'Not them, Yamamoto said quietly. 'Machiko.
'This doesn't make sense.
'Ames and Winter came here yesterday wanting to see the sword, and I showed it to them. Winter has solid credentials. He agreed with me that the sword is a genuine Masamune. Now, this morning, I have a call from Machiko Kurobashi telling me that if I don't release the sword to her at once, she'll go to the media with the story.
'What story?
'Conflict of interest. The newspapers will lap it up. She'll tell them how I'm keeping the sword because of the long-standing feud between us.
'But how can she get away with that if it's not true?
George Yamamoto leaned back in his chair, his fingertips templed in front of his nose. 'But that's where you're wrong, Detective Beaumont. It is true. I thought the sword was Tadeo's. One of the reasons I didn't want to release it to her is that I didn't think she deserved to touch it. Now Winter tells me the sword is rightfully hers. Her maiden name was Kusumi.
I nodded. 'I thought as much when Winter was talking about it the other night, when he told me that the other matching pieces had been found in the ruins of Nagasaki.
'What exactly do you know about Machiko's background? George asked.
'Not much. Only what you told me, that she came to this country as a war bride, an occupation bride really, and that she married Tadeo after her first husband died.
'She was a whore! George Yamamoto declared vehemently, slamming his fist into his desktop. 'Machiko Kurobashi was a no-good worthless whore!
For a long moment it was silent in George Yamamoto's small private office. In the outer lab, beyond the closed door, humming voices droned and telephones rang faintly. No one beyond the confines of his private office seemed aware of the outburst.
'You don't know that for sure, do you, George?
He nodded. 'Yes, I know it for sure. I told you before about Tomi, my sister. When Machiko showed up out of nowhere and took Tadeo away, I wanted to find out about her. I had friends who were able to check into her background. They told me she was working the streets in Tokyo when she met and married her first husband. I reported what I had found out to Tadeo, but he said it didn't matter. He married her anyway.
George swung around in his chair and stared angrily out his office window, a dingy pane of water-splotched glass overlooking Third Avenue.
'I've run this department for years without a hint of scandal, George said slowly, 'and as long as I give her back the sword, that will continue to be true. No scandal. No problem. She claims she needs to borrow it for a day or two.
'And if you don't let her have it?
'She goes to the papers.
'It does sound like blackmail, I conceded, 'but she can't prove it.
'She won't have to. Newspapers don't require proof.
'Does she know about the memorial service?
George nodded his head. 'I told her. She didn't say anything about it.
'But she isn't coming?
'No.
Dozens more questions swirled in my head, but they could wait. Between asking then and asking later, I chose later. George was having a tough enough time as it was. I got up, walked to the door, and opened it.
'Will you be coming to the memorial service? George asked.
'What time is it again?
'Four o'clock. In that little place called Waterfall Park at Main and Occidental.
'I'll be there, I said.
George nodded. I left the room, closing the door softly behind me. Unfortunately, George Yamamoto regarded even a hint of scandal as a serious assault on his personal honor.
When I got back upstairs, there was a Federal Express envelope lying facedown on my desk. I opened it and shook out the contents-a single piece of paper, a copy of the composite drawing of a darkly handsome man in his mid-thirties. I picked up my phone and dialed Andy Halvorsen in Colfax to see if he had received his copy. He had.
'Just a few minutes ago. In fact, I was about to call Pamela Kinder in Spokane to see if she can pick this guy out of a montage of pictures. I've spent half the morning on the phone with Alvin Grant, that detective in Schaumburg. He's excited as hell.
'Excited? What about?
'When he saw the composite, he thought it looked familiar. He worried it all night, and this morning he finally figured out where he knew that face from. He came up with both fingerprints and a mug shot. He's sending us copies of the prints, and he's pulling strings to get the latent prints they lifted off Lions' Visa card run through Cook County's Automated Fingerprint Identification System. He'll call and let us know what happens with that.
'So who is it? Anybody we know?
'You and I don't know him from Adam, but Grant does. His name's Lorenzo Tabone. He's a small-time thug, not too bright, who's suspected of doing occasional contract work for somebody named Aldo Pappinzino.
'Never heard of him either. Who's that?
'A major Mafia don. Runs a branch of the mob that's headquartered in Chicago.
'And how exactly does this Alvin Grant propose to catch him?
'He says they've got a stakeout on the place where Tabone lives, and Grant thinks it just might work. Tabone's got no way of knowing we're on to him. It was nothing but an accident that the security guard caught the guy with the Visa card, and having Grant recognize him is more blind luck, more than we could have hoped for. By the way, Grant's got a real hard-on for these characters, for anybody connected with the Pappinzinos. Anything he can do to help, he's up for it.
'How come? I asked. If somebody volunteers and says he's covering my backside, I want to know how he got there. I've learned the hard way not to accept allies on blind faith alone.
'Grant's best buddy from high school, a guy he went through the police academy with, got taken out by a Pappinzino hit man. The guy was doing a drug surveillance for the DEA. Got shot in the back of the head execution-style while he was sitting in his car. The guy who did it got off on a technicality. You know how it works.
I did indeed.
Halvorsen sounded different somehow. He had evidently worked back East long enough that even talking to Alvin Grant on the telephone had injected a hint of Chicago accent into his eastern Washington twang.
'So what are you doing?
'Me? Like I said, I'm going to go see Pamela Kinder. After that, I'll go by Sacred Heart. I may be able to see Kimiko. The doctor said it's a possibility. How about you?
'We spent most of yesterday working on another case, but we picked up a lead to a friend of Kurobashi's who lives over in Port Angeles. If I can get away this afternoon, I'll go over there and talk to him.
'Sounds good, Halvorsen said. 'Let me know if you find out anything, and I'll do the same.
Big Al came back from his ordeal in Captain Powell's office in a blue funk.
'What's Max up to this time? I asked.
'He's trying to come up with a reason why it's all our fault.
'That Hubert Jones OD'd?
'That's right.
I laughed. 'If anyone can pull that one off, Maxwell Cole is it. Want to go have lunch?
Allen Lindstrom nodded. It was time. We went to the Doghouse. Big Al had lunch; I had breakfast.
'You know, Big Al said thoughtfully, chewing his way through a Bob's Burger, 'you ought to try getting up a little earlier in the mornings and start having breakfast before you come to work. Molly says it's a whole lot better for you.
I smiled and nodded and ate my bacon and eggs without bothering to tell Big Al what I had been doing that
