'Can you spell that? Big Al was still glumly taking notes.
'What?
'The name. It started with an M.
'M-A-S-A-M-U-N-E. Kimi spelled it out slowly before she continued. 'He's the Leonardo of Japanese sword makers. Swords done by him or by one of his students are considered national treasures in Japan. I'm sure it can't be genuine. How could it? How would he have gotten it?
If Kimiko Kurobashi didn't have an answer to that question, I certainly didn't.
'Did he say anything else about the sword?
'Only that he had finally thought of a way of putting it to use, that it would fix everything but that it would take time. In the meantime he wanted my mother out of harm's way.
'That's what he said?
'Not exactly. He implied that all the disruption of selling the house and everything in it was upsetting to her and that he wouldn't be able to do whatever it was with the sword in time to stop the foreclosure or the auction, but he insisted that there would be plenty of money later.
Big Al's scratching pencil was suddenly quiet. Raising one eyebrow, he glanced meaningfully in my direction. 'Insurance? he asked.
I nodded. 'Maybe. If the policy has been in effect long enough, suicide is usually covered.
'I thought about insurance, too, Kimiko said. 'And when he told me about the money, I asked him again.
'And what did he say?
'He laughed. She stopped abruptly. I could tell from her expression that Kimiko was reliving that painful scene, that she was still hurt and puzzled by his reaction. Considering subsequent events, her question didn't seem the least bit out of order. Laughter did.
'What about the office when you got there? Big Al put in. 'Was there anything unusual that you noticed? Anything out of place? For instance, what did you see on his desk?
'Not much. His computer, the ashtray, a wooden box. I guess it's the box he kept the sword in. There was a piece of cloth, black silk maybe, that he was using for polishing. And then… She stopped, unable to continue.
'And what else?
'My trophy, she whispered.
'The rodeo trophy?
'Yes. And a picture of me, too. An old one, hanging on the wall behind his desk. He was so angry with me that I was surprised to see those things there, surprised that he bothered to keep reminders of me anywhere in his life.
'Did you see any kind of a bill?
'A bill?
'An invoice.
'No. There were no papers of any kind.
I had to doff my hat to Al Lindstrom. He was asking good questions. If Kimiko Kurobashi was telling the truth, and we had no reason to think otherwise, then she may not have been the last person to see her father alive. The fellow in the overalls, presumably the guy from DataDump, had been.
'What about the door to the safe? Was it opened or closed?
'What safe? I don't remember seeing a safe anywhere in the room.
'And where was the picture?
'On the wall, right behind his desk.
That struck me as an important piece of information and another bingo for Detective Allen Lindstrom. The door to the safe had been closed and concealed behind the picture when Kimiko was in her father's office, when she last saw him alive, but it had been found open that morning, open and empty both, when our investigators had arrived at the crime scene.
'Do you have any idea what might have been important enough for him to keep in the safe?
'I didn't even know he had a safe. How would I possibly know what he kept in it?
'What about the computer?
'What about it?
'Was it on or off?
'Off, she answered decisively, without the slightest hesitation. 'Most definitely off. I already told you, he wasn't working. He was sitting there rubbing the sword with that piece of silk like he didn't have a care in the world while my mother was home working like a dog to get packed and out of there.
'What did you know about your father's business? I asked.
'Not much. Only what everyone else knows, what I read in the papers. Until it was settled, the patent infringement lawsuit between MicroBridge and RFLink, Ltd., was hot news in newspaper business sections for months.
'What was it all about?
'My father used to work for a man named Blakeslee. His job, as engineering manager, was to develop a system of local area networks. There were evidently hard feelings when he left, and Blakeslee claimed that when my father started MicroBridge a few months later, that he did it using technology and patents that rightfully belonged to Blakeslee's company. Blakeslee took him to court and won. Blakeslee was in the process of putting my father out of business.
'So you knew that your father was in some financial difficulty?
She shrugged. 'Vaguely, but I didn't have any idea how bad it was. And even if I had known, I wouldn't have been able to help. From what I've gleaned from my mother, he must have personally guaranteed a line of credit and put second and third mortgages on the house in order to meet payroll and keep the company afloat during the lawsuit. When he lost the case in court, the bank pulled the note.
She paused and shook her head. 'My father and I didn't get along, but I always thought he was brilliant. I believed he was brilliant. I still don't understand how he could do such a stupid thing.
'What did he do that was so stupid?
'He bet everything on winning that case-this house, their personal possessions, their chance of a comfortable retirement-everything. And he lost it all.
'He must have thought he was betting on a sure thing, I suggested.
'He was a fool! Kimiko Kurobashi's dark eyes flashed with anger as she spoke. Her contempt for her father was absolutely unforgiving. Despite the years of hostility, the child in her was now being stripped of all lingering illusions. She was getting an adult look at her father's feet of clay, and she didn't like what she was seeing. Kimiko regarded her father's failure as a personal betrayal of her mother's simple trust, and seeing it for what it was tore her to pieces.
'Nobody but a fool bets on a sure thing!
Machiko appeared at the corner of the house, limping slowly around the Suburban and the horse trailer.
'You know, she packed the entire house by herself, Kimi said, watching her mother's slow progress toward us. 'Every bit of it. The boxes are there in all the rooms, carefully labeled in her own handwriting, waiting for the movers. It's like he forced her to dismantle her own life, piece by piece.
'Are they labeled in English or Japanese? I asked.
'Japanese. I've spent all morning relabeling them. That's another thing. How is she going to get along? She never learned to speak English very well, and she doesn't write it at all.
Kimi didn't add, 'My father wouldn't let her. She didn't have to. From the way she said it and from the look of disgust on her face, I knew this was yet another unpardonable sin laid at her father's door without Tadeo Kurobashi having a chance to defend himself.
Just as I suspected, the warfare between them was continuing unabated. If the message on Tadeo's computer screen was truly intended for his daughter, if Kimi was supposed to be the child that still offered hope, then Tadeo had screwed up again. Royally. He had bet big on yet another losing horse.
Falling silent as her mother approached within earshot, Kimi hurried forward to help Machiko cross over the bridge, where she sank gratefully onto a bench.
'Two hours, she said. 'Done in two hours.
Kimi shook her head. 'Two hours to move a lifetime.
