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girl, a sometime hooker, sometime pickpocket, and could usually be found hanging around Waikiki. We’d picked her up on an assault charge soon after Ray became my partner, and we discovered she was the kind of girl who knew the Honolulu underworld and worked it to her advantage. It was easy to consider that she might know of someone breaking into houses in Zoë’s neighborhood.
    We got into my Jeep, opened the flaps, and started cruising. It was sunny, with a scallop of cirrus clouds across the sky, and as we passed Ala Wai Beach Park there was a line of cars waiting to turn in, tourists heading out for sport-fishing or ready to lobster up on the sand. I had the “Island Warriors” CD of Jawaiian music playing, our home grown mix of ukulele and reggae rhythm, and it felt like a day we were going to make some progress.
    We crossed the Ala Wai Canal into Waikiki and it felt like coming home. I had lived on Lili’uokalani Street, patrolled the neighborhood as a beat cop, and also, for a brief time, been assigned to the Waikiki station as a detective. I knew where the mokes and titas lurked, in the shadowy places tourists should avoid. Someone had scrawled help wanted, telepath. you know where to apply on the side wall of a convenience store.
    A couple of blocks later I swung onto Kalakaua Avenue and we started looking for Judy. We spotted her as we were entering the hotel district, near the recently renovated Royal Hawaiian. I was sure they appreciated having her hang around outside the hotel, in her low-riding jeans, midriff-baring white t-shirt, and multiple heavy stainless steel chains around her neck.
    She was leaning against a palm tree, smoking a cigarette. “Hey, Judy,” Ray called, leaning out the Jeep’s window.
    Her hair was a bottle blonde, and I could see the dark roots starting to show. I thought that the shark tattoo above her belly button was new. “Aren’t you guys out of your native habitat?” she said. “You got nothing to do downtown, you gotta come over to Waikiki and harass innocent people?”
    I slid the Jeep up next to a fire hydrant, put on my flashers, and Ray and I got out.
    “Now, is that the way to greet a couple of old pals?” Ray asked. “We came all the way over here to see you.”
    She took a long drag from her cigarette. “I ain’t been in trouble in ages.”
    I leaned back against the Jeep. “We’re not looking to bust you, Judy. We’re looking for information. You know anybody who breaks into houses?”
    “What’s in it for me?”
    I always kept a few fifty-dollar bills in the back of my wallet for such occasions. I keep a log and periodically put in requests for reimbursement from the department’s petty cash fund. I pulled one out and Judy frowned. “Houses where? Round here?”
    “Over around the Kapalama Canal,” I said. “Between there and the H1.”
    She took the fifty from my fingers, folded it, and stuck it into the pocket of her jeans. “I’ll ask around. You still got the same cell number?”
    “You have me in your favorites?” I asked. “I’m touched.”
    “Touch this.” She grabbed her crotch.
    “No thanks. You know I don’t go there.”
    We got back into the Jeep, and I made a note for the folder of the fifty I’d given Judy.
    The Department of Business, Economic Development and Tourism was housed in one of the high-rise buildings near the Iolani Palace. Ray and I showed our ID to the receptionist, and asked to speak to Zoë’s boss. She had to look Zoë up in a directory, and then work backwards to figure out who she reported to. Her phone kept ringing, though, and so it took her a few minutes. “She was in the energy office,” she said finally. “That would be Mr. Nishimura. I’ll call him.”
    Nishimura, a tall, stoop-shouldered Nisei, came out to the reception area a few minutes later. “This is about Zoë Greenfield?” he asked.
    “It is. Can we speak with you somewhere private?”
    He nodded, and led us back through a series of