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“Of course. Fortunately, it’s a slow day. Although that can change at any time.” She motioned to the seats. “What can I help you with?”
They all sat, and Sam lowered his voice. “I remember you discussing that woman’s missing child the other day.”
“Ah, yes. The runaway. Always sad for the parents.”
“It sounded as though there have been others.”
“Constantly. All part of growing up and wanting to escape, I suppose.”
“Do you have any idea how many?”
She shook her head. “Not really. I’m a physician, not a social worker.” Her tone softened. “That sounds harsh, and I don’t mean it to be. What I meant is that I confine my activities to health care because otherwise there aren’t enough hours in the day. It’s a matter of priorities.”
Remi nodded. “I understand. We’re just trying to get an idea how many children have gone missing.”
Vanya’s eyes narrowed. “Put that way, it sounds sinister. What are you getting at? Do you suspect foul play?”
Sam leaned back. “Oh, no, nothing like that. We were just talking to some of the locals and it came up. Since we’re going to be funding the clinics, we’re trying to learn as much about the islands as possible while we’re here and we want to understand if there’s a dynamic we’re missing. That’s all.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you. As I said, whenever a child runs off, the parent is sure it’s not what it obviously is. You can always check with the police. I’m sure they would know more than I do.”
“Of course. We just don’t have a contact there and it seems like they have their hands full with the social unrest of late . . . and the rebels . . .” Remi said.
Vanya rose. “The chief is named Fleming. If you like, I can make a call and let him know you’ll be stopping by. Although I have to warn you that he can be quite territorial.”
Sam and Remi stood as well and they all shook hands. “Any help you can offer, we’d appreciate.”
“I’ll make the call. No promises he can help, but, for my new patrons, nothing is out of the question,” Vanya said with a bright smile.
Heat waves distorted the surface of the parking lot as Sam and Remi trudged back to the Mitsubishi. Remi took Sam’s hand and sighed. “That didn’t tell us much, did it?”
“Not really. Think we’ll have any success with the cops?”
“Based on the lightning results we’ve seen to date on the theft investigation, much less being run off the road and shot at? Mmm . . . no.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. What’s our alternative?”
“Lunch.”
They had fresh fish at a simple waterfront restaurant that was packed with locals. The tables were plastic, the napkins paper, and the fresh yellowfin tuna seared to perfection and heaped on their plates. When they were done, Remi pushed back from the table. “Why don’t we see if Manchester knows anything more? He always seems willing to talk.”
“Assuming he’s not busy running the government. Or drinking lunch.”
Fortunately for them, the politician was free and welcomed them into his office like they were long-lost relatives.
“Isn’t this a lovely surprise. How’s the marine archaeology going?” he boomed at them.
“Slow, but we’re making progress,” Remi said. “We were hoping you could elaborate on something you said the other day—about the missing children?”
“Did I say something about that? I don’t recall,” Manchester said, his eyes darting to the side.
“Yes, I think so. What’s your take on it?” Sam pressed.
“I’m not sure I have one. I think in any society you’re going to have a few kids running off. I don’t necessarily see it as a Solomon Islands problem,” he said, choosing his words carefully.
“What have you heard, exactly?”
“Why the interest, if you don’t mind my asking?” Manchester parried.
