The Empress File

the hall, and the outer door clicked shut.
    “Jesus Christ, she must have been copying her fucking novel,” LuEllen said. I stood up, pulled the panty hose off my head, and handed them to her. She stuffed them in her satchel, returned Ballem’s will and the other papers to the hidden box, folded down the carpet, and wheeled the globe back into place.
    After a final, meticulous check of the office, to make sure that everything was back in place, we were out. In the hallway we heard the unseen woman laugh again.
    “Her boyfriend must be a sex machine,” LuEllen muttered as we went down the stairs.
    “This is no time for jealousy.”
    I talk a good burglary, but on the street I was gasping for air. “I’m glad you didn’t have to slug anybody,” I said after a while.
    “So am I,” she said. “I’d do it, but I think…”
    “What?”
    “Whacking people on the head… I don’t know. The theory sounds OK, with the soft potato and all, but I’ve got a feeling that some of them might die.”
    A N ENTRY FLOODS your system with adrenaline. Riding the high, with sleep an impossibility, I spent most of the night reviewing the files from Ballem’s computers. And found nothing but two cryptic, and nonincriminating, letters about the sewer pipe company.
    “Nothing at all?” LuEllen asked.
    “Nothing,” I said. But the letters about the sewer pipe bothered me. “You’re sure there was nothing in his desk or the files about the sewer pipe company?”
    “I’m sure. That’s one of the things I was looking for.”
    “Well, shit. The thing is…” I called up one of the files. “Look at the numbers in this thing. He was using some kind of reference… you don’t just remember those kinds of pricing and engineering details; you don’t pull them out of thin air. Marvel noticed the same things about those letters her people found: too many details without references.”
    “Maybe he dumped whatever reference he was using.”
    “Yeah, maybe. But none of Marvel’s friends knows about any books, and they know everythingelse.… And Ballem had that modem hooked into his computer terminal. I assumed he used it for the on-line legal data bases, but I wonder if they might not have the books on-line somewhere. If they’re plugged into a data base somewhere, anybody who knew the sign-on codes could call it up and work…”
    She shrugged. “How do we find out?”
    “Bobby,” I said.
    I was still mulling it over when she asked me if I’d looked at the papers she’d copied.
    “I’d forgotten,” I said.
    The papers were a find.
    Ballem’s will listed bank accounts in Grand Bahama and Luxembourg. The inventory listed household goods, noting the value of specific items: paintings, Oriental carpets, coins, and stamps. The stamp collection “should be assessed by a certified philatelic appraiser.” The divorce papers indicated that he’d paid his ex-wife an aftertax half million dollars over three years.
    “We got a good chunk of him, but most of it is out of town,” LuEllen said. Her voice reflected a mixture of satisfaction and disappointment.
    “We did just right,” I said. I walked over to the computer and punched it up. “I’ll ship this to Bobby. If we can nail down these accounts, we might have the leverage we need against him.”
    “How’s that?”
    “I doubt that he bothered the IRS with the details of his income,” I said. “So when the time comes, we tell him, ‘Get out of town, or deal with the feds.’ And we send along the numbers on these very pretty accounts.…”

L U E LLEN ROUSTED ME out of bed at ten o’clock. She doesn’t like getting up early any more than I do and was grumpy about it.
    “Visitor coming,” she said shortly. She was staring at a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios like Somoza reviewing the Sandinistas. “Get your ass in gear.”
    I try to stay away from breakfast as much as possible. Instead of eating, I brought up the computer, called Bobby, and told him that we’d failed to find the books. I gave him the names of the banks Ballem had listed in his will and suggested a wide-gauge search of credit company files for more background. And I mentioned the modem hooked into Ballem’s computer.
    Possible Ballem on-line w/books somewhere.
    Will check.
    How?
    Phone analysis.
    Fast?
    Don’t know. Toggle auto-answer 2nite, I’ll message progress.
    OK
.
    Before Bobby got into data bases, he was a major phone phreak. Still is, I guess; he’s made the combination of the