Dismissed with prejudice

CHAPTER 17

By midnight I was back in line waiting for a ferry. Again. This time, I was on the Winslow side, trying to return to Seattle. The ferry had been pulling away from the dock just as I came roaring down the hill into Winslow. The ferry schedule isn't like horseshoes. Near misses don't count. The score for the day stood at Washington State Ferry System-two; J. P. Beaumont-zip. Had there been a blood-pressure measuring device in my car, I'm sure I would have registered off the charts.

I'm not any kind of mechanical genius, and I make it a point never to fiddle around with the complicated equipment under the hood of my flashy 928. I let someone else do it, preferably a tried-and-true Porsche specialist.

On this Friday night in Port Angeles, it had taken Triple A more than an hour to send out some jerk in a tow truck. He tried using a set of jumper cables, turned the key, and nothing happened. Then he had poked around under the hood with a flashlight, finally discovering that the battery cable had been neatly clipped. Whoever did it had made sure that the break in the wire was well out of sight.

So the damage was repairable, but everything took time, and I knew that with every passing moment, Clay Woodruff was slipping farther and farther beyond my grasp. While the tow truck guy was looking for a replacement battery cable, I walked across the street to the Port Angeles Police Department and attempted to swear out a complaint against Clay Woodruff, accusing him of vandalizing my car. The Port Angeles cops treated the whole situation as an enormous joke.

How did I know it was Woodruff who had vandalized my car? Had I actually seen him do it? What was it he had gone to get when he left me waiting in Davey's Locker, and where had he gone when he left there? My complaint that every passing moment was giving Woodruff more time to get away fell on deaf ears. Get away from what? Was Woodruff under suspicion for some crime? Was the Seattle Police Department looking for him for a specific reason? Woodruff had been a law-abiding citizen in Port Angeles for a number of years. Who the hell was I?

I'm a slow learner, but eventually I got the picture-small-town cops stonewalling big-city cop. On the small-town cop's turf. At the city cop's expense. They laughed at first, but finally, reluctantly, they put out an APB, but by then Woodruff was nowhere to be found.

Recrossing the street, I went back inside Davey's Locker long enough to hassle the bartender. I told him his friend was in a whole shitload of trouble, and he invited me to leave. Point/counterpoint. Mexican standoff. I took the hint and left, convinced that the city of Port Angeles had revoked every welcome mat in sight.

Back on the street outside Davey's Locker, beneath the black lifeless windows of the Ritz Hotel, I was forced to kibitz, peering over the tow truck driver's shoulder until he finished installing the new battery cable and had my 928 purring again. By then it was almost ten o'clock, too late to go driving around the Olympic Peninsula looking for Clay Woodruff. Even had I known where he was going, he had a several-hour head start. I never would have been able to catch up.

Much later, sitting in the car at the ferry dock, I tried my best to be philosophical about having lost Clay Woodruff and also about having missed the ferry. My eyelids were getting heavy and I was dozing off when the phone rang, startling me awake. It was Ames, calling from my apartment.

"Where are you? he asked. "I've been trying to raise you on the phone all night.

"I've been out of range. Right now I'm stuck in Winslow, waiting for the ferry. Why? What's up?

"The phone's been ringing off the hook all night. Doesn't anybody ever call you at work?

"Hardly ever. What's going on?

Ames was his unflappable best. "In order of priority, I suppose the call from Dana Lions is the most important.

"A call from Dana Lions? What about?

"They found her father. Ames paused. "He's dead.

With those two words my worst suspicions about David Lions and his traveling Visa Card were confirmed. There was no elation in being right, only a grudging acknowledgment that I had seen it coming. I thought of Dana Lions, waiting by her phone in Kalama. At least I hadn't told her so, although maybe it would have been kinder if I had given her some hint, some warning.

"Who found him? I asked.

"A group of Cub Scouts from Seattle on a camp out over near Lake Kachess. Dana's on her way to Seattle right now. According to what the state patrol told her, he was found just inside the King County Line, and they're bringing the body to the medical examiner's office here.

"How do they know for sure it's Lions? I asked. "We've already been through one false alarm when everybody thought he'd been found in Chicago.

"His dog tags from Vietnam. They got his name off them.

I remembered Dana mentioning the dog tags then, so there was probably no mistake, and the body really was that of David Lions.

"If Dana calls back, tell her I'm on my way and that I'll meet her at Harborview as soon as I can. What else?

"A call from Alvin Grant in Illinois. He said it's too late for you to call him back tonight. He says he'll talk to you in the morning.

"Anything else?

Ames paused. "Well, actually, there was one other call.

"Who from?

"A Dr. Blair. He sounded a little crusty. And serious. He says that he checked with Dr. Wang and that you didn't do as you were told and go see him. Blair wants to know if you have another doctor in mind. If so, when do you plan on making an appointment? What's this all about, Beau?

"No big thing, I answered. "Dr. Blair's the guy who took care of my fingers.

"So who's Dr. Wang?

"An internist, somebody Blair wants me to go see for a second opinion.

"For a second opinion on your fingers? Do broken fingers call for an internist?

Ames didn't get to be where he is or what he is without being an astute judge of human behavior. He is also a consummate asker of questions. He can sniff out and demolish one of my puny smoke screens from miles away.

"Not exactly.

"What then?

I hesitated. Unable to find a plausible fib, I was forced to answer without one. "Blair seems to think my liver's enlarged. He wants me to go see this Wang character for a complete checkup.

"Wants? It sounded more like he gave you strict orders to go and you didn't bother.

"I'll go, I'll go, I said irritably.

"When?

"When I get around to it, dammit. This case has me tied up in knots right now. I'll go when I have time.

I could hear the defensiveness in my voice and it made me even angrier. I hadn't wanted to discuss the subject of my enlarged liver with Ralph Ames in the first place. Now, here he was, in it up to his eyeteeth. I knew that if I tried dropping the subject, old "Aimless was far too cagey to let it stay dropped. I made the attempt anyway.

"Let's just forget it for the time being, I suggested. "How was your trip to Colfax?

"Fine, fine, Ames replied. "Archie and Machiko are getting along famously. You might be interested to know that he speaks what I understand to be passable Japanese.

"That would be useful, I said.

"Incidentally, Machiko came back here to Seattle with us this afternoon. She has a meeting scheduled with Dr. Yamamoto in the morning.

My yellow mental warning light came on. Ralph Ames was venturing into dangerous territory, talking casually about an ongoing police investigation over a mobile phone. Cellular phones are notorious for allowing casual eavesdropping under even the best of circumstances. That was without having had an electronics wizard break into the car and do God knows what.

I peered out across the water. The incoming ferry was nowhere in sight. "Wait a minute, Ralph. Let me call you back.

"Call me back? Ames echoed. "What's the matter?

"Never mind. I'll call you back in a minute.

I hung up, got out of the car, locked it, and went loping back up to the terminal building. Inside, I finally located a bank of pay phones and dialed my home number.

"What's going on? Ames asked, as soon as he answered.

"People listen in on car phone conversations all the time, I muttered irritably. "The Kurobashi case isn't exactly public domain, you know.

Ames laughed. "Are you getting paranoid in your old age?

"Maybe, I returned. "Now tell me. Why is Machiko seeing George?

"To ask him for the sword.

"But he can't give it to her. It's part of an active murder investigation. He still doesn't have the print results back from the computer. How on earth could he possibly turn loose of the sword?

"It doesn't hurt to ask, Ralph Ames replied mildly.

Ask like hell, I thought. George had called it blackmail, not asking, and he had accused Ralph Ames of being behind it. I've known Ames long enough to know there's solid granite concealed under his foppish exterior. I was glad to know, however, that George Yamamoto hadn't knuckled under. At least not yet, he hadn't.

Ames misread my silence for tacit approval. "At least now we know why her husband never tried to sell it, he continued.

"We do?

"Because of her husband, Ames said. "Her first husband. When Archie told Machiko how much the sword would probably bring at auction, she broke down and told him the whole story. It must be a tremendous relief for her to finally be able to let go of that burden after all these years.

"Goddamnit, Ames. Will you stop talking in circles and tell me what the hell's going on?

"Tadeo Kurobashi killed Machiko's first husband. With the sword.

Ralph Ames knew good and well what kind of impact that news would have on me. He paused, waiting for my reaction.

"Good Lord. You've got to be shitting me!

"Not at all. The first husband's name was Lamb. Aaron Lamb. He met Machiko when she was working in Tokyo after the war.

"When she was working as a hooker? I asked innocently. I'll be damned if I was going to let Ames think he was the only one holding any cards in this particular game.

"That's right. She had evidently lost her entire family and wanted to come to this country in the worst way. Machiko says now that she thought at first that Lamb loved her. Once they were here in the States though, he turned mean and abusive. He beat her constantly. She didn't dare leave or ask for help because he told her that if he divorced her, she'd be deported and sent back to Japan.

"What does the sword have to do with all of this?

"It was her most prized possession, her only possession. A gift from her grandfather. He told her never to draw it unless she intended to use it, but that if it became necessary, she should use the sword to defend her honor or her life.

"One day Lamb came home drunk. He accused Machiko of hiding money from him. While he was looking for the money, he found the knife. He had never known about it before, had never seen it. Machiko had brought it with her, concealed in her luggage. Lamb came after her with the knife. He had it out of the box and was threatening her with it, demanding to know what else she had hidden away in the house. And that's when Tadeo Kurobashi happened to show up. He was out delivering groceries.

"And killed the husband?

"Unintentionally. With Machiko's sword, Ames added. "Tadeo was trying to disarm him but in the struggle, Lamb went down, fatally wounded. Machiko was terrified that without Lamb, she'd be shipped back to Japan. Kurobashi was scared, too. It was such a short time after the war. He was afraid he'd be facing lynch-mob mentality, not justice. He didn't think anyone would believe he had acted in self-defense, so he and Machiko disposed of the body. Kurobashi came back for it that night in his grocery truck. They carted the body out to Ballard and dumped it into Salmon Bay, where it was found a week later.

"And no one ever suspected? I asked.

"Think about it, Ames said. "It was just after the war. Lamb was a lowlife to begin with, a thug, married to a Japanese woman, an ex-prostitute he had brought home with him. The spoils of war, as it were. I don't think anybody cared very much.

"No, I said quietly. "I don't suppose they did. I thought about it for a moment. "So why did the Kurobashis keep the sword hidden all those years?

"Out of some form of irrational fear that they'd be found out, Ralph Ames answered. "For years it was in the safe at Kurobashi's office. Until last week.

"What happened last week?

"I don't know, but whatever it was, it made Kurobashi change his mind. He called Machiko late Sunday morning and told her that he had decided to go ahead and sell the sword. He said they would use whatever proceeds they got from it to start a new company.

"Where's Machiko now? I asked.

"Archie put her up down at the Four Seasons. That's fairly close to the Public Safety building, where we'll be meeting with Dr. Yamamoto tomorrow.

"The Four Seasons! Isn't that a little steep? I asked. "How can she afford it?

"She can't. Archie's paying for it. Cost of doing business and all that.

"Making sure he gets first dibs to handle the sword?

"That too, Ames replied. "He wouldn't be doing it if he didn't think it would be worth it in the long run for both of them.

I was feeling more than moderately irritable with Ames and Archibald Winter both. Ames sounded smug. Not only had he stepped into my business with Dr. Wang, here he was, along with his high-toned friend, messing around in more of my business, solving a murder, a forty-year-old one at that, an unsolved murder nobody had looked at in years.

"Is Machiko going to go to the memorial service tomorrow afternoon? I asked.

"I don't think so, Ames replied. "At least she didn't mention it. Our appointment with Dr. Yamamoto is scheduled for eleven. Before that we're meeting with Chris Davenport. He's anxious for Machiko to sign off on some of the bankruptcy proceedings, and I'm not sure that's wise.

"What have you done, Ames, taken another chick under your protective wing?

"I just don't want to see her rushed into something that wouldn't be advantageous, considering the situation with Archie and the sword.

Outside I heard the deep-throated honking of a horn announcing the arrival of the ferry. "I've gotta go, I said quickly. "Once I get to Seattle, I'll stop by Harborview long enough to see if there's anything I can do for Dana Lions, then I'll be home. See you in the morning.

The few inbound cars were already unloaded and the cars waiting in line behind me were already starting their engines as I reached my vehicle. Barely missing the previous ferry guarantees you a front-row seat on the next one. I drove all the way to the restraining chains at the front of the ferry and settled deep into the Porsche's chilly leather seat for the thirty-minute ride to Seattle. I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes, but I didn't sleep. I didn't even doze.

I was still plucked by what I regarded as Ames' and Winter's interference in my case, even though, at the same time, I was dazzled by all the information those two interlopers had managed to glean. If any or all of it was true, then the dynamics of Tadeo and Machiko's marriage were much different from what I had supposed and from what other outsiders had assumed. I found myself examining the Kurobashis' marriage through a prism of new information.

George Yamamoto had seen Tadeo's total absorption in Machiko, had watched it draw Tadeo's affections away from his sister Tomi. He had tried to understand it, finally explaining it to himself as some kind of sexual entrapment, a web of eroticism only a street wise prostitute could weave.

Now I felt certain that Machiko's fascination for Tadeo had been far less complicated than that, far less sinister. I saw it as the simple magnetism that often draws the strong to the weak, the powerful to the helpless. Tadeo had literally wrested Machiko from certain death at the hands of her brutal husband. That act had bound the two of them together in such a symbiotic, mutually dependent relationship that even Kimiko, their well-loved child, had not been able to penetrate it, much less understand it.

What Kimiko had seen as a prison, Machiko had viewed as a haven, a refuge. The father, the villain Kimiko regarded as her mother's ruthless jailer and dictator, had chosen to alienate his daughter, to go without speaking to his only child for nine long years, rather than reveal his own terrible secret, a secret he and his wife had shared and lived with and carried together for more than forty years.

So what had changed? What event had, in a single day, triggered such a fundamental change in Tadeo Kurobashi's life? What had made so great a difference that he had been willing, after all those years, to sell the sword? He must have known that Machiko's sword was indeed two-edged, that it held the promise of bringing them much needed financial relief, but that it also carried the threat of bringing with it questions and an investigation that might reopen that forty-year-old nightmare.

That weekend, something had made such a profound impression on Tadeo Kurobashi that he had been willing to risk revealing the desperate act he and Machiko had kept hidden for so long.

There was only one thing I knew for sure about that Friday. It was the day Clay Woodruff had called and left a message for Tadeo Kurobashi with Bernice Oliver. Was that call the catalyst? Was that what had sparked Tadeo's sudden change of heart, or was it something that happened later at the meeting in Port Angeles on Sunday?

I had no way of knowing, and no way of telling which side Woodruff was on, to say nothing of which way he might have pushed Tadeo. Woodruff had claimed that he was doing something for a friend, a final favor. Maybe that had been a lie, something Woodruff threw in to keep me off guard. If so, it had worked like a charm. Clay Woodruff had outfoxed me six ways to Sunday. He had gotten away clean without my having any idea where to look for him.

Frustrated with thinking about how stupid I was, I went back to thinking about Tadeo Kurobashi, struggling to come to grips with this changed vision of him, to understand how this newly revised and heroic version was tied in with a gangster named Aldo Pappinzino in Chicago, Illinois. No matter how I shoved the pieces around on the board, I couldn't see a connection.

The ride from Winslow is a relatively short one. I stayed in the car, watching as Seattle's nighttime cityscape slowly crystallized and emerged from the ghostly glow of cloud-shrouded lights in the distance. In thirty time-warping minutes, I traveled from sleepy rural backwoods to the heart of a metropolis still alive with its late-night diversions, from towering, darkened forests to nighttime skyscrapers whose lights beckoned like so many burning candles.

That ride and that view always have a soothing effect on me, and this time was no exception. As I drove off the ferry, I was no longer nearly as pissed with Ames and Winter as I had been when I had boarded the boat in Winslow. Driving up the hill toward the Medical Examiner's Office, I felt a sudden burst of energy, a second wind. If "Aimless Ames and his buddy wanted to muck around in forty-year-old murders, let 'em. My job was to deal with the murders in the here and now. Specifically with the murder of Tadeo Kurobashi. Tadeo and, secondarily, that of David Lions. He was mine too. By proxy. Because I said so.

In trying to talk to Dana Lions, I would be in direct competition with other cops from other jurisdictions. Detectives from the King County Police would be there. I was sure they would want me to take a number and get in line.

I had news for them. They were coming into this case from way behind go. They were just beginning to wonder who had killed David Lions. I already knew. All I needed was one tiny smidgen of evidence to prove it.

With any kind of luck, Lorenzo Tabone would have made a slip, one seemingly insignificant mistake, that would give me something to remember him by, something that would buy him a one-way ticket to the gallows, Washington State's still extant but rarely used form of capital punishment.