'But that doesn't explain why they'd come after the women, Halvorsen mused. 'What could they possibly know, or is the wife an engineer too?
'Domestic engineer, I replied. 'An ordinary housewife as far as I can tell. If Halvorsen noticed my quip, he didn't crack a smile.
'And the daughter?
'She is an engineer, still a student. Same field as her father, but the two of them have been estranged for years. I don't see how she could know much of anything about his current business operation.
There was a lull in the conversation. When Halvorsen spoke, his face was grim. 'The things they did to her weren't calculated to make her talk. These bastards got their rocks off doing ugly stuff, torture worthy of calling in Amnesty International. It must have gone on for hours.
'What do you mean? I asked.
'First they dragged her out to the barn and killed her horse in front of her. Made her watch, I'd guess. Halvorsen paused, chewing angrily on the stub of his cigar. 'And finally they raped her, with a bottle, a broken bottle. The medics said it was a miracle she didn't bleed to death before they got to her. She'll be lucky if she lives, to say nothing of ever being able to have children.
Outrage, like bile, roiled up in my gut. 'Machiko too?
'No. She was beaten up some, but nothing like what they did to the daughter. They must have thought Kimiko was the key to whatever it was they were looking for.
'You keep saying ‘they.'
Halvorsen nodded. 'From what I understand there were two-one with a stocking over his face and the other wearing gloves.
'One they'd recognize and one they wouldn't?
'The thought had crossed my mind, Halvorsen said.
Silence as thick as the heavy cigar smoke settled over the car. I didn't ask for more details. I didn't need them right then. Moral outrage over the atrocities committed on Kimiko Kurobashi would only get in the way of nailing the creeps who had done them. Instead, I settled for a kind of seething, controlled anger. There would be time enough later to know the other ugly details. Right now we had to concentrate on catching the sons of bitches.
The sense of urgency to do just that was almost overpowering. 'When do you think it happened?
'Looks like they left early this morning. They were gone before Rita Brice got up at six. I've got roadblocks up all over the county, but I don't know what the hell we're looking for-a car, a truck, who knows? Halvorsen paused and glanced at me. 'Any idea who might be behind all this?
'Nothing solid so far. I've heard that Kurobashi had a big falling out with a former employer, and that the two of them have been involved in a dog-eat-dog lawsuit, one that essentially put Kurobashi out of business, but that's all I know so far. I would have interviewed the ex-employer today, but I'm over here instead.
'So Kurobashi's business had something to do with computers, Halvorsen said thoughtfully.
'Right.
'I wonder if that's what she was talking about.
'Who?
'The mother. One of the paramedics claimed that on the way to the hospital, she kept mumbling something about a computer. He and his partner were busy with the daughter and didn't pay that much attention, but they both agreed she was trying to tell them something about a computer. Incidentally, do you speak Japanese?
'No.
Halvorsen pounded the steering wheel. 'How the hell are we going to interview her then? he asked. 'The medics said she barely speaks English.
'Don't worry, I said. 'We'll get by. I'm pretty sure she understands more than she lets on.
We had swung off Highway 195 onto a narrow gravel road. 'It's only about three miles from here.
Each turn of the K-car's wheels was taking us farther and farther into the vast rolling emptiness of the Palouse, fertile and full of shimmering oceans of golden wheat and ripened corn, but with only isolated farmhouses dotting the countryside. An intense wave of guilt washed over me as I thought of Kimi and Machiko, alone and vulnerable, left to the wolves.
'Damn Mac Larkin! I exclaimed.
'It wasn't his fault, Halvorsen returned. 'He was doing the best he could.
The road we were on stopped abruptly at a wire gate. On either side of the gate, a white wooden fence stretched into the distance. Set in a stand of aging cottonwoods and huge drooping willows, Honeydale Farm looked far more like a Kentucky showplace than a horse farm far off the beaten path in the wilds of eastern Washington.
As I stood holding the gate open for Halvorsen to drive through, I more than half expected a guard dog to come snarling up and take a hunk out of the back of my leg. None did. The place lay still and quiet in early autumn's midmorning sunshine.
'People around here think she puts on airs, Halvorsen said as I got back in the car and we started down a rutted track.
'Who?
'Rita Brice, the lady who owns this place. She's not a native, you know. She was married to a big-time Appaloosa breeder who had places both here and across the state line in Moscow, Idaho. When they split up, she got this place and he got the one over there. Now she's gone and set herself up in direct competition with her ex.
'Sounds fair enough to me, I said.
Andy Halvorsen gave me an odd look and then went on with his story. 'She rents out most of the fields, but she runs the breeding operation herself.
'Alone?
'Except for that young woman, the one who's in the hospital. That's the main house up there, he said, pointing toward a gaunt, weathered two-story frame house. 'The help lives over there behind the barn and stables.
We drove through a motley collection of tin and wooden outbuildings which included a slightly tilted, but totally authentic, old red barn.
We stopped in front of a much smaller house, little more than a cottage really. The Suburban was nowhere in sight, but the horse trailer still was parked near the front door. Fifty feet away sat a white Whitman County patrol car. The uniformed deputy inside waved to us, and Detective Halvorsen waved back.
'Where's the car? I asked.
'The Suburban? It's over there, in the garage. About the trailer-were those all the mother's things in there? Halvorsen asked, motioning toward the trailer.
I nodded before I really comprehended the underlying message in his question. 'Were? I asked.
'It's all smashed to bits. Want to take a look?
'I don't but I'd better, I said.
Halvorsen walked toward the horse trailer and reached for the latch. Worried about preserving evidence, I tried to stop him.
'It's all right, he said, cutting through the orange evidence tape that had been placed across the door. 'We're not exactly hicks around here. We've already dusted for prints. We'll have the trailer towed into the crime lab in Spokane as soon as the wrecker is free.
With that, he swung the door wide open, allowing me a look at the shambles inside. Before, the trailer had been neatly stacked with Machiko's carefully packed and labeled boxes. Those packed treasures were now nothing more than a pile of debris. There was deliberate malice in the way the boxes had been ripped open, the contents scattered and smashed and torn to bits.
'It's a mess, isn't it, Halvorsen commented.
Speechless with rekindled anger, I could only nod.
'But there's no sign of a computer here anywhere, Halvorsen continued. 'If it was here, they got it. That's what I told the guys at the roadblock to look for, a stolen computer.
As we stood there surveying the damage, a woman came up behind us. Although much older than Kimi, her
