Kane got out and wandered the ruins. It had once been a compound of some kind, constructed beside a ravine that tumbled away down to a dried-up inlet. Manmade blocks lay scattered about: seven or eight concrete pedestals, and foundations where further buildings had been. Only one survived intact: a single-story sprawl of peeling white paint; the size of a school or headquarters. The front doors were secured with a padlocked bolt. Windows on either side had been covered with black panels. He pulled at the doors and the sound of the bolt rattling startled birds from the nearby rocks.

Kane circled the building and peered down into the ravine. A few hardy bushes clung to the sides. There were traces of whatever had been constructed beside it, bricks and some metalwork tossed down and forgotten. It was too hot now. The long-winged black birds circled above Kane’s head and seemed excited to find him hanging around. They were waiting for his luck to run out, and the cries sounded gleeful. His mouth was dry. It was time to head back. If Rory’s last journey brought him here, Kane had no idea what he’d found.

Two Boats was a blessed relief. The village was situated in a gentle valley ringed by volcanic cones. Originally set up by the BBC, it was one of the few places on the island from which you couldn’t see the ocean but you got a breeze off Green Mountain, and with its boxy white houses and cinder lawns, its school and community center and speed bumps, the place was the closest the island got to suburbia. The name had come from two longboats that had once been sawn in half and set on end to provide shade for people making the day’s hike from Georgetown to Green Mountain to fetch water. A zigzag path still led up the mountain behind the settlement like a jagged fracture.

Two Boats was where Petra was last seen alive.

Kane stopped the car at the edge of the village and walked in, past rows of greenhouses and a fenced sports court. The day was finally softening into a more manageable late afternoon. He found the island’s only other grocery store, Jam’s Convenience, which contained the same tins as Solomon’s, and the same crumbs from absent bread. One man sat behind the counter with a handheld electric fan and a book of crosswords, a younger man stacking shelves. Kane bought a liter bottle of water and drank half of it gratefully in the shade of the shop’s veranda. The community center next door advertised Zumba and aerobics and Bridge Night. Beside it was Ladybirds Preschool. The sound of children playing floated from the windows.