Chapter 5: The Vent in the Ceiling

I knocked on the garage apartment door at seven that evening.

Gabriel opened it with a dish towel over one shoulder.

"I need a key to the study," I said.

"Rafael changed the lock Monday."

"You know that?"

"I replaced the old one two years ago. I know what he put in."

"Do you have a key to it?"

He looked at me for a moment.

"Why?"

"There's a second phone in the ceiling vent over his desk. He's at your mother's until eleven."

I waited for him to say it was a bad idea.

He took the towel off his shoulder and folded it once.

"Give me five minutes," he said. "I'll get the ladder."

We went in through the kitchen with the lights off.

The housekeeper had gone home. The house ticked and settled around us, and every board in the east hall sounded louder than it ever had.

He opened the study door with a thin metal tool and no key at all.

"You never answered me about the key," I whispered.

"I said I'd get the ladder."

He set the stepladder under the vent and tested its feet on the rug.

I held it. He climbed.

The vent cover came off with a soft squeak. He felt around inside with one gloved hand.

"Anything?"

"Dust." Then he stopped. "No. Hold on."

He came down holding a black phone in a plastic bag.

It was thin and cheap, the kind sold at gas stations.

I took it from him and pressed the button, and the screen asked for a code.

"Four digits," I said.

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