Harry crossed to the elevator bank. He looked up at the digital indicator, which showed the elevator going up from floor to floor:
5 … 6 … 7 … 8 … 9 … 10 …
The elevator stopped at eleven.
Harry glanced around, found the door leading to the stairs, which he tried.
Locked.
From his pocket, Harry took two picks—one straight, the other V-shaped.
He put the straight pick into the lock; then, he put in one fork of the V-shaped pick. He twanged the other fork of the V-shaped pick as he jiggled the straight pick. And unlocked the door, which he eased open.
Harry slipped into the stairway.
Carefully, silently, Harry shut the door. He started to climb the eleven flights.
* * *
Friday walked toward her car. She looked back at the Bay Bank Building, and retraced her steps.
* * *
Harry reached a landing. A dried, stringy mop leaned upside down in the corner, the stiff yarn strands like uncombed hair. No bucket.
On the door leading out of the stairway was a panel that said 11. Harry tried the knob. Locked. He took out his picks.
Downstairs, Friday entered the lobby, went to the elevators, and pushed the button. The elevator door slid open.
Upstairs, Harry slipped into the hall and closed the door behind him.
At the end of the hall, underneath a closed door, Harry saw a strip of light. On the door was a brass plaque: Matthew Cotton, Attorney at Law.
Harry approached the door and pressed his ear against it. From inside came a low murmur of what sounded like angry voices.
Harry tried the door. Locked. He picked the lock, cracked the door open, and peered in.
Cotton’s reception area was dark. Across the room, the door to a private office was half open.
This was the source of the light.
Against the far wall of the inner office were shadows of two men. Harry recognized one as Pillette. The other was a man, about five foot eleven, heavyset. It was Cotton’s office; Harry figured it was Matthew Cotton, who had been beefy ever since they’d been in elementary school together.
Harry slipped into the outer office and quietly closed the door behind him.
* * *
The elevator dinged. The elevator door opened. Friday stepped into the hall. She saw the door to Cotton’s office being carefully closed. She crossed to it. Tried the knob.
Locked.
“Harry,” Friday whispered.
Again, she tried the knob. Without success.
“Breaking and entering,” Friday said. “Terrific.”
She crossed back to the elevator, entered the car, and pressed the button for the lobby. The elevator door slid shut.