conversation later.”
I stayed in bed with Roby snuggled up next to me, thinking of my brothers. Because they were so much older than I was, they’d taken the pressure off me in many areas—both were married and successful by the time I graduated from college, which freed me up to take time off to surf. I think maybe my father liked that in me, too—that I had a chance to chase my dreams, when at my age he’d had to knuckle down and support his growing family.
Thinking of fathers and sons reminded me of Jimmy Ah Wong, who I’d adopted in a way, guiding him through the pitfalls of adolescence and coming out. I’d met Jimmy when he was sixteen, after he’d been victimized by a sexual predator and gotten roped into a case I was investigating.
When his father discovered he was gay, he kicked Jimmy out of the house. Jimmy had lived on the streets for a while, until I found him a place to live with my godparents, and he had finished his GED and then gotten in to UH.
There were the kids I mentored at the gay teen center on Waikiki, too. A couple of them had been real success stories, graduating from high school, getting jobs, and establishing real relationships. Maybe they would be all the kids I’d ever have.
But soon enough my furry child was crawling all over me like I was an obstruction in the roadway, trying to lick my face, and I knew I had to get up and walk him. Once outside, I saw the neighbor across the street shepherding her kids into the family minivan, and then a block away a baby was squalling like a fire alert siren, and I was glad I only had a dog to worry about.
I just didn’t know how Mike would feel about the same questions.
FINDING FREDDIE
Lieutenant Sampson called us in soon after Ray and I got to headquarters. This morning’s extra-large polo shirt was tan, over black slacks. “How are things going with your home invasion murder case?” he asked.
I looked at Ray, and he looked back at me. “We’ve got a lot of different directions going, and nothing’s adding up yet,” I said.
I described our fruitless search for similar break-ins, and the dragon pendant that had showed up at Lucky Lou’s pawn shop. “An older Chinese woman pawned it, and that doesn’t fit the idea of a break-in by local mokes or ice addicts.”
“She could be an intermediary,” Sampson suggested. “Did Lou recognize her?”
“Nope. But we can check other pawn shops, see if she gets around.”
“Good. Go on.”
“We got a lead late yesterday on a moke who’s been breaking into houses,” I said. “We’re going to keep looking for him today. We got a tip that he might be staying at the homeless shelter on North Vineyard.”
“Sounds like you’re making progress,” Sampson said.
“Maybe, maybe not. The way the victim was stabbed doesn’t fit the profile of a random assault.” I explained the unusual circumstance of Zoë Greenfield’s wounds. “It looks like her assailant was waiting for her with the knife.”
“Don’t forget the semen,” Ray said.
Sampson’s eyebrows raised.
“Yeah. She was a lesbian, or so we’ve been told. She had recently broken up with a long-time partner. But she had unprotected sex with a man within seventy-two hours before she was killed. She could have picked up a guy, brought him home, and things went wrong.”
“Are you looking into the victim’s life?” Sampson asked.
Ray took over. “Her stomach contents indicated her last meal was sushi, so we got a list of her favorite sushi places from her ex. We canvassed them last night and found she had dinner a few hours before she was killed with a Caucasian male in his late twenties or early thirties, with tattoos on his forearms.”
“What about the partner?” Sampson asked. “She have any motive?”
“Not sure yet,” I said. “They had twin girls, and Greenfield was the birth mother. So there could have been custody issues. And there’s the birth father, too, Greg Oshiro, the crime reporter for
I stayed in bed with Roby snuggled up next to me, thinking of my brothers. Because they were so much older than I was, they’d taken the pressure off me in many areas—both were married and successful by the time I graduated from college, which freed me up to take time off to surf. I think maybe my father liked that in me, too—that I had a chance to chase my dreams, when at my age he’d had to knuckle down and support his growing family.
Thinking of fathers and sons reminded me of Jimmy Ah Wong, who I’d adopted in a way, guiding him through the pitfalls of adolescence and coming out. I’d met Jimmy when he was sixteen, after he’d been victimized by a sexual predator and gotten roped into a case I was investigating.
When his father discovered he was gay, he kicked Jimmy out of the house. Jimmy had lived on the streets for a while, until I found him a place to live with my godparents, and he had finished his GED and then gotten in to UH.
There were the kids I mentored at the gay teen center on Waikiki, too. A couple of them had been real success stories, graduating from high school, getting jobs, and establishing real relationships. Maybe they would be all the kids I’d ever have.
But soon enough my furry child was crawling all over me like I was an obstruction in the roadway, trying to lick my face, and I knew I had to get up and walk him. Once outside, I saw the neighbor across the street shepherding her kids into the family minivan, and then a block away a baby was squalling like a fire alert siren, and I was glad I only had a dog to worry about.
I just didn’t know how Mike would feel about the same questions.
FINDING FREDDIE
Lieutenant Sampson called us in soon after Ray and I got to headquarters. This morning’s extra-large polo shirt was tan, over black slacks. “How are things going with your home invasion murder case?” he asked.
I looked at Ray, and he looked back at me. “We’ve got a lot of different directions going, and nothing’s adding up yet,” I said.
I described our fruitless search for similar break-ins, and the dragon pendant that had showed up at Lucky Lou’s pawn shop. “An older Chinese woman pawned it, and that doesn’t fit the idea of a break-in by local mokes or ice addicts.”
“She could be an intermediary,” Sampson suggested. “Did Lou recognize her?”
“Nope. But we can check other pawn shops, see if she gets around.”
“Good. Go on.”
“We got a lead late yesterday on a moke who’s been breaking into houses,” I said. “We’re going to keep looking for him today. We got a tip that he might be staying at the homeless shelter on North Vineyard.”
“Sounds like you’re making progress,” Sampson said.
“Maybe, maybe not. The way the victim was stabbed doesn’t fit the profile of a random assault.” I explained the unusual circumstance of Zoë Greenfield’s wounds. “It looks like her assailant was waiting for her with the knife.”
“Don’t forget the semen,” Ray said.
Sampson’s eyebrows raised.
“Yeah. She was a lesbian, or so we’ve been told. She had recently broken up with a long-time partner. But she had unprotected sex with a man within seventy-two hours before she was killed. She could have picked up a guy, brought him home, and things went wrong.”
“Are you looking into the victim’s life?” Sampson asked.
Ray took over. “Her stomach contents indicated her last meal was sushi, so we got a list of her favorite sushi places from her ex. We canvassed them last night and found she had dinner a few hours before she was killed with a Caucasian male in his late twenties or early thirties, with tattoos on his forearms.”
“What about the partner?” Sampson asked. “She have any motive?”
“Not sure yet,” I said. “They had twin girls, and Greenfield was the birth mother. So there could have been custody issues. And there’s the birth father, too, Greg Oshiro, the crime reporter for
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