THE NEIGHBORHOOD where Dr. Adam Fletcher had been last seen was situated in a warren of narrow streets, lined with shabby houses and ramshackle stores. There were a few trees, and those that were there were gaunt and half-dead.

The sounds of the neighborhood were a cacophony of music and voices, the smell of exotic spices and cooking fires filled the air. The streets were filled with children playing, their laughter echoing off the walls of the houses. The sidewalks were cracked and ...