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!
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.
