He walked through Georgetown and watched a group of ten young children with satchels climb into a minibus. A small crowd occupied the jetty where a fisherman was hosing a bin of tuna and marlin, passing them out to his colleague to fillet at a stone-topped table. The fish flapped and the silver knife came down. Blood trickled to the ground, which was stained with layers of it. Some of the crowd clutched money in their hands as if they’d placed bets on the outcome. They turned to stare briefly at Kane, then returned their attention to the slaughter. He walked past to the edge of the quay and looked across the boats until he saw the one belonging to Thomas Lindgren, the newest of the lot, painted with the words Ascension Maritime Conservation. A trip out would have been nice, but it had just become more complicated.

The gift shop in the arched shadows of the old barracks was now open, as was the beauty parlor beside it, two women standing between the doorways, smoking and talking. One of them was the woman who’d answered his knock the previous night: Linda, as he’d learned. She appeared to run the beauty parlor. He nodded and she nodded back, but her smile seemed uncertain. He decided against conversation.

Alongside the old barracks, a young man was opening umbrellas over two plastic tables.

“Is this a café?”

“Café, bar,” he said, smiling. “What would you like?”

“Breakfast.”

“Only food we do is toasted sandwiches. But I can do you one with bacon.”

“That sounds fine.”

Kane took a seat and watched the boy disappear into the doorway of what looked like a bar inside the building. He tried to relax, to let himself be Edward Pearce on his first morning on an exciting research trip. Donkeys sheltered from the sun beneath the arches of the Exiles Building. A middle-aged man in Birkenstocks passed, walking a dog, and the dog sniffed at the animals. How strange that the owner would leave the island and the dog would remain. Like island lore, passed down. Like its secrets, perhaps.

A young-looking priest in a short-sleeved black shirt and collar crossed to the church and fixed a notice to its door. It was his lack of hair that originally attracted Kane’s attention: a smooth, pale scalp that was the brightest thing around. The priest stepped back, admired his handiwork. Then a second man approached. He wore the same blue uniform shirt as Morrogh, but was younger than his boss. The island’s other full-time police officer: Constable Sean Reid. Reid had conducted most of the interviews surrounding Petra’s disappearance. The officer wore wrap sunglasses, his fair hair cropped close to the skull. He leaned in and spoke to the priest, who smiled. Then Reid continued toward the police station and the priest disappeared into his church.