Milton emerged from behind the trees, unnoticed by the crowd that was now beginning to disperse, and walked down the alleyway to the rear of the hotel. The fire door that he had used earlier was propped open by a bright red fire extinguisher, and he made his way through it and along the corridor to Sakura’s room.

Milton wrinkled his nose as he walked in: the room smelled fetid. It was just as he remembered it earlier, except that now it was empty apart from his bag, which was still in the corner where it had been left earlier. He picked it up, relieved at the policemen’s incompetence or lack of interest. The bag held a change of clothes, some toiletries and the twenty thousand that he had made from selling the car in Panama. The bag also had his most recent copy of the Big Book. He could get a replacement easily enough, but this copy held all his notes, the thoughts and reflections that he had scribbled into the margins. He didn’t want to lose it.

He glanced at the wrinkled bedspread and, leaning in, noticed two long black hairs on the white pillowcase. The Filipina had short hair; these must have been from Sakura. He crossed to look in the bathroom. The smell was stronger here, but the room was empty apart from the wrappers of medical supplies that had been dropped into the bin.

He went back out into the corridor just as an employee approached. It was the man whom he had seen arguing with the policeman outside. He was in his sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a leathery face, and he was wearing a simple white robe with sandals.

“Hello,” Milton said.

The man scowled at him.

“Do you speak English?”

“Little.”

“The woman who was in this room—the police took her.”

“Yes.”

“Where have they taken her?”

The man shrugged. Milton took his bankroll from his pocket and peeled off a ten. He held it up.

“Jimbaran,” he said, staring at the bill. “Police station. They say she bring drugs here—yes? Is not allowed.”

“There were a doctor and a nurse here,” Milton said. “Where are they?”

The man shook his head. “No doctor. No nurse.”

“How do I get to Jimbaran?”

The man reached for the money, but Milton pulled it back.

“Where is it?”

“Wanagiri,” the man said.

“How far?”

“Ten minutes, maybe fifteen.”

Milton gave him the note and left him outside the room.

* * *

Milton hurried back to the scooter. He took out his phone and called Victoria.

“You okay?” she said. “You sound breathless.”

“Do you know Wanagiri?”

“In Kuta Sel?”

“No idea,” Milton said, straddling the scooter. “It’s somewhere near the hotel you found for us.”

“Why? Is there a problem?”

“That girl I told you about? She’s in trouble.”

“More than before?”

“I think your doctor has sold her out to the police.”