Machiko looked at her daughter. 'Things are nothing. When they finish, we go.
'Go? Kimi echoed in surprise. 'Go where?
'Home with you. Like your father say.
Kimiko Kurobashi looked shocked, dumbfounded. 'But we can't, she objected. 'There'll be all kinds of arrangements to make-the funeral, the auction.
Machiko was adamant. 'No. We go today. Soon. In two hours.
While she had been off supervising the movers, Machiko Kurobashi had uncovered a daunting reserve of inner strength.
Kimi turned to me, pleading for help. 'We can't leave, can we, Detective Beaumont? Shouldn't we stay here or in Seattle in a motel for a day or two until things get settled?
'It would probably be better… I began.
Machiko didn't give me a chance to finish my answer. Ignoring me, she slipped out of English and into Japanese, speaking quickly, urgently. Words flew back and forth between the two women in short, rapid bursts. The argument lasted for several minutes. I couldn't translate a word of it into English, but the outcome was obvious. Kimiko made zero progress. Machiko's mind was made up and she wasn't changing it.
Defeated, Kimi turned to me, shaking her head. 'Mother insists that there'll be no service of any kind, no funeral. She wants the body cremated and the remains sent over to us later. She says that I should go with you now while the movers are here and sign whatever papers are necessary so we can leave as soon as they finish loading the truck.
I could think of no good reason why they shouldn't leave Kirkland as planned. There was no reason to think they were in any danger. From an investigative standpoint, neither was currently under any suspicion. Besides, they were only going east of the mountains, not out of state. They would be returning to Kimi's home and horse and job. It's not easy to go on the lam and take a thoroughbred Appaloosa with you. In other words, having them leave town would be a little inconvenient, but under the circumstances, it wasn't out of the question.
'Let's go now, then, I said. 'Dr. Baker, the medical examiner, won't be able to release the body until after the autopsy, but you can sign the paperwork and designate where you want it sent.
Kimi nodded. 'All right. Wait here while I go change.
She got up and strode off to the Suburban, where she took a small suitcase out of the back and disappeared into the house with it. Machiko watched her daughter go, her head bobbing up and down in approval.
'Kimiko good girl. Smart, too, Machiko said.
'You're lucky to have her, I said.
Machiko nodded again.
'May we ask you some questions?
'I try to answer. Do my best.
'When was the last time you saw your husband?
'Yesterday morning. He leave home early to catch ferry.
'Where was he going?
She shrugged. 'Do not know.
'Which ferry, did he say? Winslow? Bremerton?
She shook her head.
'Did he call you? I asked.
Machiko nodded gravely. 'Yes. On phone.
'What time?
'Noon.
'And what did he say?
'He say, wait one more while. Things be better.
'When he didn't come home last night, did you think to try calling him at the office?
Machiko shook her head.
'Did you send someone back down to MicroBridge to check on him?
'My husband grown man. Come and go as he please.
Big Al Lindstrom had been watching this entire exchange with his head swiveling back and forth like an observer at a tennis match.
'If you don't believe that your husband committed suicide, he said, 'then you must think he was murdered. Do you know of anyone who would want to see him dead?
Machiko Kurobashi's eyes, enormous behind the beveled glass, turned full on Detective Lindstrom. 'No, she answered.
'Did he have any enemies?
'Yes. I think so.
'Do you know who those enemies might be?
'No.
'Did it have anything to do with this lawsuit your daughter was telling us about?
She frowned. 'My English not too good. I do not understand.
'Was it about the lawsuit, the patent infringement?
Machiko shrugged helplessly and shook her head.
Big Al tried again, louder, as though turning up the volume would somehow batter down the language barrier between them. It didn't. Machiko simply looked at him sadly and shrugged her shoulders once more.
I suspected that Machiko understood far more English than she was willing to let on, but we had reached a point in the questioning process where, for some reason, it was important for her to pretend otherwise.
I'll admit that I found Machiko amazing and puzzling both. For a woman who had just learned that her husband was dead, she was showing remarkable resilience, fortitude, and restraint. To say nothing of stubbornness.
Kimiko Kurobashi had hinted to us earlier that she thought she had inherited her stubborn streak from her father's side of the family, but I had news for her. Based on what I had observed, I suspected she had been given a hefty double dose of it. On both sides of her genetic heritage.
CHAPTER 5
I was shocked when Kimi Kurobashi opened the door and stepped back outside the house ten minutes later. I hardly recognized her. The threadbare Levi's, Western shirt, and down-at-the-heel boots had disappeared. She was wearing a well-tailored gray suit with a high-necked, pleated white blouse, and a pair of black, high-heeled pumps. The ponytail had been replaced by a complicated knot of hair, held in place on the back of her head by an oversized pearl-handled comb. She looked like a model fresh from the pages of Nordstrom's latest dress-for-success catalog.
I'm always dazzled when women pull off wizard changes like that, and I'm equally sure that dazzled is just what women want men to be. It's like they all have Fairy Godmothers stashed away that they can pull out at a moment's notice. Men are pretty much stuck with being the way we are, warts and all. Big Al Lindstrom, caught pushing the lawnmower in his yard on a Saturday afternoon, is still the same guy I work with every day.
Kimiko, emerging from her mother's house, was so transformed as to be almost unrecognizable. She bore little resemblance to the grungy ranch hand who had gone inside a few minutes earlier. I found myself gazing at her appreciatively. A sophisticated butterfly had been concealed in the faded work shirt and the grubby Tony Lama boots.
'Should I take the Suburban? she asked as she came up to where Al and I were waiting with her mother. 'It'll only take a few minutes to unhitch it.
I did my best to camouflage the lecherous stare. You can't hang a man for looking.
'No, I answered quickly. 'We'll take you over and bring you back when we finish. It'll go a lot faster and give us a chance to talk to you on the way.
She nodded, spoke briefly to her mother in Japanese, and then started toward the car. Out front we found
