As I shimmied forward, being careful not to disturb the video watchers below, a shaft of light glimmered up through a fist-sized hole in the ceiling tile. Below it, I could see a balding head. The rafters on either side had pipes running over them. No detours possible. Damn. I eased back onto my haunches, took the flashlight from my mouth, turned it off and tucked it into my pocket. Then forward again, relying on the hole for light. I inched to the edge and peered down.

Below was a middle-aged man, his hands wrapped around a bleach blond head bobbing in his lap. He continued his porn star dialogue and she continued slurping, making way more noise than was necessary for the act—at least, as far as I remembered it. I was tempted to look around for the video camera. The man groaned and exhorted the woman to “Take it in. Take it all in,” which, from my vantage point, didn’t look very difficult. I crawled over the hole. Not like either of them was going to look up anytime soon.

As the live porn sound track faded, I put the penlight back in my mouth and pushed on. Only a few more rooms to cross now. In spite of the racket from the distant casino and the filth of seriously overlooked housecleaning chores, more than once a sudden grin almost sent my flashlight tumbling to the ceiling tiles below.

“Spelunking,” I’d said when Jack had expressed some doubts about the wisdom of rafter-crawling. When his look demanded an interpretation, I’d said, “You know. Exploring caverns, caves, natural tunnel systems, that sort of thing.”

His look didn’t change.

“It’s a sport,” I’d said.

He’d shaken his head, as if unable to believe anyone would voluntarily do such a thing.

“What about getting down?” he’d said. “Long jump. You fall? He’ll hear.”

I’d rolled my eyes. “I’m not planning to fall…or jump. I’m going to abseil.”

The look again. When I’d opened my mouth to explain, he’d lifted his hand and shaken his head. “You can do it? Good enough. Just be careful.”

I paused for another compass check, realized I’d veered off at the last turn and backed up a few steps. Then there it was: the final marker—a tangle of wires that snaked the feed of every security camera into Gallagher’s room. He’d be alone. Both Evelyn and Jack had sworn there was little question of that. Seemed Gallagher was antisocial as well as agoraphobic. He spent his nights locked in his control room, watching his money roll in.