Grim-faced, Kimiko came back out of the bank a few minutes later, clutching a cashier's check, and we drove her to the mortuary, an old dilapidated one off Jackson. I offered to accompany her inside, thinking she might need an ally in fending off what I figured was the inevitable round of up-selling.
In theaters they try to get patrons to take a larger-sized drink or butter on their popcorn. In mortuaries, the high-priced spread is a snazzy, upscale, satin-lined coffin, and they sell them to grieving relatives when they are at their lowest ebb and most susceptible to high-pressure tactics.
Kimi ignored my offer and went inside by herself. While she was gone, Big Al and I bet lunch that they'd do a job on her even though no service was planned or wanted. Believe me, I've seen it happen often enough.
"How'd it go? I asked cautiously when, still tight-lipped and grim-faced, she returned to the car.
"They asked about insurance, she answered. I caught Big Al's slight knowing nod.
"I told them he didn't have any, she added. "Naturally, Mother wants the very best, but I gave them the check and told them that was it. It'll have to do. There's no more where that came from. It's money I was saving for a stud fee.
With his worst mortician suspicions confirmed, Big Al shoved the car into gear and backed out of the parking place.
"Do you think maybe he did carry insurance? she asked hopefully after a silence. Kimi Kurobashi was grasping at financial straws.
"Maybe, I said.
"And do policies pay off in case of suicide?
"That depends, I said. "You'd have to have the policy itself in hand and talk to one of their claims people in order to find out. Have you seen any policies?
"No, but everything at the house was packed. I'll have to ask Mother if she remembers packing any papers. Of course, there's always the possibility that he left them at the office. Her voice drifted away.
I turned and looked closely at Kimiko Kurobashi. She was wound tight as a coiled spring. For her mother's sake, she was doing what had to be done, trying up the loose ends, and keeping herself under control while she did it.
"Would you like to go there and look? I asked gently.
"Please, she said, her eyes filling with tears. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble.
I knew how much it cost her to ask us for help. No way in hell could we have turned her down. At least I couldn't have.
"No trouble at all, I replied.
As he turned the car in the direction of Fourth Avenue South and Industry Square, Big Al Lindstrom made only the slightest grimace, one that was invisible to Kimiko Kurobashi riding in the backseat. He didn't approve, but he kept his mouth shut about it.
The crime scene team had completed their work and gone away. I figured we'd have to go find Bernard Rennermann to let us in. When we got to the complex, Big Al dropped us off and took the car to the next building to find Rennermann while Kimiko and I went inside to wait. We were standing talking in the hall outside the MicroBridge office when the door was opened by a tall scarecrow of a woman with a beaked nose and heavily hooded eyes that were red with weeping.
"I'm sorry but we're not- the woman started, breaking off at once as soon as she recognized Kimiko Kurobashi.
"Oh, Kimi, you did come. I'm so glad. It's so good to see you after all these years.
"Hello, Mrs. Oliver, Kimi said.
"How is your mother? I wanted to call and talk to her and tell her how sorry I was, but the police wouldn't let me. They told me I shouldn't until we knew for sure that she had been properly notified.
"Mother's fine, Kimi responded. She stepped into the reception area and looked around. No one else was in evidence. "What are you doing here? I understood the place was shut down, out of business.
Mrs. Oliver shook her head and pressed a damp hanky to her nose. "I told your father that I'd stay until the end of the month, and I will, no matter what. Someone should be here to answer the phones if nothing else, to let people know what's going on. I don't know what to tell people though. The records are all gone.
"What records? I asked quickly.
Mrs. Oliver gave me a quick, hostile look.
"It's all right, Mrs. Oliver, Kimi said. "He's a police officer, one of the detectives.
"The records. The customer lists, the sales records, the specifications and parts lists, his most recent design work. They're gone, all gone. Everything.
"Are you sure? I asked.
"Of course I'm sure. When I came in this morning, I opened my file cabinet, and the drawers were empty. So were his. So was every file drawer in the place, here and down in engineering, and in the comptroller's office as well. Oh, there are still a few things left, your father's personal papers, some pension and tax records, that kind of thing, but the bulk of the company records, the important ones, are gone. I thought maybe the police had taken them, but they said no, that nothing had been removed except the…
I could see Mrs. Oliver cringed at using the word body in Kimi's presence. She chose instead to leave the sentence hanging unfinished.
Mrs. Oliver was a woman in her mid to late sixties who walked with a stately, unbowed step. Leaving us standing, Mrs. Oliver went back over to her desk and eased her angular frame primly onto the rolling chair behind it.
"I was here on time this morning, she said, "but the officers wouldn't let me in. They finally allowed me inside my own office on the condition that I stay out of Mr. Kurobashi's.
"Did you?
"Did I what, stay out? Of course, but I did go as far as the doorway and look around.
"Did you notice anything out of place?
"His ashtray is gone. Maybe it just got knocked down behind the desk. I couldn't see that far.
"What kind of ashtray?
"A marble one. I gave it to him at Christmas, but then he quit smoking in June.
I remembered that Kimiko had mentioned an ashtray, but I had no recollection of its being in the room, much less on the desk.
"Anyway, to go back to the files, Mrs. Oliver continued. "I didn't worry about them that much. After all, we were moving by the end of the month, but now I'm not so sure.
"Why not? What do you mean?
"And look at this. She gestured toward her computer, and Kimi hurried around to where she could see the screen.
"That's the index, Mrs. Oliver continued. "That's all that's there, in every file and in every backup file on every computer in the place. I can't even read it, to say nothing of make it work. Your father had his fill of paperwork when he worked for Boeing. He preferred computer files to hard copy wherever possible, and we made archive files of every hard drive in the place, but all those floppies are gone, and this is all there is in the computer itself.
Kimi straightened up and met my questioning gaze.
"What is it? I asked.
"A virus, she answered, her face hard beneath a sudden pallor.
"A virus? What are you talking about?
"A computer virus.
I hurried around the desk to see for myself. The index showed a long list of files with the amount of disk space each occupied, but there was only one file name, written in Japanese and repeated over and over.
Kimi stepped away from the desk and leaned heavily against the wall.
"The poem again? I asked.
She nodded. "The first few letters.
"What poem? Mrs. Oliver asked, looking back and forth between us. "What are you two talking about?
"Someone fed a virus into the computer system, Kimi explained. "When the virus program is activated, it works like a cancer, destroying all the files, filling it up with junk, in this case the first two lines of my father's favorite poem. Why would he do that?
"Your father? Mrs. Oliver was outraged. "He wouldn't do such a thing, Kimi. Never in a million years. Your father wasn't like that. He had worked too hard. We all had. For years. How can you even suggest such a thing!