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.