side. 'What is it? he asked.
'Same as the first one, I said.
'What do you mean? Yamamoto came around the desk and paused beside me. 'You're right, he said, looking down. 'It is the same thing.
'What do you think it means?
'I don't know. If Howard is correct in his assumption and if Tadeo did commit suicide, then this is probably nothing more or less than an electronic suicide note. He paused. 'For Kimi, he added.
'For Kimi? I asked quickly. 'For his daughter and not for his wife? Doesn't that seem odd?
'What's odd is that he left it on all the computers like that. It seems to me as though Tadeo would have wanted it to be more private.
Whatever was on that screen was a clue, a direction finder. I needed to know what it said as well as what it meant. Somehow I needed to capture the words for later, preserve them in order to discover whatever evidence might be contained in those untranslated, repetitive lines.
I turned back to Big Al. 'Is Nancy still out there?
Nancy was Nancy Gresham, a Seattle P.D. police photographer. Lindstrom shrugged. 'Probably. Want to talk to her? I nodded and he hurried out into the outside hallway to find her. He was back with her a moment later, but when I told her what I needed, she shook her head doubtfully.
'I can try, but the resolution is pretty iffy.
'You don't think we'll be able to read it?
'Probably not. If I were you, I'd have someone copy it by hand verbatim, just in case.
Because of my fingers, that onerous task fell to Big Al Lindstrom.
'Who, me? Big Al protested. 'I'm a Norwegian. You expect me to be able to write in Japanese?
'You can copy the letters, I said. With only minimal grumbling, Big Al Lindstrom hunched his massive frame over the computer. There was no question of touching either the computer or the stenographer's chair in front of it for fear of disturbing evidence. Laboriously, one and two letters at a time, he began copying the unfamiliar words into his dog-eared notebook.
'Tell me more about the daughter, George, I said quietly. 'About Kimi. Why would he leave the note for her?
'They've been at war for years.
'Who has, Kurobashi and his daughter?
George Yamamoto nodded. 'They were always very close when she was younger, but they had a falling out shortly after Kimi went away to school in Ellensburg. That's where she got her undergraduate degree, at Central. As far as I know, they never got over whatever it was. They never made up.
'Do you have any idea what the feud was all about?
'No. Tadeo didn't say, and I didn't ask. I didn't want to pry.
'And how old is she now?
'Kimi? Twenty-eight or twenty-nine.
'Ten years is a long time to carry a grudge, I observed.
George nodded. 'I'm sure it ate at Tadeo, although he never talked about it. Kimi's an interesting girl, Beau, bright and stubborn both. She's right between my two boys in age. She never was the stereotypical lotus blossom. Tomboy is the only word for it. She was always out roughhousing with the boys, and she could hold her own with them, too.
'She was smart in school-good in science and a whiz at math. She took after her father in the brains department. I remember Tadeo telling me she was getting her Ph. D. in electrical engineering. He was proud of her, but I think he was a little baffled when he found out she was following in his footsteps. He was a double E too.
'A what?
'A double E, an electrical engineer.
'So even though they were what you call ‘at war,' Kurobashi kept in touch with her?
'I could be wrong, but I think the bad feelings were pretty much one-sided on Kimi's part. After all, he did have her picture on the wall in there.
'And the trophy, I added.
'Okay, Big Al said, standing up and closing the notebook. 'I've got it as good as it's gonna be got. I don't know if anyone else will be able to read the damn thing, but it's the best I can do. So what now, notify the next-of- kin?
I nodded. George Yamamoto flinched at my answer, but he didn't offer to go along, and I didn't press him. 'We'd better, I said, 'before the Noon News does it for us.
We rode the elevator down in silence. Just beyond the gate a maroon Nissan Pulsar NX with a black plastic condom over its face was parked in a no-parking zone with its Jesus Christ lights flashing. A man in a gray three- piece suit and a dark red power tie was arguing loudly and heatedly with the uniformed officer at the gate as though using his blinkers gave him carte blanche to block the fire lane.
'I'll go in a minute but first I've got to find him, and no he isn't over there with all those other people. I've already checked. If we don't leave right now, we'll never get to the courthouse in time.
'What seems to be the problem here? I asked, stepping through the gate.
The officer saw me and nodded gratefully. 'This man says his client is inside and he needs to pick him up to go downtown. They're due at an appointment in twenty minutes.
'Who's your client? I asked.
The gray-suited man glared at me. 'Who are you? he demanded in return.
'Detective J.P. Beaumont. I struggled my badge out of my pocket, marveling at how difficult even the most mundane tasks become when your fingers no longer work the way you need them to. The man in the gray suit sneered at my difficulty, which didn't make me like him any better. I've seen enough young, overly ambitious attorneys in my time to recognize the type. I made it a point not to genuflect. 'Who's your client?
This guy was medium young, thirty-four or so, with a long thin frame and narrow sloping shoulders. His car and clothing both screamed cool macho dude. He was someone who needed all the macho help an image-maker could give him. His cheeks were puffed up like a chipmunk's and his protruding eyes were set too closely together. When he started to speak, a mouth full of silver braces flashed like a chrome grill in the midmorning sun.
'Mr. Kurobashi, he answered.
I took a wild stab in the dark. 'This appointment wouldn't have anything to do with bankruptcy proceedings, would it?
'That's none of your business, he snapped. 'That's privileged information. The braces caught the sun again and glinted wickedly. They were so at odds with his speech and mannerisms and cool macho dude getup that they somehow struck my funny bone. In my book, braces are for kids. I'm of the opinion that if your attorney is wearing braces, he's probably too young for the job.
'Mr. Kurobashi is dead, I said bluntly. 'The medical examiner's already taken him to the morgue.
Stunned, the attorney reeled backward as though he'd been struck. He caught his balance on the shiny hood of the Pulsar and leaned on it heavily.
'Kurobashi, dead? he croaked. 'You can't be serious!
'Yes, I'm serious. Now give my partner here your name and address so we can get back in touch with you later.
His name was Christopher H. Davenport, and his address was 1201 Third, the newest pricey address in town.
Davenport still looked shocked. 'What happened? he managed.
'It's privileged information, I shot back. 'Right now we're on our way to notify the next-of-kin. Please don't make any attempt to contact the Kurobashi home until we've had a chance to make a personal visit.
He nodded. 'Of course not. I wouldn't think of it.
I left Davenport still dazed and sitting on the fender of his Nissan as I turned back to the cop. 'Get word to Mr. Rennermann. Tell him that we'll have to stop by to see him sometime later today or tomorrow.
'Right, the officer said, 'will do.
Once out of the building, George Yamamoto headed for his car and we went toward ours. Big Al was grumbling about having to play both chauffeur and secretary while my fingers were screwed up, but I wasn't paying
