by Neil Plakcy
“Hey, just saying. Greg?”
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “Everything was going along fine. Then about three months ago, Anna moved out. Since then, everything’s been up in the air. Zoë started making noises like she was going to cut Anna out of the parenting. And once Anna wasn’t in the picture anymore, I knew I’d be next.”
“Are you on the birth certificate?” I asked.
“Yes. But remember, I signed away my rights as part of the donation agreement. Even Anna didn’t have any official standing, because she hadn’t gone through with plans to adopt the twins. Zoë could have taken Sarah and Emily to the mainland, for example, and I’d get to see them once a year, if she let me.”
“You must have been pretty angry about that,” Ray said.
“Not angry enough to kill Zoë.” Greg stopped underneath a palm tree and crossed his arms.
“Where were you Sunday night?” I asked.
“Come on, guys. You don’t think I’m a suspect, do you?”
“Sunday night, Greg,” I said.
He raised his upper lip into a snarl. “I was at home. Alone.”
Ray’s always the one who plays good cop to my bad one, especially around Greg, who still resents me because I can be out and proud and he keeps one foot in the closet. “What do you know about Zoë’s drinking habits?” he asked, shifting the conversation away from any kind of direct accusation. “Beer? Wine? Mixed drinks?”
Greg turned to him. “Drinking?”
Ray nodded. Greg struggled to focus. “When we first started talking about the donation, I’d go over there so we could get to know each other. I’d bring a bottle of wine, and we’d all have a drink or two. Just to lubricate the situation, you know? I mean, it was awkward, at first. To them, I was just a dick on legs. After a while, we got to be friends, sort of. I mean, at least I was part of their lives.”
He took in a deep breath. “Then things got tough between Anna and Zoë, and when I’d go over to pick up the girls, the wine helped us all ignore the problem.” He looked at us. “Never enough for anybody to get drunk, or put the girls in danger, you know. Just social drinking.”
“How about vodka?” I asked. “We found a bottle of vodka in the freezer.”
“That was Anna’s. I guess she didn’t take it when she moved out. Zoë didn’t like mixed drinks. Said she got drunk too fast on them. She didn’t like to lose control.” I could see the reporter in Greg starting to surface. “Are you saying Zoë was drunk when she was killed?”
“There weren’t any wine bottles in the house or the garbage,” I said. “Do you know, was she dating anyone new?”
“We weren’t that close,” he said. “Anna might know.”
I told him we were waiting for a call back from Anna Yang, and he said, “I’m going over to her place in Chinatown now. I want to see the girls, and Anna and I are going to talk to them together about Zoë. I said I’d be over there at four, and she promised to be home, with Sarah and Emily.”
“Isn’t that convenient,” I said. “Guess you’ll be bringing her some visitors.”
DINNER DISCUSSIONS
“I just got your message, Detective,” Anna Yang said, when she opened the door to her apartment. She was wearing black sweat pants and a long sleeve t-shirt from the Honolulu Academy of Arts with a Buddhist painting on it. “I was going to call you.”
“We’ll save you the trouble,” I said. “Can we come in?”
She stepped back to let us in. The apartment was small but charming, like the house where Zoë Greenfield had been killed. The walls were a light salmon, the overstuffed sofa a bright green scattered with silk throw pillows. In the background I heard the Putumayo Kids “Hawaiian Playground” CD playing.
The two girls were playing on the striped rug on the living room floor, and when they saw Greg behind us they jumped up and ran to him. They wore matching t-shirts, though one had white shorts while the other’s was green. Both had pierced ears with tiny silver studs.
Greg and Anna hugged. “I’m so sorry about Zoë,” he said. Then he dropped to the floor and the girls climbed onto him, crying, “Daddy!” It was sweet to see, and I wondered if I’d ever get such a welcome from something without fur. It unleashed the same longing I had felt seeing the little boy with his mother the day before.
Greg gathered the pair of two-year-olds into his arms, kissing their heads, and took them into another room. Anna turned off the music and Ray and I sat down with her, declining her offer of coffee or some other beverage. “Tell us about Zoë and alcohol,” I asked.
She turned her head slightly in confusion. “Zoë didn’t drink that much.”
“The vodka in the freezer?”
“Mine. I never took it when I moved out.” She looked from Ray to me. “What’s this about?”
“There was alcohol in Zoë’s blood,” I said. “But we didn’t find any empty bottles in the trash, or even a half-full wine bottle in the fridge.”
“She drank wine sometimes,” Anna said. “But I don’t think I ever saw her drunk. She didn’t like to lose control like that.”
“Did she like sushi?” Ray asked.
“Oh, yeah. Pretty much anything Asian, you know. Sushi, sashimi, teriyaki, won ton soup, pad Thai, anything.”
“Did she drink when she was eating sushi?”
“Yeah, she liked sake. Again, I think it’s just because she was so into everything Asian.” She blushed. “I guess she had a bad case of yellow fever.”
Ray looked confused.
“Caucasians who are interested in Asian people and things,” I said. “Ask Julie about it.”
In the gay world, people have started using the acronym PAPI-- Philippine/Asian/Pacific Islander. Since I fall into that category myself, I wondered sometimes if Mike was a bit of a rice queen—did he like me because I was exotic? He took after his Italian father much more than his Korean mother. So while I looked very Eurasian, he looked more Italian than anything else, with just a slight epicanthic fold over his eyes.
Did he like me because he was fixated on his mother, maybe?
I shook it all off. It was stupid speculation; it’s not like either of us was wholly one thing or the other. I’d known haole men who only were attracted to Asians, often the slim-hipped, smooth-skinned types like Thais or Filipinos, and vice versa. The whole dynamic was uncomfortable for me, with overtones of cultural imperialism.
I pulled myself back to the case. “Did you guys have a favorite place for sushi?”
“Zoë liked to try different restaurants.” She gave us the names of five in the neighborhood where they had been, and one they had been meaning to try before they broke up. “Why would it matter where she went to dinner?” she asked. “Do you think someone followed her home from the restaurant?”
“That’s a possibility.” I paused, took a breath. “I’m afraid I need to ask you some questions that might be uncomfortable. The autopsy report on Zoë showed that there was semen in her vagina.”
“She was raped?” Anna looked ready to cry.
“We don’t know that. There wasn’t any evidence of bruising or anything that might indicate the sex wasn’t consensual.” I gave her a minute to digest that. “Was Zoë bisexual?”
Anna played with the catch on her gold bracelet, then looked up. “About a year ago, she started talking about men. At first, she was just admiring guys we saw—you know, that one looks hot, and so on. Then she suggested trying a threesome.” She did start crying then. “That hurt.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I loved her, and I didn’t want to bring anyone else into the relationship, man or woman.” She looked toward the bedroom. “It was enough we had Greg, you know?”
“I hate to pry,” I said. “But do you know if Zoë was seeing anyone?”
She shook her head. “No. I thought her interest in men was just a phase, so I hung in there. But she pulled back from me, and started keeping little secrets. That’s when I knew I had to move out
.”
Greg returned from the bedroom, one tiny girl in each arm. “Sarah and Emily are hungry. What are we doing for dinner?”
Ray and I looked at each other, then stood up. “We’ll leave you to it,” I said. “We’ll be in touch again. In the meantime, we’ll check out the restaurants you suggested. Can you direct us to the woman you said watches the girls when you’re out?”
“Why do you want to talk to her?” Greg asked.
“Just tying up loose ends,” I said. “You know how it is.”
Anna crossed the room and took one of the girls from Greg. They looked like such a happy family there, mom and dad juggling the twins, and once again I considered whether Mike and I would ever be a part of something like that. We knew some lesbians; perhaps we could enter into some kind of co-parenting agreement, like the one Greg had with Anna and Zoë.
There was always surrogate parenting, or adoption. I knew gay men who were raising nieces or nephews, and a couple who were foster parents. There was a whole array of things we could do—if we both wanted it.
It wasn’t something we’d talked about a lot. Mike was an only child, and he was spoiled in the way that only children often are—accustomed to doing what he wanted, going his own way. I was the youngest of three, and I had my hands full playing Uncle Kimo to seven nieces and nephews. But I couldn’t deny that I’d felt something.
Anna carried one of the girls with her as she walked out of the apartment, and we followed. She knocked on the door next to hers, and a tiny, stooped old woman came out. Anna spoke to her briefly in Mandarin. I didn’t catch much beyond jing cha, police; gu, dead; and Zoë.
“You have questions?” the old woman asked.
“Yes, Auntie, if you wouldn’t mind.” Anna took her daughter back to her own apartment, and we walked into her neighbor’s. It was decorated in faded red and gold, and there were children’s toys on the floor and the sofa.
Even though she looked nothing like the woman Lucky Lou said had pawned the dragon pendant, we asked her about her relationship with Anna and Zoë. She said she had known Anna a long time, since Anna first came to Hawai’i, and that she often took care of the girls for her.
I pulled out the picture of the dragon pendant that Anna had drawn. “Have you ever seen this pin?” I asked.
She peered at the drawing, held it up to the light, then shook her head. “No, but Anna drew this, didn’t she?”
“She did.” I took the page back from her. “Were you taking care of the girls on Sunday night?”
“Sunday? No. My grandson was here visiting. I took him next door to see Sarah and Emily. Anna was there with them.”
We thanked for her help and walked back out to Hotel Street. “Doesn’t sound like she was the woman who pawned the dragon pendant, and she corroborates Anna’s alibi,” I said.
I looked over at Ray. “Hello? Earth to Ray.”
“Sorry. I was spaced. I can’t stop thinking about that term you said, yellow fever.” He turned to me. “I mean, what if Julie has it? And that means she’s going to dump me for some Asian guy?”
“I’ve seen how Julie looks at you. She’s not going to dump you for some Asian guy just because he can talk Japanese or Chinese to her.” I smiled. “How about if we start canvassing these restaurants, and we arrange with Julie and Mike to meet us at the last place?”
We got on our cell phones and called. We arranged to meet up at seven at Simple Sushi, the only place on the list I’d heard good things about, and we started quizzing the staff at the other restaurants. At Tokyo House, one of the waiters recognized Zoë’s picture when I turned my netbook screen toward him, and knew that she often came in with a Chinese woman, but hadn’t seen her in a while.
No one at Sushi Siam, Aloha Sushi, Madame Wong’s, or My Japan recognized the photo of Zoë. We established that the staff in each place had been on duty on Sunday night, so we wiped them off our list.
We finished more quickly than we had expected, so I dropped Ray off at his apartment and drove up to Aiea Heights. Mike was still at work, so I leashed up Roby and we went for a walk around the neighborhood.
A preteen boy was bouncing a rubber ball against the driveway of his house, so that it banged against the garage and ricocheted back toward him. A few houses farther on, a mother was shepherding four little kids into a minivan. Someone was playing John Keawe’s “Play with me, Papa,” a song I seemed to hear more and more. When Roby and I rounded the corner, a dad and a boy of six or seven were playing catch in the street. The night was cool, with a light breeze, and as we walked the sky darkened and stars started to come out.
By the time we’d circled back home, the families had all gone inside for dinner, and I was in full melancholy mode. Mike had just walked in, and was unloading his briefcase.
“You ever think about having kids?” I asked.
“Whoa. Where did that come from?”
“Just thinking.” I told him about seeing the woman the day before with her son, then Greg Oshiro with his twins, then all the families in the neighborhood.
“A kid is a lifetime commitment,” he said. “I’m not sure I’m ready for something like that.”
I thought of the commitment we had to each other. Was that what he was saying he wasn’t sure about? Was he worried about bringing a kid into a relationship that might end, leaving the kid adrift?
Look what had happened to Anna and Zoë. Not only had they broken up, but Zoë had changed her whole idea of who she was. Talk about an unstable environment.
Mike came over to me and wrapped his arms around me. “I know how you think,” he said. “I love you. Our relationship is the rock I build everything else in my life on. Okay?”
I relaxed into his body. He’s a couple of inches taller than I am, so my head’s always against his shoulder. His smell was earthy: layers of sweat, the lavender soap we both used, and the slightest smell of smoke, which often lingers around a guy like Mike who spends his days among fire and ash.
We cleaned up and headed over to Simple Sushi, arriving in the parking lot just as Ray and Julie pulled in. Mike and Julie had met often during the time that Ray and I had been partners, and they got along well.
“So what’s this about yellow fever?” Julie asked, as we walked toward the restaurant. “Ray has some idea in his head that I have it.”
“You never heard the term?” I asked. I looked at Mike, and he shook his head. “You guys are clueless.” I explained what it was as Mike opened the door for us.
We entered the restaurant through a torii gate, and the hostess seated us at a four-top in the back of the restaurant. The name might have been Simple Sushi, but the décor was anything but. The walls were papered with something that looked like the pattern from blue willow china. There were little brass lanterns on each table with a votive candle, chopsticks, and placemats with a map of Japan.
Before we looked at the menus, Julie reached over to Ray and pushed the edges of his eyes up diagonally with her index fingers. She considered, then shook her head and pulled back. “Nah, I think I’ll stick with what I’ve got.”
We all laughed. “Anybody want sake?” Ray asked.
“You hate sake,” Julie said.
“Hey, I’m trying to go with the flow.”
We all just wanted water. Mike has had problems with alcohol in the past, and though he’s been fine for a long time, I always get a twinge when the chance comes to order a beverage. I know he’s watching me so I try not to let it show.
We ordered a couple of sampler platters and a teriyaki chicken entrée to share. After the waiter had taken our order, Ray and I went up to the hostess to ask about Zoë Greenfield. When we showed the picture, she nodded her head. “Yeah, she in here just few days ago,” she said. “They sit in back with chef, Shinichi. She like him.”
Ray and I walked back to the counter at the rear of the restaurant. The real sushi connoisseurs like to sit where the chef is preparing his dishes, so they can talk to him about what’s best that
day.
Shinichi was a Japanese guy in his late twenties, with straight black hair cut at a weird angle, and a pink stripe on the side. Clearly an island Japanese, not a tourist. And if he wasn’t gay, you can take back that toaster they gave me when I came out.
“You remember this woman?” I asked, showing him the photo.
He recognized her. He recognized me, too, but that’s another story. “Yeah, she was here Sunday night.” He leaned in close and lowered his voice. “With a man.”
“You noticed that?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. She always used to come in with this Chinese chick. I thought they were partners. But then the last couple of times, it’s been with a guy.”
“Same guy every time?”
“Yeah. Tough-looking white guy, tattoos on his forearms. I guess when she went the other way, she really went the other way, if you know what I mean.” He continued to chop and roll sushi as we talked.
“I know. Anything more about the guy? Age? Hair color?”
He put his lips together like he was thinking. “Maybe thirty-five or forty. Buzz-cut hair, like light brown. Looked like he worked out.”
“You remember how they paid?” Ray asked. “Credit card?”
He shook his head. “The guy always paid. Cash. Pretty good tipper, too.”
He wasn’t sure exactly what time they’d been in, it had been a busy night, but the place closed at midnight and he knew they were gone before that.
“You find anything out?” Mike asked, when we returned to the table.
“Yeah. Don’t know if it will help, though.” We told him and Julie what the waiter had said.
“Sounds like she had a boyfriend,” Julie said. “If the waiter said they’ve been in a few times.”
“Maybe you could see if anyone she works with knew who she was dating,” Mike suggested.
“Been there, done that,” I said. “Her coworker didn’t even know she was a lesbian.”
We shared the sushi and the teriyaki and tried to forget that it was murder that had brought us all together. Mike told us about the fire he was investigating, at a wind farm under construction in the Koolau mountains. “Neighbors don’t like the place. They say it’s going to spoil the view, make noise, frighten away the birds.”