The Empress File

telephone, and all four of them came out together, so they’re gone. Themoney’s in a bank bag, and they weren’t carrying it when they came out.”
    “We’ll take it from here then,” I said.
    “Good luck.”
    L U E LLEN IS a great burglar for a lot of reasons, but the most important reason is her will to act. LuEllen can do outrageous things because she has the will to do them.
    “I wouldn’t take you, except I don’t know what I’ll have to go through inside. I might need some muscle to handle a ladder or get up on the roof,” she told me as she selected the tools she’d take along.
    “I’d worry,” I said.
    “I know.” She pecked me on the cheek, checked her tools one last time, and we went.
    The City Hall was effectively two and a half stories tall. The basement had windows at ground level, and the first floor was up a short flight of steps. The main doors were standard steel and glass jobs. LuEllen could open them any number of ways, but she’d be doing it in full view of the street, and illegal entry isn’t always the quietest activity. That was out.
    The back of the City Hall was also the entrance to the police department. There were eight cops on duty on Friday night, three pairs in squad cars, and manning the desk and a holding cell. We wouldn’t be going in from that side.
    The City Hall was on a corner, with only one side flanked by another building. That building was the hardware store, and it was a half story shorter than the City Hall. The two were separated by a ten-foot-wide strip of grass. A tree stood on the front lawn, its canopy blocking a front view of the roofline between the buildings.
    The hardware store had a deep doorway at street level. The lock would be easy, LuEllen said. It was loose enough that we might be able to pry back the jamb and slip in without breaking it. Neither the hardware store nor the building across the street had second-floor apartments.
    “I ’scoped them out,” she said as we headed downtown. “The second floor across the street is a storage loft for a plumber, so nobody’ll be watching from there. The second floor on the hardware store is a stockroom and an office. I don’t know exactly where the roof access is, but there has to be one.”
    It was a hot night. We dumped the car on a side street two blocks from the City Hall and walked down the dark street, our arms touching, looking for other walkers. Nobody.
    “Coming up,” she said as we got close. She passed me a pair of flesh-colored latex gloves, the disposable kind intended to prevent dishpan hands. I pulled them on, and she dipped into her shoulder bag and took out a pipe, keeping itagainst the leg away from the street. There was a steel pry bar inside it. The pipe could be used as an extension, for more leverage.
    “You’re sure this’ll work?” A great time to ask, I thought as the words came out.
    “It should,” she said. She slowed to look in the window of an office equipment store and then into the hardware store. The store was dark. With a last glance around, we stepped into the doorway like lovers looking for a moment of privacy. She slipped the bar between the lock plate and the jamb, pulled the pipe out for leverage, and pressed. “Push the door.”
    I pushed the door with the heel of my hand, and the door hit the lock.
    “Again,” she said. She pressed her weight against the pipe, and I pushed again, hard. The doorjamb scraped and popped open. We were in “Hello?” LuEllen called. “Is anybody here?”
    Not a sound, which was good. If anyone had answered, I’d have had a heart attack. LuEllen shut the door, grabbed the front of my shirt, and led me down the aisles of the dark store, all the way to the back.
    “Stairs,” she muttered. She stepped into the stairwell, flicked on a pocket light, and led the way up. On the first floor there had been a little light, coming through the windows from the street. Except for the flash, the second floor was dark as a coal sack. At the top of the stairs weturned left, toward the back, and stopped at a green door that looked as though it were painted in place.
    “Gotta be it,” she said. She tried the knob, found it unlocked, and pulled the door open. A short, steep flight of stairs led to a roof hatch. There were stacks of advertising booklets and old newspapers on the steps, covered with dust, and we stepped carefully around them as we went up. The hatch was secured by two simple hooks. She flipped them off, pushed