Free The Empress File by John Sandford Page B

and a screwdriver at the other end. The screwdriver fits the screw in the middle of common everyday home power outlets. Electricians use them to check the outlets to see if they’re live.
    I checked the outlet next to her bedroom door, one under a window on an outside wall, one next to a closet. I got a light every time. The last outlet, the one behind the bed’s headboard, came up dead. I turned the probe over and used the screwdriver to loosen the outlet plate.
    Lying on the floor, working, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest; we were getting long on time. I gave the screw a last turn and pried off the plate.
    Ah. A wall cache. Inside was a metal box, and I used the screwdriver to pull it out.
    “Find something?” LuEllen asked from the doorway.
    “Yeah, a cache… shit.”
    “What?”
    “Money. Goddamn it.” The cash was packed tightly into the metal box, fifties and hundreds. I pulled it out, a folded-over wad some four or five inches thick, and tossed it to LuEllen. In the bottom of the box was a small white envelope. Ifished it out with my fingertips, squeezed it, and found three hard bumps like cherry pits.
    “Not more than a few thousand here,” LuEllen said. “We’ve got to get going—what’s that?”
    I tore open the folded envelope and poured a little stream of ice into the palm of my hand.
    “Diamonds,” I said, holding my hand up to LuEllen.
    “Damn, those are nice if they’re investment grade,” she said. She took the stones and tucked them in a shirt pocket with the cash. “We’re running late.…”
    “Find anything in the basement?” I asked as we headed back toward the car.
    “No.”
    “Goddamn it, we’re not doing that good.”
    “Get the paint.”
    We had two gallons of paint in the car, red oil-based enamel. We popped open one can and started spreading it around the house.
    THIEF , I wrote on one wall, with a newspaper dipped in the paint, STEAL THE CITY BLIND . LuEllen splashed out, YOU DIE PIGGY on another two, and CROOK — CROOK — CROOK . We wrote some more garbage, hitting every wall in the house and most of the ceilings. The last of the paint we poured on the living room carpets.
    “Dump the can, and let’s go,” LuEllen said. We checked the street from the house. Clear. We ranthe garage door up and back down and were gone.
    “I’ve never done anything like that,” LuEllen said. “It didn’t feel that good.”
    “I know.”
    We both were private people. Maybe even pathologically so. What we’d just done to Dessusdelit was close to rape. There’d been a point to it, though: We wanted to hurt her financially, beyond stealing her little stash. We wanted her angry, and a little frightened, and disposed to flex her machine muscle. We wanted her scraping for cash when a big opportunity came along.…
    LuEllen dropped the three stones into a Ziploc bag and put them under the passenger seat as we headed back to the Wal-Mart. “How much?” I asked.
    “No way to tell,” she said. “Everything depends on quality. If they’re a good investment grade, anything between thirty and a hundred thousand.”
    “Not so good,” I said. “There must be more somewhere.”
    We switched cars at the Wal-Mart, moving to the Continental, the twin to Ballem’s car. Next we checked the City Hall. The parking lot was still full, and this time Duane Hill’s personal Toyota pickup was in the lot.
    “So we got him inside,” LuEllen said. “Hope the meeting lasts.”
    “There’s a public hearing. Marvel said it should be a couple of hours at least.”
    Ballem’s car hadn’t moved from the spot in front of his office. We stopped at a second public phone on the way to Ballem’s house and made the call. When there was no answer, I nipped the phone receiver, and we started toward Ballem’s.
    “There’s going to be hell to pay about those phones,” LuEllen said, tongue in cheek. “We’re fucking with Ma Bell.…”
    Two blocks from the phone a cop car turned a corner in