Dismissed with prejudice

CHAPTER 6

Locked out of her father's inner office, Kimi was able to get some of the information she needed from Mrs. Oliver. Yes, there was a modest amount of life insurance-a $50,000 policy as far as she could remember, and a will that had been drawn up fairly recently. She was sure Mr. Yoshiro, Mr. Kurobashi's personal attorney, would have a copy of it.

"What about this Davenport guy?

"You know him? Mrs. Oliver asked, sniffing with distaste.

"He was here this morning, I told her.

"His specialty is bankruptcy, Mrs. Oliver said. "He's not good for much else.

Taking what information we had, we headed back to Kirkland. It was three-thirty by the time we returned to the house in Bridle Trail Downs. The moving van was gone. In its stead we found a maroon Caprice Classic station wagon. At first I thought maybe the car belonged to some friend of the family come to offer condolences. That impression was short-lived.

We found Machiko Kurobashi huddled on one of the stone benches near the fishpond while a group of four screaming hellions streamed around her, clambering over fences, scrambling up and down trees, yelling at the tops of their lungs. The new owners had apparently arrived right on schedule to take possession of the property. The parents were nowhere in evidence.

Machiko waved gratefully when she saw us and started up from the bench, hobbling in our direction as fast as she could. Two of the children trailed along behind her, with one of them, a girl, doing an exaggerated pantomime of the old woman's gait.

"Did you used to live here? the boy demanded rudely. "Was this your house?

Machiko reached the safety of her daughter's arms and fell into them. "We go now? she pleaded.

The children must have seen the look of unreasoning rage on Kimi's face. They stopped short a few feet away from her and backed off warily.

"Oh, come on, Jared, the girl said, grabbing her brother's arm and pulling him backward, away from Kimi and her mother. "Don't bother with her. She's old. She can't even speak English. The girl stuck out her tongue at Kimi, and the two children raced away toward the barn, splashing wildly through the fishpond as they ran, leaving the formerly placid water roiled and muddy, while frantic carp darted in every direction.

With that, Machiko lost all control. Clutching her daughter, she burst into tears. Except for the distant squeals of those bratty kids, the only sound in the universe was that of her pitiful sobs, and there wasn't a damn thing anybody could do about it.

With a lump in my throat I watched Kimi turn her mother around and gently guide her frail footsteps toward the Suburban. She escorted Machiko to the passenger's side of the vehicle, then left her standing there for a moment, leaning on the cane, while Kimi opened the back door and pulled out a small varnished footstool. Putting that at her mother's feet, she helped Machiko climb up into the van.

Once her mother was settled, Kimi closed the car door and returned the footstool to its place in the backseat. Slamming the second door with a ferocious shove, she came around to the other side of the van. Dry-eyed and tight-lipped, she looked up at me.

"Thank you for your help, she said stiffly.

"You're going?

She nodded.

"We'll need your phone number in Pullman.

"I don't live in Pullman, she said, "but the number's in the Pullman book. You can get it from information.

Awkwardly, I extracted one of my business cards and illegibly scrawled my home number across the back of it. I pressed the card into her hand. "My home number's on there, too, in case you need it.

Nodding, she swung herself up into the driver's side and drove away without so much as a backward glance toward the home of her youth. Machiko too, her daughter's older mirror image, stared resolutely ahead. The only good thing about that whole terrible can of worms was that at least they had each other.

Big Al was looking at his watch. "We'd better get the hell out of here too, Beau. It's already rush hour. We don't want to get stuck on the bridge.

Despite his dire prediction, we got back downtown without being stalled in traffic. Up on the fifth floor of the Public Safety Building we wrote our reports. Al finished up in a hurry and left. Hunting and pecking with my left hand, it took me a whole lot longer. When I finished at last, I took the extra few minutes to look up the number for DataDump in the phone book. Their answering machine said they were closed until 9:00 A.M.

I finally left the department around 5:15. Threatening clouds hung low over the Olympics, promising a storm for later that night while a chill breeze blew in off Puget Sound. Fall was coming. And winter would be coming after that. And I wasn't looking forward to either one of them.

I couldn't shake the disgust I felt about the way those damn brats had acted and at the hurt expression on Machiko's face as she watched those unruly little shits go crashing through her beloved fishpond. Life was not fair, I decided. Life was a crock.

It was nighttime. I wanted to go home and shower. I still reeked from sweating champagne, but I had also gone through the whole day without eating. Although I didn't feel particularly hungry, I knew my body needed fuel. I went to the Doghouse and ducked into the bar, ordering a MacNaughton's first and a chili-burger second.

I was well into the MacNaughton's when Winnie, the hostess, came looking for me. "You have a phone call, Beau, she said.

Being a creature of habit has its disadvantages-most important of which is that everybody knows where you go and what you do. As I walked to the phone, I did a quick mental rundown of where everybody was. I wondered if something terrible had happened to Peters and Amy on their honeymoon or to the girls or Mrs. Edwards. Or maybe Big Al had crashed and burned on his way home to Ballard.

Having sorted through all the possibilities of who the call might have been from, I was stunned when the person on the phone actually turned out to be George Yamamoto. I had never been in the Doghouse with him, and I had no idea how he knew it was one of my hangouts. Word evidently gets around.

"Thank God I found you, George murmured. "Wait for me right there. I'm on my way over.

"All right. I'll be in the bar.

I had finished the chili-burger and was having a dessert MacNaughton's when George showed up at the door. For the first time in all the years I've known him he looked agitated, upset. If I had any lingering visions of Japanese-Americans daintily sipping warmed sake from tiny porcelain cups, George Yamamoto dispelled that stereotype in a hurry. He ordered a double Scotch on the rocks and swilled it down like it was water.

"Have you heard from Doc Baker?

"No, not yet. Why? What's going on?

"The autopsy. We finished, just about half an hour ago.

"And?

"I was right. It's murder, not suicide. We couldn't see it until after we moved the body. He died as a result of a blow to the head. A blunt object of some kind.

"The handle of the sword maybe? I asked.

"No. If he tried that, the killer would have cut himself badly.

"You're saying ‘he'?

"Generic, Yamamoto replied. "He/she.

"But why the rest of it? Why the mutilation?

George shook his head. "I don't know, unless they thought we'd miss the head injury and fall for the phony suicide bit.

I thought of the bloody carnage in Tadeo Kurobashi's office.

"A real sicko, I said.

George nodded. "Yes, but that's not all of it.

"What else?

"Remember the message you left with Doc Baker?

"About the sword being done by a student of someone, that Masamune guy?

"It wasn't, he said. He turned and signaled the waitress for more drinks, ordering one for each of us.

"If it wasn't, then what's all the fuss about? I asked, puzzled.

"I said it wasn't done by one of his students. It was done by him, by the master himself. It's an original.

Silence opened up in a deep pool between us as the waitress brought our drinks. I waited until she left.

"Are you sure? I asked.

"It's signed by him, but no, of course I'm not sure. It'll take an expert to ascertain whether or not it's genuine.

"And what does it mean if it is? I asked guardedly.

"It's priceless, he said. "Absolutely priceless. It shouldn't be in the property room. It should be locked in a vault in a bank or a museum somewhere. We're not equipped to be responsible for something that valuable. I'm worried sick about it, but what can I do? Even if it isn't the actual murder weapon, it's still part of the investigation, no getting around it.

"Fingerprints? I asked.

"Several sets. They'll be running them through the AFIS as soon as they can get the computer time, but that'll only work if the killer is on file.

AFIS is the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, a recently purchased computerized program that had taken local law enforcement jurisdictions out of the Dark Ages and into the high-tech era of fingerprint identification.

"We should have results on that by tomorrow, George added.

I tried to assimilate all the information George Yamamoto had given me. Every way I looked at it, none of it made any sense. "This doesn't add up, I said. "If the sword was that valuable, why the hell would the murderer go off and leave it lying there on the floor?

"He may not have known it was valuable. Maybe he was looking for something else, but what could be more important than a Masamune sword? George asked.

"And how exactly did Tadeo Kurobashi come to be in possession of it?

George took a long drink and shook his head. "I don't know. I just flat don't know. He couldn't have afforded to buy it, I'm sure of that, not even when he was making good money. It's a museum piece, Beau. We're talking about lots of money, a million, maybe more.

"That much?

George nodded.

"But he was going through bankruptcy. If he had an asset that valuable up his sleeve, why was he losing his house, his business? Why didn't he use it? I waited for a moment, giving George a minute to collect himself before I asked the obvious question. "Could he possibly have stolen it?

"No. Absolutely not.

"Why else wouldn't he have unloaded it, then?

"I don't know, George answered.

We were quiet for a moment, both of us thinking. "Well, I said at last, "going back to the killer or killers, if they weren't interested in the sword, they must have been after something else. Tadeo was an engineer. What exactly did he do?

"He designed things, ways of putting microwave and computers together, and other things as well.

"Do you have any idea what specific projects he might have been working on in the months before he died?

"No. In the last few years, we haven't been that close, but maybe a new project is what they wanted.

"More likely, they wanted to destroy it, I said. "Do you know anything about computer viruses?

"Who, me? I know they exist, George answered, "but I don't know anything at all about how they work. Why?

"Remember that poem we saw on Tadeo's computer screen?

He nodded. "Sure. What about it?

"It's a virus. We took Kimi by MicroBridge this afternoon. She wanted to go see if there was any sign of checkbooks or insurance papers there.

"Did you find any?

"No. We got the name and address of Kurobashi's personal attorney, but what we discovered from the receptionist is that those lines we saw on his screen are actually part of a computer virus that's invaded every file in every computer in the entire company. Most of the MicroBridge records are gone.

"Gone? George echoed. "Surely they kept backup copies of everything in the computer.

"We asked Mrs. Oliver about that. She said that all backup copies of disks were missing this morning along with the other hard-copy documents that were removed from the files. She seemed to think they had merely been moved somewhere else in preparation for moving. My guess is that they've all been systematically destroyed.

"What makes you say that? Files don't just get up and walk away over night.

"I didn't say anything about walking away. Remember the bill on Tadeo's desk this morning? It's from a place called DataDump. Remember what it said at the top of the bill? If I remember right, their motto is Have shredder. Will travel.

"Damn, George said.

"Kimi told us that there was a guy there moving files when she was talking to her father.

"She must have told you that after I left, George said thoughtfully, "but that means Tadeo not only knew about the shredding, but probably even hired it done. If he had most of those documents in his computer, though, it wouldn't have mattered.

"Until someone infected the computer with a virus.

"And now it's gone completely, George added. There was a long pause while he fingered his drink. "Might they be in danger, too?

"Kimi and her mother? I asked.

He nodded. "Maybe they should stay in a motel for a while. Or should we ask the Kirkland police to keep an eye on them?

I remembered how Machiko had summarily rejected that idea when, for another reason, Kimiko had suggested it. Still, now that George mentioned it, the idea that they too might be at risk bothered me more than I let on. "They're not in Kirkland, I said. "They left this afternoon to drive to Pullman.

"Pullman! George exclaimed. "Why there?

"Beats me. As soon as the movers finished getting the auction stuff out of the house, they took off.

"But what about the funeral? Who's going to handle that?

"There isn't going to be one.

"No funeral? How come? Everybody has funerals.

"Machiko said no funeral, no memorial service. She was adamant. Big Al and I took Kimi downtown and had her sign all the necessary papers. Tadeo is to be cremated and the remains sent to them in eastern Washington.

"That witch! George murmured under his breath. "She's got no right to do that.

"She has every right in the world, George, I reminded him. "She's his widow, remember?

"As if I could ever forget. His voice was taut with emotion. There was something important lurking beneath the surface of his words, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"What do you mean?

"She always acted as though she had married beneath her, instead of the other way around, as though his friends weren't good enough for her. And now she thinks she can lock us out by not having a memorial service for him? No way, not if I have to do it myself.

I had never seen George Yamamoto so uncharacteristically emotional. Machiko Kurobashi definitely pushed all his hot buttons.

"Tell me about her, I urged.

"Tell you what about her? he snapped back. "What do you want to know?

"Tadeo wasn't her first husband?

"No. She got hooked up with some sleazebag during the occupation.

"Sleazebag? I asked.

"I kid you not. This guy was a real creep, a smalltime hood. When he got discharged from the army, he went back to his previous lines of work. He was into horses and Indian reservation cigarettes and whatever else he could lay hands on. And he wasn't very good at any of it. They were living in a run-down apartment down in the International District when someone took care of him. My guess is, he owed money to somebody who decided to collect the hard way.

"When was that?

"Forty-seven, forty-eight. Somewhere around there. It's a long time ago. I don't remember exactly.

"And how did Tadeo meet her?

"He was working his way through school delivering groceries for a little Mom-and-Pop store down in that same neighborhood. With her rat of a husband dead, she went looking for somebody to take care of her, somebody nice who'd pay the bills and look out for her. Tadeo was it. As soon as she found him, she latched on to him for dear life.

"And when did they get married?

"I remember that. Nineteen forty-eight for sure. Tadeo was only twenty years old, a junior at the university. I often marveled at what he managed to accomplish, dragging her around behind him like so much dead weight. He got both his B.S. and his Masters from the university here, and then he went down to Stanford and picked up a Ph. D.

"Smart guy.

"He worked down in California for a number of years, for Hughes or one of those other big defense contractor types, then he came back up here and went to work for Boeing. I figured he'd play it safe and stay there. They don't call it the Lazy B for nothing, but Tadeo couldn't handle the pace. He wanted to make things happen, wanted to be a mover and shaker. He quit Boeing to work for RFLink in the late seventies and has been off on his own for the last three or four years.

"Kimi said something about there being hard feelings when he left his previous employer, RFLink. Do you know anything about that or the people who work there?

"No. He was pretty closed-mouthed about it when it happened. I got the feeling that his leaving wasn't entirely voluntary.

"You mean he was fired.

George Yamamoto nodded reluctantly.

"When's the last time you saw him?

"Two months ago, down at the courthouse. I ran into him in the lobby. He had just lost the case, his patent infringement case.

"And did you know what losing that case meant to him?

"No, and he never let on. He acted as though it was no problem, said not to worry, that he'd be back on his feet in no time.

"Would his secretary, Mrs. Oliver, know what kinds of things he might have been working on?

"Mrs. Oliver? If she's still with him, she'd know everything there is to know.

"You say that as though she's been part of the picture for a long time.

"She has. She was his secretary when he worked for Boeing. When he left there, so did she. As far as I know, she's been with him ever since.

"And you think she'd be privy to all his business dealings?

"You've got it.

"Anything between them? I asked, knowing how the question would hurt, regardless of the answer.

"You mean romantically? George shook his head. "No, he replied. "I don't think so.

But it wasn't the same kind of absolute answer he had given about whether or not the sword had been stolen. It made me wonder.

Our drinks had been empty for a long time. I ordered another round. George Yamamoto had told me a whole lot I didn't know about Tadeo Kurobashi, information I needed to get to the bottom of who had killed him and why. But there was still something missing, something about Tadeo and Machiko and George Yamamoto that I didn't understand, something that would unlock their history together and help it make sense to me. For all our talking, nothing in what George had said had given me a clue about the long-standing antipathy he felt toward his friend's widow.

I looked at George. Disconsolate, he sat holding his drink but gazing without seeing at the black-and-white picture of a German shepherd which, along with twenty or so other doggie portraits, lined the walls of the Doghouse's bar.

It would have been easy to let it go. There was little reason to think that the years of enmity between George and Machiko could have anything to do with Tadeo's death in the here and now. But detectives don't let things go. It's not part of our mental makeup.

"What do you have against her? I asked.

George's head came up. He looked at me, saying nothing, but he didn't ask me who I was talking about. He knew I meant Machiko.

"Why do you want to know? he asked.

"It could be important.

"I doubt it.

"I'd still like to know, George.

"He and my sister met in Minidoka, he said evenly. "They weren't engaged, but they had an understanding. Tomi was prepared to wait until Tadeo got out of school. Then Machiko came along. Once she got her claws in him, that was the end of it.

"And what happened to your sister?

"Tomi married someone else eventually. She died in childbirth when she was twenty-eight.

"That tells me what you have against Machiko, I said, remembering the woman's unleashed fury as she shook her finger at George and drove him out of her yard. "But it doesn't tell me what she has against you.

George Yamamoto met my gaze and held it as he answered. "It was all a very long time ago, he said. "I'm willing to let bygones be bygones. Machiko's not. I've thought for years that Tadeo could have done better. I still do.

I thought back to the devastated look on Machiko's face as she heard the news of her husband's death and at her gritty determination to follow through with whatever he had wanted, no matter what the personal cost to her.

For the first time I began to wonder exactly what kind of man Tadeo Kurobashi had been, what had made him tick. I looked at George, sitting there grieving over the loss of his friend. The dead man obviously had made a deep impression on the people closest to him, had engendered powerful and conflicting loyalties in his wife, his friends, and also his secretary. Only Kimiko, his embattled daughter, seemed immune to her father's charm.

Not only Kimiko, I thought grimly. Somebody else was immune as well, so immune that they had killed him. I felt a renewed sense of urgency to find out who that person was.