The Empress File by John Sandford

but in perfect condition.
    "We're killing this guy," LuEllen said enthusiastically.
    "Good."
    I was bringing the paint in from the garage when headlights swept the windows.
    "Car," LuEllen said. She said it loudly, so I'd be sure to hear. I crouched and scuttled back into the house. LuEllen was against the front wall, peering out of a crack.
    "It's the cops," she said. "The driver's coming up to the porch."
    I heard him outside the door and slid over next to it. If he came in... I lifted the paint can above my head. I waited, and the doorbell rang.
    LuEllen's face was motionless, pale, watching me from her window spot.
    The doorbell rang.
    LuEllen's face, pale like the moon.
    The doorbell rang.
    My arms were aching.
    And the cop walked away.
    "He's going," LuEllen whispered. Then: "He's gone."
    "Jesus Christ," I groaned, dropping the paint.
    "Fucking cops," LuEllen said. She picked up the wrecking bar, dashed across the living room to the built-in shelves, and smashed them off the wall. She was in a frenzy, moving around the room, breaking everything breakable, knocking holes in the Sheetrock walls.
    "The paint," she panted. "Dump the paint."
    She went through the house like a dervish, while I threw the paint around. THIEF. CROOK. SUCK ON THIS. WHERE'S THE CITY MONEY?
    "Let's go," she said when the paint was gone. "Let's get the fuck out of here." She threw the wrecking bar on the rug, and I followed her back to the garage. At seventeen minutes and a few seconds we were out of the house.
    "That's about the longest I've ever been inside a place," she said. Her voice was half an octave lower than usual.
    "You sound a little... turned on."
    She let that sit in the air for a minute, then said, "Yeah. I guess I am."
    The last part of our trip took us to the edge of town, to what had once been a farmhouse. It was set back from the blacktop, along a twisting dirt track that ran between overhanging trees. We'd made the phone call and got no answer.
    A black form crossed the driveway like a shadow from hell, and the hair stood up on my arms.
    "Look at that," LuEllen said. "Jesus, look at..."
    There were three dogs, black and tan, pointed ears and noses.
    "Dobermans," LuEllen said. "All three..."
    She rolled her window down a couple of inches, and the dogs were there, snapping, nobody to call them down. LuEllen reached over the backseat, got the steaks out, rolled the window down another inch, and pushed them out. The dogs were on them in an instant.
    "Eat, motherfuckers," LuEllen said. She broke another cap herself. She wouldn't look at me while she snorted it. "Eat."
    Outside, the dogs were starting to wobble. Dobermans, when they're in good condition, look semiskeletal, hard muscle rippled over a frame of bones, the whole thing held together by craziness and tension. When the tension goes, as it will when the load of barbiturates is big enough, the dogs seem to come apart.
    "Let's go," LuEllen said.
    I stepped gingerly out of the car and around one of the dogs. The dog could apparently pick up the motion because he made a weak attempt to react but couldn't get himself coordinated.
    We were parked in the yard, just down the steps from Hill's front door. There was a light in one window, but no movement. From the porch we could hear the phone ringing. LuEllen shoved a pry bar into the door, threw her weight against it, and ripped it open.
    "Whoa," LuEllen said. The house stank of spoiled food and cigars, an unwashed human, bad plumbing, neglect. Old wallpaper sagged from the plaster-and-lath walls, and there were water stains on the ceiling.
    Hill had no computer. LuEllen went straight into the basement, while I went upstairs and began ripping apart the bedroom. Neither of us found anything, and we met on the first floor.
    "Where?" she said, one hand on her hip. She walked slowly through the house, taking it in. There was no question of art; there was nothing on the walls but calendars and a couple of stuffed deer heads. I knocked the