She broke off, again lifting the hanky to her face, sobbing inconsolably.
"It's all right, Kimi said, reaching out and laying a comforting hand on Mrs. Oliver's shoulder. "I'm sure you're right. There must be records somewhere. There was a guy here from a moving company last night when I came to talk to my father. I saw him carrying files in and out. All we have to do is find out which company he works for and where he took them. They're probably all stacked in a warehouse somewhere.
And that's when I remembered the bill, the invoice on Tadeo Kurobashi's desk. In my mind's eye, I could see the yellow sheet of paper from DataDump as plain as day. What I saw most clearly, though, was the cute little company logo that ran across the top of the page: Have shredder. Will travel.
Shit, I thought. It took real effort not to say it aloud.
Kimi was looking at me. The unspoken reaction must have registered on my face. Maybe I choked. That's easy enough to do when you're busy biting your tongue.
"What's the matter? she asked. "What's wrong?
"We may have a problem with that, I said. "I don't think that guy you saw was from a moving company.
"He wasn't? What was he doing here then?
"I'm not sure, I said.
Big Al appeared at the open doorway with little Bernard Rennermann nipping at his heels.
"I guess we don't need you to let us in after all, Al said over his shoulder. "Looks like everything's under control here.
Which was, in fact, something of a misstatement.
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.