Zero Break by Neil Plakcy Page B

your scenario, she discovers him trying to rip her off. But the robber would have to have heard her, and positioned himself to attack as Zoë entered the room.”
    “She was drunk, so she probably wasn’t moving quietly,” Ray said. “He heard her coming, and got the knife.”
    I tapped the case of the netbook, on the desk in front of me. “Why not just get out? Or why not just knock her out and run away? She didn’t have much to steal. He must have seen that before they went to bed together.”
    I stood up and started pacing. “Suppose the guy was looking for her in that bar. He wanted her dead, for some reason. That would explain why he had the knife in hand when Zoë left the bedroom.”
    “It can’t have been a casual meeting.” Ray shook his head. “There would be no way to guarantee she’d be at a particular bar, that she wouldn’t have the kids—too many factors.”
    “And we have to explain the broken sliding glass door. That implies intent, too. Unless our guy was so sharp that he knocked in the door after she was dead, to make it look like a break-in.”
    We went back and forth for an hour or more, trying out different theories, but we didn’t have enough evidence to make any of them make sense. I called Anna Yang and left her a message, and then just before three, we headed to our meeting with Greg Oshiro. We saw him pacing back at forth at the corner of Richards and South King as we approached. The skies were gray and a cool breeze ruffled the tops of the palm trees. Traffic was heavy on South King, five lanes of tourist convertibles, delivery vans and the Waikiki Trolley moving along, so we couldn’t cross until the light changed.
    When we reached him, I could see that Greg was sweating heavily. He’s at least fifty pounds overweight, most of it in his stomach, so it isn’t unusual to see him perspiring in the Honolulu heat and humidity. But there was something more, as if he had a thousand watts of electricity flowing through his veins instead of blood.
    “I took a couple of days off,” he said as we reached him, not even bothering with hello. But that’s Greg. “I didn’t even know about Zoë until I checked in with the paper this morning.” He looked accusingly at us. “Why didn’t you call me right away?”
    “Hold on, Greg,” I said. “Calm down.” There was a nice little park around the bandshell on the grounds of the Iolani Palace across the street, and I thought we’d be better off walking there. It didn’t look like Greg needed caffeine.
    The light had changed again, and we crossed and entered the park. In the background I heard bullhorns from some protest at the front of the palace. “Let’s start from the beginning,” I said. “You didn’t write the police blotter in today’s paper?”
    He shook his head. “I told you. I took a couple of days off.”
    “Okay. And you know Zoë Greenfield how?”
    He glared.
    “Yes, you told me, you’re the father of the two girls. But how did that all come about?”
    We walked under the trees as Greg spoke. “I’m an only child, and I wanted to give my parents grandchildren,” he said. “But I knew it wasn’t feasible for me to do it on my own. I work crazy hours, I’m always digging around for a story. Then there was a robbery at this artists’ collective where Anna used to have space, and I interviewed her about it. We got to talking, and she invited me to come back and see some of her work on exhibit the next week.”
    He was starting to calm down. “I loved her work, and I bought one of her paintings. The beach at Makapu’u Point, with Rabbit Island in the background. I just look at it and it relaxes me.”
    Ray and I just nodded, not wanting to interrupt his flow.
    “A couple of months later, I ran into her at a party. She was with Zoë, and we got to talking. They were looking for a sperm donor, and Zoë was going to carry the kids. They wanted an Asian guy so that the kids would be mixed, representing both of