Kimi nodded.
'What time was that?
'About eight-thirty, I guess. He called around eleven yesterday morning while I was working. It took me several hours to get squared away at work, to make arrangements to have someone fill in for me both at school and on the farm.
'The farm? I asked, suddenly remembering the words printed on the side of the horse trailer. 'Would that be Honeydale Farm?
People don't expect you to pay attention to the little telltale clues they leave scattered around them. If you ask someone wearing a Yellowstone T-shirt how they liked Old Faithful, they'll be mystified as to how you knew. They react as though you have some secret, black magic way of knowing things about them when it's actually nothing more than using basic powers of observation. Kimi Kurobashi was no exception. She had long since stopped seeing the Honeydale Farm lettering on the horse trailer.
'I live there, she said, giving me an uncertain look. 'I help out around the place for board and room both for me and Sadie.
'Who's Sadie?
'My horse. Teaching assistants don't earn enough to support horses.
'Your parents haven't been helping you then?
'Are you kidding? My father threw me out when I was nineteen years old. I've earned my own way ever since, every penny of it. When he called me yesterday, it was the first time I had spoken to him in almost nine years.
'That's a long time, I said.
'He was a stubborn man, she said, adding thoughtfully after a moment, 'I must take after him.
'Getting back to yesterday, I prompted.
'As I said, it took me a while to get things lined up. It was after one before I was able to get away. It takes a full five hours to get across the mountain pass, a little longer pulling the trailer, especially in weekend traffic, and it was windy coming across the Columbia. I didn't get here until almost six-thirty.
'Mother must have spent weeks packing. She had been here working by herself all day long and was so tired she could barely stand. There wasn't a crumb of food left in the house-everything was packed. I took her into Kirkland to have something to eat. She doesn't drive. I dropped her off after dinner, and then I went to see my father.
'At his office?
'Yes.
'Was there anybody else there?
'One person that I saw. A young guy who was moving files.
'Moving them where?
'I don't know. I met him coming out of my father's office carrying a full file drawer. He brought the empty drawer back later and got another full one. I assumed he must be packing them into boxes somewhere.
'Doesn't that strike you as an odd way to move files?
'Odd? Maybe, especially on a Sunday night, but I didn't question it, if that's what you mean. I still don't think you understand about my father, Detective…
'Beaumont, I supplied.
'Detective Beaumont. His word was law both at work and at home. Questioning wasn't allowed. Period.
'So what happened when you got to his office?
'As I said, in the doorway I met this young man in overalls who was carrying the file drawer. I waited long enough for him to come out and then I went in.
'And your father was there?
She nodded. 'Sitting at his desk, polishing that damn sword.
'Had you ever seen it before?
'No. Never.
'Do you have any idea where it came from?
'No.
'And what did he say to you?
For the first time in her narration, Kimiko faltered, pausing to swallow before she answered. 'Thank you, she said.
'Thank you for what?
'He said thank you for coming home to take care of Mother.
'And you took that to mean?
'That he was going to kill himself, she replied matter-of-factly.
'Why?
'I'm a Japanese-American, Detective Beaumont. I grew up on samurai stories, cut my teeth on them while my friends at school were reading the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew. It looked like a samurai short sword to me. I know all about seppuku, about choosing death over disgrace. It's a time-honored Japanese custom.
'But he didn't say outright that he was going to do it, did he?
'No. In fact, when I asked him, he denied it. I told him he had no right to leave my mother. She's always been totally dependent on him. Far too dependent. He kept her here in this house, waiting on him hand and foot, but she never said a word against him, never objected to the way he treated her.
'And how was that?
'Like he was lord and master and she was his servant. His slave. Around the house things were done his way and that was it.
'What about you? I asked quietly. 'Did you always do things his way?
'Up to a point. She gave me a shrewd, appraising glance. 'You're a smart man, aren't you?
'I try.
'Things were fine when I was younger. Kids think that whatever they're used to at home, that however they live, is the way life is supposed to be. They don't question it. He treated me like the son he never had, took me places, taught me things.
'Is that why you're studying engineering?
She shrugged. 'Probably, she said. 'I'm good at it, but he made sure I was exposed to engineering at a very early age.
Lost in thought, she stopped and seemed to drift away. 'Go on, I said.
'Back then I didn't worry about my mother, didn't even think about her very much. She was always there but almost invisible, always hovering in the background, always doing things, never complaining. But eventually I grew up and went away to school. I got my consciousness raised in a Women's Studies program over at Central. When I came home from Ellensburg, I tried to talk to my father about it, tried to get him to see that what he was doing to her was wrong, how he'd made her too helpless, too dependent on him, kept her isolated and cut off from everyone but us. We had a major battle over it, and he threw me out.
'What did your mother say?
'What do you think? She sided with him, as always. She said that I was wrong, that I was too young to understand. That's the last time I spoke to my father until he called me on the phone yesterday morning.
'But you stayed in touch with your mother.
'Yes. Other than him, I was all she had. My father had his work, his company. Without me, she had nothing.
'So what happened last night in your father's office?
'We quarreled again. Except for that pitiful little stack of household goods out in the trailer, all my mother's things were packed up, ready to go to the auction to satisfy his debts, and there he sat holding that damn sword. I don't know where he got it or how long he's had it, but I told him that if she had to give up all her things, so did he. He told me about it then, bragged that it was made by a student of Masamune. He claimed that it had been in the family for hundreds of years, that it was priceless.
'But you had never seen it before? That seemed strange to me. Priceless family heirlooms aren't usually hidden under bushels. People talk about them, brag about them, show them off.
'No. I had no idea he owned such a thing.
