“This is pointless. I don’t even know why I thought there might be something in all of this that will help.”
Harlow had been looking through Caleb's belongings for hours and had found nothing at all that could help her figure out why Caleb was killed. Frustrated, she picked up one of the many boxes she had lugged from the summer house and stomped her way to the rear garden to take it back to its home. Harlow felt like an i***t for wasting a morning for nothing. She had hoped there would be some sort of a clue in the house, something to point her in the right direction at least.
I’m an artist. Not a bloody detective. I don’t even know how to pretend to be a detective? Where the hell am I supposed to look for clues? Stupid bloody idea, this was.
Reaching the summer house, Harlow barged
