says Dave. “You take after your father then.” Dave clears the table and pul s up chairs. I go through the story again. Ruiz then adds his thoughts, giving the presentation added gravitas. Meanwhile, Dave folds and unfolds a blank piece of paper. He wants to find a reason not to help us. “Maybe you should wait for the official investigation,” he suggests. “You know things get missed.” “I don’t want to tread on any toes.” “You’re too good a dancer for that, ‘New Boy,’” says Ruiz, cajoling him. I can be shameless. I can bat my big brown eyelashes with the best of them. Forgive me, sisters. Taking the piece of paper from Dave’s hand, I let my fingers linger on his. He chases them, not wanting to lose touch. “He had an Irish accent but the most interesting thing is the tattoo.” I describe it to him. Dave has a laptop in the bedroom on a makeshift desk made from a missing bathroom door and saw horses. Shielding the screen from me, he types in a username and a password.
