'How can you do that? Big Al asked.
'A sword that fine would have been signed by the artisan who created it.
'You said a few minutes ago that it may be valuable. Just how valuable?
George shrugged. 'That's hard to tell. Several thousand maybe. Possibly more, depending on whether or not we're dealing with a name-brand sword maker. Why do you ask?
'The landlord told us that Kurobashi was losing his business, that he was supposed to be completely moved out of the building by the end of the month.
'I didn't know that, George murmured. 'I can't imagine how it could have happened. Tadeo was always careful with money. He shook his head. 'Getting back to the sword, even if it is valuable, selling it probably wouldn't have helped him enough to make any difference. He paused and looked around the room. 'If he was losing his business, I suppose that makes the idea of suicide a little more credible, but still…
Impatiently, Howard Baker stripped off his surgical gloves with a series of sharp snaps. 'And as of right now, that's my preliminary finding, pending the autopsy, of course. All this talk of traditions and rituals doesn't mean a damn thing. We're going to find his fingerprints and nobody else's on that knife handle. I'd bet money on it.
Baker moved quickly to the door to summon his peons, the two technicians from the van who, along with their stretcher, were still waiting patiently in the outside reception area. 'You can move him out as soon as George and the detectives give the word.
George waved for them to come ahead, while Big Al and I stepped back far enough to allow them to bring the stretcher into the room. George Yamamoto watched in silence as they carefully wrapped the hands to preserve trace evidence, covered the body with a disposable sheet, and eased it into a body bag and onto a stretcher.
Although the rubber-gloved technicians worked in almost total silence, Doc Baker's voice, booming away in the next room, provided more than enough background noise.
When they finally carried the stretcher out the door, Doc Baker stuck his head back inside. 'I'm leaving, he said.
'When will you be doing the autopsy, Howard? George Yamamoto asked quietly.
'I don't know exactly. That'll depend on whatever else is scheduled. Why?
'I'd like to be there.
Baker frowned. 'How come?
Doc Baker can be pretty overbearing at times, but George Yamamoto didn't back off an inch. 'Tadeo was a friend of mine, Howard. I'm asking as a personal favor.
Finally Baker nodded reluctantly. 'That doesn't sound like such a good idea, but all right, he agreed. 'Except I don't know how much advance notice there'll be.
'Whenever it is, George replied, 'I'll be there.
Baker looked from Yamamoto to me. 'Crime-scene team's up next, you guys. They've been waiting outside. With that, Dr. Howard Baker marched out of the room. George started after him.
'Wait, I said, stopping him. In the flurry of activity, Baker had forgotten to ask George to look at the words on the CRT. 'While you were over by the desk, did you happen to get a look at what was on the computer screen?
'No. What was it?
'Check it out, would you? Can you read Japanese?
'Some, George replied noncommittally. He turned and made his way back to the desk, walking gingerly around behind it, avoiding the blood-soaked part of the carpet from which the body had been removed. With a forefinger resting thoughtfully on one cheek, Yamamoto stood peering down at the computer's screen for several long seconds.
'It's part of a poem, he said eventually, nodding, 'written in Romaji-romanized letters. I recognize it. I'm sure I've seen it before, but I can't remember the name of it or who wrote it. It's the same two lines repeated over and over.
'What does it say?
Again, George Yamamoto studied the screen for a long time. 'It's something about a child, he said.
'What does it say exactly?
'I'm a criminalist, Beau, not a poet, but it's something to the effect that even in this fouled-up world, a child still gives hope.
I gave George Yamamoto full credit for keeping himself under very tight rein. Given the circumstances, I think I would have utilized far stronger terminology than fouled-up, but George is too straitlaced, too dignified to let something as profane as the 'F-word escape his lips.
'Is that his child? I asked, motioning toward the picture on the wall behind the desk.
George nodded. 'That's her, he said. 'Kimiko. Kimi, we used to call her.
'Where does she live? Here in Seattle someplace?
'Not anymore. She's a graduate student over in Pullman, working on her Ph. D. at WSU. He pronounced it 'WAZOO, the way generations of Cougars and non-Cougars alike have referred to Washington State University.
'Kimiko? I repeated. 'Al, did you get that?
Big Al was taking notes for both of us, and he wasn't exactly being Cheerful Charlie about it. 'Got it, Al answered grudgingly.
George Yamamoto looked closely at my injured hand. 'What happened to you? he asked.
His question caught me flat-footed. I had no idea what had happened to my hand, and no ready-made answers leaped to my lips. Fortunately, Big Al Lindstrom came blundering to my rescue.
'Grace Beaumont. That's what we're calling him down in homicide these days. Got his fingers stuck in a car door. Pretty stupid if you ask me. How do you spell that name again, Kimiko?
What door? I wondered as Big Al continued taking notes. And how had it happened? And why didn't I remember it? But being a detective has its advantages. At least now I had more information than I'd had before.
Behind us the door to Tadeo Kurobashi's office opened and two crime-scene investigators entered the room. Quietly but firmly they shepherded us out of the office. In the reception area outside, Big Al determinedly kept gathering family information.
'So the wife's name is Machiko, and they live in Kirkland?
'It's called Bridle Downs now, George said. 'And yes, it's part of Kirkland. Back when they bought it, though, it was still in the county. They moved there when Kimi got her first horse. She must have been around eleven at the time.
Big Al jotted some information in his notebook, then looked at Yamamoto appraisingly. 'Since you're a friend of the family, do you want us to handle the notification, or would you like to do it?
George shook his head. Throughout the painful ordeal, he had seemed totally self-possessed. Now, for the first time, he appeared to be unsure of himself.
'I don't know. I knew Tadeo very well, but I was never close to his wife. Kimi and my two boys were friendly back and forth during high school, but that was years ago. Kimi would still remember me, I'm sure. I don't think her mother would like having me around at a time like this.
'So the two families socialized some? I asked.
'A little. At least Tadeo and Kimi did. Machiko lived like a recluse in that house of theirs. She never did anything or went anywhere.
There it was again, in his tone of voice, in what he said about Machiko Kurobashi, the same anger and resentment I had noticed earlier. If other people in their social milieu had felt the same level of antipathy toward Machiko Kurobashi that George Yamamoto did, then living as a recluse was probably a fairly good choice.
Looking for more breathing space in the small reception area, I backed around behind the receptionist's desk. Like Tadeo Kurobashi's, the desktop computer was still turned on, amber words glowing dimly on a dark screen in the office's bright fluorescent lighting.
I'm no linguist, but it looked to me as though that screen was showing the same thing as Tadeo Kurobashi's. To the left of the receptionist's desk was another small office, little more than a cubicle, with still another computer, this one sitting on a rolling stand. I hurried over to that one and discovered the same thing, a screen entirely filled with two brief lines, written in Japanese, repeated over and over.
George Yamamoto had watched me in silence while I moved from one computer to the other. When I stopped in front of the second one, something in my attitude must have tipped him off. He cocked his head to one
