by Neil Plakcy
“Well, it looks like she took her work home with her,” Harry said. “I’m just guessing here, but I think we’re looking at two different sets of books being compared.”
“Which means what?” Ray asked.
“Well, let’s say you have a restaurant, and you do a lot of cash business,” Harry said. “You have one set of books that show everything you take in, and everything you spend. Then you have a second set, where you wipe out all the cash receipts, anything that’s not easily traceable. That’s the set you show the tax man.”
“But Zoë worked for a government agency,” I said. “I don’t understand.”
“You said energy statistics?” Harry asked.
I nodded. He turned to the computer, opened up a new browser window, and started typing. “Okay, here’s the department website. Look at all these different initiatives they have. Energy data, energy efficiency, renewable energy. Suppose somebody was fudging data, and Zoë figured it out. Hence the two different sets of books.”
“Who was fudging?” Ray asked.
Harry shook his head. “That’s beyond me. And remember, I’m just guessing here. You need somebody who knows what this data means to tell you what’s going on.”
He copied the data onto a flash drive, then handed it to me. “You can keep that,” he said. “I went to a trade show last week and I picked up a half dozen of them.”
Back at the station, we opened up Excel and looked at the data once again. But it was still impenetrable. “Who do you think we can get to look at this?” I asked. “Nishimura, Zoë’s boss?”
“If there’s something screwy going on at her office, don’t you think he’s part of it? If not, why keep it so secret? Why not have just gone to him?”
“Maybe she did,” I said. “And maybe that’s why she’s dead.”
I switched over to Word and looked through my notes, paging back to the day we’d gone to Zoë’s office. “She had a friend there, remember? Miriam Rose. Maybe we can ask her.”
I called Miriam and asked if we could talk to her. “Sure. I’m at work until five.”
“How about after that,” I said. “Maybe we can buy you a cup of coffee after you get off.”
She was curious, but agreed to meet us at a Kope Bean near her office at five. Sampson gave us a bunch of paperwork to fill out about the school shooting the day before, and that took up most of the rest of the day.
Ray and I were sitting at a table in the corner of the Kope Bean when Miriam walked in. That fabric rose pin was obviously her signature; she was wearing it on her shoulder, with a bamboo-print blouse and a skirt that would have been too short on my teenaged niece Ashley.
I got up and got her a latte while Ray opened up my netbook and showed her the files Harry had copied. They were playing cowboy music through the sound system, Willie Nelson wailing about wide open spaces, and I found myself singing along. I could use some of that cowboy quiet, I thought, just me and the stars and my cayuse, whatever the hell that was.
Miriam alternated between sipping her latte and scrolling through the spreadsheets. “It’s hard to tell which company these belong to.”
“But they’re definitely work data?” I asked.
“Oh, absolutely. See this sheet? It represents kilowatt hours.” She clicked a tab at the bottom of the screen. “And this one? These are dollar figures. State subsidies for alternative energy, I think. But I’d have to compare them to some other figures to see if I can figure out which company they belong to.”
I looked over her shoulder. “Why do you think Zoë had this on her personal backup?”
She looked at me like I was dumb. And when it comes to computers, and statistics, I agreed with her. “Because there are two different versions of everything. She was onto something. Somebody cheating. I just don’t know who.”
She pulled her own flash drive out of her shoulder bag and copied the data from the one Harry had given us. “I’ll try and figure this out tomorrow.”
“Be careful. If this relates to Zoë’s death it could be dangerous.”
“People kill, detective,” she said. “Numbers don’t.”
CRASH
The next morning, the squad room was still quiet when I showed up to work. It’s not often that we get a crime that shakes up a lot of cops, but the shooting at Chinatown Christian Academy had certainly done that.
Each of us who were at the scene had to meet with the department shrink, to deal with any post-traumatic stress. Ray’s appointment was at ten and mine was at two, which pretty much killed the day and kept us stuck at our desks. We passed the time verifying Wyatt’s arrest record and calling more of Anna’s clients.
While Ray was upstairs with the shrink, I dug into Greg Oshiro’s background. Though I’d known him casually for years, and gotten friendlier with him in the past twelve months or so, I still didn’t know much about where he was from and what had shaped him.
From an interview I found which he’d done with some high school journalism students, I discovered that he had been born in Japan. His Oshiro grandparents were farm laborers in Sacramento, and his father was born there in 1940. The following year, his parents took him back to Japan to visit family, and they were stuck there when Pearl Harbor was attacked in December, 1941.
That technically made his father a kibei, someone born in the US but raised in Japan. He married a Japanese woman, and then Greg was born in a small town on the island of Hokkaido in 1970. Soon after that, his father exercised his US citizenship to return to the States with his wife and infant son.
“My parents gave up everything they had in Japan so that I could grow up in the US,” Greg said in the interview. They had chosen not to have any other children, he said, to be sure that Greg had every advantage they could afford. His father worked as a landscaper, his mother in a factory sewing aloha shirts. He got a scholarship to UH, where he majored in journalism. He started at the Advertiser as an intern, and had worked there ever since.
I already knew that he was devoted to his parents, and that a big reason why he had donated his sperm to Zoë and Anna was to give them grandchildren. On a whim, I ran his name through the police database, and was surprised when I got a single hit. I was gaping at the screen when Ray returned from his interview.
“Greg Oshiro has a juvenile record,” I said, turning my monitor around to face him. “What do you know?”
The record had been sealed, but we were still able to nose around enough to discover that he had assaulted a fellow student in high school. “What do you think that means?” I asked.
Ray shrugged. “Could be it was an accident. Some cafeteria beef that got out of hand.”
“Or it could be that he has a temper,” I said. “You see how short he gets sometimes. I can see him flying off the handle.”
Ray frowned. “It’s not like they were arguing and he just reached out and clocked her or something. Whoever killed Zoë Greenfield snuck up behind her with a knife.”
“But there were a lot of cuts. That says passion.”
We made a note to ask Greg about the conviction the next time we saw him. We kept looking for information on him and Anna, not finding much, and ducked out for a quick lunch. By the time we returned, it was time for my two o’clock appointment.
I went upstairs to a small conference room where the shrink was seeing cops. She was younger than I expected, a pretty haole woman in her mid-thirties, in a light gray business suit with a pale pink blouse. “I’m Dr. Lewis,” she said, rising from her chair to shake my hand. “You’re…”
She looked down at her roster. “Detective Kanapa’aka,” I said. Her grip was firm and her gaze direct. I liked her.
“Have a seat,” she said, and she sat down across from me. The room was a nice one, with four comfortable chairs clustered around a small round table. “Let’s start with how you ended up at Chinatown Christian on Tuesday.”
I explained that we’d been canvassing in Chinatown for a murder case, and that we’d responded to th
e call.
“What was it like when you got there?”
“Confusion. Nobody knew exactly what was going on. Just that there was a kid in the cafeteria with a gun.”
“Tough situation. What do you typically do when you’re faced with so much uncertainty?”
“I think you take anything like that incrementally,” I said. “My partner and I found a patrol officer we knew. Then another officer we knew came over with the principal of the school, and he filled in some of the blanks.”
She nodded, then looked back down at her papers. “Tell me about Laura Mercado.”
“My partner and I were positioned at the corner of the cafeteria building with the school principal and a couple of other cops when a girl stumbled out of the cafeteria, crying. An older girl followed her, and we could see she was bleeding.”
I paused, remembering the scene. “My partner and I looked at each other and we kind of nodded. Then we started to run toward the girls. I grabbed Laura and hustled her away from the front of the building, and Ray picked up the other girl, Janice.”
“Why you?” she asked. “There were a lot of other cops there, weren’t there?”
“There were. I can’t say what the other cops were thinking. But Ray and I, we’ve been working together for almost three years. I understand how he thinks, and he gets me. We both knew we had to get those girls out of the way.”
“You didn’t know whether Randy Tsutsui could shoot at you once you broke cover.”
“Yes. But we know those girls were at risk. We thought we could get them out of harm’s way, and that’s what we did.”
She nodded. “Instinct is a powerful thing, isn’t it?” she asked. “A lot of good cops operate that way. They know what has to be done, and they do it.”
“You also have to evaluate the risks,” I said. “If there was gunfire coming out of the building at the time the girls came out, I’m not sure we would have risked it.”
“Your partner is Detective Donne, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s married?”
“He is. His wife is finishing her PhD at UH.”
“And you? You have a partner, don’t you?”
I nodded. “He’s an arson investigator.” I paused. “I know where you’re going, doctor. Were we really evaluating the risks? What if Ray had been killed? What would that do to Julie? That kind of thing.” I took a deep breath. “My partner, Mike, and Julie Donne, they understand the risks of the job. Mike even more, because he runs into fires, and he’s known men and women who died on the job.”
She looked at me.
“They also know who we are. Mike knows me better than anyone else, ever, in my life. If anything happened to me, yeah, he’d be – I can’t even describe it. But he’d know that I was doing what I felt I had to do. I can’t speak for Julie as much, but I think she’d feel the same way.” I smiled. “They wouldn’t love us as much if we weren’t the guys we are.”
“Did you talk to Detective Donne about his conversation with me?” she asked.
I shook my head. “We’re investigating a murder, like I told you. I’d just found a new piece of information when Ray came back from meeting with you, and we jumped into that.”
“Interesting,” she said. “Because his story is very close to yours.”
“That’s because it’s the truth,” I said, probably too tartly.
She smiled. “You’d be surprised at how often partners see things differently.”
“Anything else?” I asked. “Because like I said, we are investigating a homicide, and I’d like to get back downstairs.”
“Just a few more questions. You and Detective Donne ever talk about kids?”
I frowned. “In what way?”
“Having them. You were partnered with Detective Hapa’ele when you were in Waikiki, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I spoke to him yesterday. He has a lot of conflicted ideas about children.”
I laughed. “You could say that. Or you could say that all that talk about kids being hostages to fortune turned to crap the minute his son was born.”
“So? You want to have kids?”
“Neither Mike or I has the right plumbing for that.”
She just looked at me.
“Okay, so that was flip. But it’s true. Ray and Julie, if they decide they want kids, they just stop trying not to have them. But if Mike and I decide we want a child—and I’m not saying we ever would—it’s a lot bigger deal.”
“But doable.”
“Yes.” I knew I wasn’t getting out of there until I satisfied the good doctor, so I said, “I have two older brothers, seven nieces and nephews between them. Mike and I love being uncles. Mike and I have been talking about having kids, but when you factor in all the difficulties, and the jobs Mike and I have, it doesn’t look very possible.” I closed my mouth, licked my lips. “For now, I can satisfy my parenting impulses with my nieces and nephews, and with helping kids out who need the help.”
She wrote on her pad. “Do you think that contributed to your willingness to rescue those girls on Tuesday? That idea that you won’t have kids of your own, but you’ll help kids when you can?”
“We’re getting into your territory now. If a couple of teachers had come stumbling out of that cafeteria on Tuesday, I think Ray and I would have done the same thing for them. Serving and protecting with aloha, you know. That’s what it says downstairs.”
“I know.” She stood up and stuck her hand out once more. “Thanks for your time, Detective. I enjoyed speaking with you.”
I stood up. “You know, I enjoyed our conversation too. Thanks.”
It was just before three when Miriam called. “I looked at the data you gave me,” she said in a low voice that made me think she was calling from her cubicle and didn’t want anyone to overhear. “I have to get home right after work, though, to babysit my little brother. Maybe we can meet tomorrow?”
“How about if we come over to your house?” I asked. “Would that be okay?”
“I live with my folks, way up in the Ko’olaus. Nuuanu Pali Drive.”
“Not a problem. What time is good for you?”
She gave me the street address and her cell phone number, and I agreed to meet her up there at seven. “My folks are going out to dinner, so that’ll give me time to get Bobby fed and stuck in front of the TV.”
Our shift was over, and we decided to head home for a while, then meet up again at headquarters, because it was convenient to the highway entrance. “We’ll take the Jeep,” I said. “There are some wicked turns on the Pali.”
“Hey, the Highlander can turn on a dime. But you want to drive, more power to you.”
I went home, had a light dinner, and spent some time playing with Roby. Then I left a note for Mike, turned around and went back downtown. We didn’t have to worry about taking the turns on the Pali too fast, though, because there was a major backup starting just after the Dowsett Avenue interchange. I tuned in to the radio news and heard that a car had gone off the road at the Nuuanu Pali Drive exit.
I looked over at Ray. “That’s Miriam’s exit. See if you can raise her on your cell.”
He dialed. “No answer. Let me see if I can get her plate number.” He spent a few minutes getting the plate, then connecting to the traffic department. Then he hung up. “It’s her car.”
“Shit.”
We were both quiet for a while, considering what had happened, as we crept forward up the highway. It took us another half hour to get up to the site where the car had run off. Miriam was driving a Mini Cooper convertible, and it looked like she’d swerved off the highway at the exit and smashed into a tree.
We pulled off the road just ahead of the exit, joining a line of police and ME vehicles. Since Hawai’i is the only state in the union without a state police or highway patrol, the sheriff’s department handles accident investigation on the highways. Nick Jameson, a tall, skinny haole in a dark blue uniform with t
he six-pointed star on his left breast, had been the first on the scene.
“She wasn’t wearing her seat belt,” he said, after we’d introduced ourselves. “Stupid move, with the top down. Looks like she catapulted out of the vehicle. ME’s guys say she was dead on impact.” He paused. “You say you’re investigating her?”
“Not her specifically.” I had to talk over the traffic on the highway just behind us. “One of her co-workers was murdered last week, and we were on our way up here to meet her at her house and talk about the crime.”
“You think she might have been involved?”
I shrugged. “Don’t know. Her getting killed certainly throws a monkey wrench into our case.”
“Any indication this wasn’t an accident?” Ray asked.
“Let’s take a look.” Nick pulled out a high-intensity flashlight and the three of us started walking the area. Darkness was falling fast and the wooded area just off the highway was spooky, headlights chasing across the tree trunks like restless ghosts.
“It looks like she was turning, there,” Nick said, pointing at the exit ramp. “And then she either swerved, or lost control of the vehicle, and smashed into the tree.”
Steam was still rising from the Mini’s crumpled hood. The tiny car had accordioned together, and though the air bag had deployed, it hadn’t been enough to keep Miriam Rose in her seat. “Can we look in the car?” I asked.
“Sure. You got gloves? We’ll have to take the vehicle in and make sure it wasn’t tampered with. Don’t want stray prints.”
Ray’s the one who’s always prepared. He handed me a pair of gloves and put a pair on himself. Nick shone his flashlight as we looked through the car. “Where’s her purse?” I asked.
I remembered when she had met us at the Kope Bean the day before. She’d been carrying a tapestry bag with roses on it. But we couldn’t find the bag, or a laptop. “I’m sure she would have had that little drive with her,” I said to Ray. “But where is it?”
The ME’s team were preparing to move Miriam’s body. Before they did, we asked them if they’d found her purse, or the flash drive. The answer was no.
