben, and she wasn’t sure she could face the liars, damaged shells, and creeps who would emerge from the website, their profile pictures and messages promising so much but yielding nothing except disappointment.
Harri walked briskly through the forest back to her car and started the three-hour journey to Stoke. She kept puzzling over what Margery Allen had said. Why would David Asha smile at her? And why would he say, “They’re going to think I murdered her,” unless he knew there was something untoward about his wife’s death? Harri couldn’t answer the questions, and found herself drifting back to David Asha’s relationship with his son. How could he abandon Elliot in such circumstances? How could he leave his child alone in the world? Tragedy had torn that family apart, and their suffering made her reflect on her own life. She could never imagine herself being so irresponsible, but pain twisted people in terrible ways.
She wound through mountains, which eventually gave way to hills, and as the sun touched the horizon, it threw long shadows ahead of her and painted the rolling landscape red. By the time the hills were smoothed into the Shropshire plain, the sun was gone. Lights dotted the flat landscape and stars sprinkled the sky. The magic of the mountains faded, and the romantic dream of living by the sea went with them. She owed it to herself to get her job back. She needed to right the wrong she’d suffered. Cracking an unsolved murder might help get her part of the way there. She had to find out what really happened to Elizabeth and David Asha and whether Ben had a hand in their fate. By the time she reached the outskirts of Newcastle-under-Lyme, she knew she’d be staying put for a while. She couldn’t give up on her old life, on herself, just yet.
Harri turned onto Mount Pleasant, a residential street on the edge of town. When she’d first moved to Stoke-on-Trent, the sprawl of little towns that formed the city had confused her. There were six that made up the federation of Stoke-on-Trent—Burslem, Fenton, Hanley, Longton, Stoke, and Tunstall—each with their own planning policies, which meant the city often felt like an uncoordinated sprawl. And then there was Newcastle-under-Lyme, which was sometimes described as part of Stoke by ill-informed outsiders, simply because it had merged with the larger conurbation over the years. But Newcastle locals were proud of their distinct identity, and most people tended to view the satellite town as a more upmarket place to live.
Harri drove halfway along the run of well-kept semis. Seven-seater family cars dominated the street, parked outside beautiful prewar houses. Harri pictured families inside, gathered around the television, and immediately gave herself a telling-off for romanticizing what she didn’t have. These imaginary families were just as likely to be in separate rooms, lost in their own digital worlds, spending time with distant strangers rather than the people they lived with, who were now tied to them only by an accident of genetics and financial necessity.
God, that’s bleak, she thought as she stopped outside the address Sabih had given her. She texted him, and a short while later he emerged from the house and waved to a group of men who’d gathered in the hallway. He hurried to the car with a frown on his face and jumped into the passenger seat.
Harri smelled the whiskey immediately.
“I hope you know what you’ve done,” he said, a slight slur shaving the edges from his words. “I was winning.”
“Sorry,” Harri responded. “I might need a warrant card.”
“I wasn’t even supposed to have my phone on.” He settled into his seat. “My cousin is very strict about poker night. He says I’ll have to pay a fine.”
“Again—sorry.”
He fixed Harri with the intense, unpredictable stare only drunks can muster. She had no idea whether he was going to turn angry or happy.
“They should never have let you go. You were a bloody good cop.”
Matey. He was going to get matey.
“I know,” she replied.
“I know you know. But sometimes you need to know that others know what you know, so that you know. In here.” He patted his chest and made a fist, which Harri thought was meant to symbolize a heart. “You get me?”
“I get you,” she replied, reaching into the door pocket beside her. “Have a couple of these.” She handed him a packet of gum.
“I’m hurt,” he said. “My breath is as fresh as…” He blew on his palm and inhaled. “Damn!” He opened the pack and popped a handful of pieces into his mouth. “Thanks. So where are we going?”
“To the hospital,” Harri replied, putting the car in gear.