Jane tried the first door to her left. The knob slid beneath her latexed fingers—locked. Jane had a handheld power jigsaw on the webbing belt that would slice through interior door locks like a knife through a wedding cake, and for a moment her left hand worked inside the paper suit and she touched the jigsaw’s lovely checkered rubber grip. But she stopped. She wisely resisted the urge to break into the room just for the thrill of it. Would they be locking Alex into a room at night? Not likely. Not night-owl Alex. Stubborn, mean-tempered, night-owl Alex. Even at death’s door, Alex wouldn’t put up with that.