Harri hadn’t been able to concentrate after finding the message. She hadn’t been able to sleep much either. The words could have been a cruel prank, but something about them touched her finely honed instincts as a detective. There were the scribbles of someone trying to get a pen to work, and the message itself was simple and to the point. There were no dramatic flourishes, just a clear plea for help. She kept picking up the book to examine it. She hadn’t found any more writing, but there had been a ‘Leek Library Released for Sale’ stamp on the endpaper. Finally, as the first grey light of dawn edged the curtains, Harri drifted into a fitful sleep and dreamed of the last life she’d failed to save.
Alan Munro.
The man who had cost her almost everything.
She was tormented by the desire to undo those last few moments. To reach out to him, to call to him. But just as in real life, she was too slow, and it felt as though she was pinned to the rocks beneath her knees. The light of impending doom blazed in her dream, so brightly it woke her with a start.
She sighed, wondering if the dreams would ever stop. Would the guilt?
She rubbed her eyes, got dressed and drove her old Volkswagen Golf into Leek.
She hadn’t been to the library for years. Her mum used to take her every week as a youngster, and she’d grown to love reading. She remembered on her very first visit she’d explored the shelves tentatively, like a burglar prowling through a stranger’s house.
How can all these books be free? she’d thought, but she’d quickly become acclimatized and treated the cornucopia of stories as her second home.
She’d never understood why the place wasn’t always packed with people, but she now realized how easy it was to neglect even the most valuable treasures. Libraries, like the one back home in Battersea that had taken her on so many magical journeys, were constantly under threat of closure. Every few months, a campaign would be organized to resist the next round of cuts, and some appendage – early years’ groups, mobile lending, adult classes – would have to be sacrificed to appease the gods of efficiency and progress. Except it wasn’t progress to take knowledge and experiences from the poorest, and even though she was no longer a regular, Harri reached into her pocket whenever she saw a library fundraiser. She wanted future generations to have the same chances she’d had.
Narrowing and removing opportunity didn’t seem sensible, but there was much about early twenty-first-century life that didn’t feel right to Harri. She stood at the top of a set of stone steps, leaned against the handrail and watched a few early morning shoppers shuffle along the street towards the town centre. They moved against a backdrop of empty shops, boarded up and advertised for rent. The Internet was chewing the heart out of communities all over the world, but few people seemed to mind much.
‘Eager,’ a voice said, and Harri turned to see a tattooed woman in her early thirties. She had bright pink hair, piercings, a vintage AC/DC top and torn jeans. Her mouth was curled in a half-smile as though turned by perpetual thoughts of mischief. ‘Someone needs their word fix.’
Harri smiled, and the woman produced a set of keys and unlocked the front door.
‘We don’t officially open for another fifteen, but you don’t look like a book snatcher to me. You can wait inside,’ the woman said. ‘My name’s Edie. Come on in.’
Harri followed Edie into the building and was immediately catapulted back to childhood by the dry scent of old books, still air, and the sight of shelf after shelf packed with knowledge and adventure. Leek library was a grand listed structure with lead-lined windows, a hall, and an imposing tower. It was a bridge to a different time, when Victorians had measured success by the social hubs they created: libraries, schools, and parks. Harri hovered near the door and took it all in, while Edie stepped behind a large counter.
‘Don’t be shy,’ Edie said. ‘You don’t have to wait. I won’t tell anyone you were browsing before opening time.’
Harri smiled again. ‘I’m not here for a book. I was hoping you could tell me about the last person to borrow this one.’
She swung her backpack off her shoulder and reached inside for the book. Harri surmised that whoever wrote the message would have been the last person to have borrowed it before it had been released for sale. Anyone else who’d taken the book after the message had been written would have spotted it and alerted someone.
‘Happiness: A New Way of Life, by Isabella Tosetti,’ Edie said, studying the cover. She took the book and opened the back. ‘It’s one of ours, but I’m not supposed to give out personal details.’
‘I found something valuable inside,’ Harri lied.
Edie looked at her expectantly.
‘I’d rather not say what it is, that way I can confirm its rightful owner.’
Edie pursed her lips. She didn’t look completely satisfied, but it was excuse enough. She turned to the computer terminal and typed in some characters.
‘This was our only copy and it was last borrowed by . . .’ she trailed off. ‘Oh, I don’t have to protect the borrower’s details. She died a few months ago. Elizabeth Asha. It was so sad. She had cancer. We held a vigil for her. It was beautiful. Hundreds of people with candles out by their house. I went. Cried buckets. Donated money. They raised tons, but it didn’t do any good. Her husband died not long after. They say it was suicide. He left their son . . .’ she paused and shook her head. ‘It was a tragedy.’
‘That sounds awful,’ Harri remarked. ‘Poor family. Poor kid. How do you get over something like that?’
‘I’m not sure you ever do,’ Edie said, and the two of them reflected on a family’s suffering for a moment.
‘Do you mind if I use a computer?’ Harri asked.
‘Go ahead,’ Edie replied, gesturing at a line of terminals near a big window.
LOCAL VIGIL DRAWS HUNDREDS
14 February
Hundreds of Leek residents joined the friends and family of Dr Elizabeth Asha for a vigil outside her home in Upper Hulme. Dr Asha, a physicist at Keele University, was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer eighteen months ago. She has been undergoing treatment, and the local community has come together to raise funds to pay for novel therapies.
Cynthia Hughes, a friend of the family, said, ‘Beth is such a wonderful person. She deserves every chance. This is a celebration of her, but it’s also a celebration of hope.’
Through a family spokesperson, Elizabeth Asha’s husband, David, thanked all those who attended the vigil, saying he and the family had been touched by the kindness and support.
Katie Harper, Leek Advertiser
MISADVENTURE VERDICT
6 September
A verdict of death by misadventure was returned in respect of Dr David Asha of Upper Hulme, Staffordshire, who disappeared on 14 June. Dr Asha had been recently bereaved after the death of his wife, Elizabeth, who passed away in April, after succumbing to her long battle with cancer. Friends say Dr Asha had been distraught at his wife’s death and had become increasingly isolated. He was seen near Arthog in Wales on the day of his death, walking near the clifftops. He is survived by his son, Elliot.
Katie Harper, Leek Advertiser
Two lives and boundless tragedy summed up in a brace of short newspaper articles. The misadventure verdict had been delivered a week ago. These people weren’t long gone. Harri looked away from the library monitor and wondered why a scientist would write a message in a book, suggesting ‘he’ (her husband?) was trying to kill her. She was intrigued by David Asha’s death. The coroner might have ruled misadventure, but a depressed man hanging around clifftops probably wasn’t there for the view. Could it have been suicide as Edie had suggested? Had he struggled with grief? Or was it guilt? What had happened to the child? Had he been taken into care? Was he safe?
Harri wasn’t police any more, but she still had the heart and soul of a detective, and they could never take that away from her. She got to her feet, gave a nod of thanks to Edie, and left the library.