There was a crash as someone fell against the front of the building, then more shouts. Kane stood up, turned to the back door, and removed the plank. He stepped into the parking area, past Rory’s Fiat, to the fence, which was ten feet high or so, with sloping rock on the other side but no people.

Kane climbed onto the car, then jumped from its roof to the fence. He managed to get a grip, while his feet found some purchase in the chain link, and then he swung his leg over and let himself down, heart pumping. He moved up the hill, deeper into darkness, until he could see the town beneath him. A helicopter hung above the bungalow, fixing it in a spotlight. Dogs continued to bark. The fracas by the police station was obscured by the station building itself, but he could see people moving toward it from the old barracks. He recognized men from the Two Boats Bar, including band members still in their outfits, saw the nurse he’d been talking to. Beyond them, the waves boomed and the antennae stood silently against the night sky.

He needed a car.

The back streets of Georgetown looked deserted, including the one with the Honda he’d borrowed the previous night. Kane crept down the slope, very slow and quiet. He found the car with the keys still in the ignition, climbed in, and began to drive.

24

Taylor headed toward Vauxhall through predawn London, cramming in a hands-free mic and trying to get more details from the overnight manager.

“The missing person’s a fifteen-year-old girl, Lauren Carter,” Hayes said. “This information’s from New Scotland Yard. She went missing sometime late yesterday.”

“How is Elliot connected?”

“Her clothes were found in the place where he’s staying.”

“I don’t understand. Are they saying he killed her?”

“I don’t know. He’s being interviewed at the island police station.”

The first thing she did once in the office was check for messages from Kane. There was nothing. She sent one: Contact me asap. What else could she say? This was why she preferred being in the field: HQ meant when things went wrong you were in the wrong place by definition. By design.

She returned a missed call from DCI Rehman.

“Are you aware of the current situation on Ascension?” Rehman asked. “That another girl has gone missing?”

“I’ve just heard. What’s going on? How does this connect to Petra Wade?”

“I’d like to find out. We need to speak to you.”

“You can speak to me now. Did you leak information to the press?”

“No, of course not.”

“Someone did.”

“Not us. I believe you spoke to Nicola Bannatyne, Rory Bannatyne’s sister.”

“That’s correct.”

“She mentioned a postcard, one that’s currently in your possession.”

“You spoke to Nicola Bannatyne?”

“Yes. What does the postcard say? She claimed you were very interested in it.”