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Dover feeds me his award-winning smile, and I smile back, but we’re both just showing our teeth to each other now, and we know it.

“Never did close the door behind him, though,” he adds, turning the smile to Bristal, who lights up.

“Mom told me about that,” she says. “Said the dog would let himself in the house, too. But couldn’t manage shutting it.”

“He had that screen door all figured out,” Dover agrees, nodding. “And you feed him something, you can guarantee it would come out the other end in one piece. Seriously, you would not believe the things that dog could pass. We used to put bets on it. Stuff came out clean, too, let me tell you. Stomach acid put a nice polish on something, once you get the shit off it. Dodger shined up an old .50 caliber bullet from World War Two that Grandpa Sandy had. Looked straight out of the box.”

“Amazing,” I mutter. “He sounds like a pretty smart dog, but he couldn’t find his way back home?”

“Lots couldn’t,” Dover says, the canine smile still holding. “Pound was full when the flood came through.”

“Was Dodger there?” I ask, and Bristal kicks me under the table.

“Seriously?” she asks. “You come to prison and ask a man about his dead dog?”

“Did he die?” I ask, turning to Dover.

“He didn’t drown, no,” Dover says.

“Why are you—” Bristal begins, but I cut her off with a brisk question.

“Did you know Denise Halverson?”

“Denise!” he says her name like she just walked into the room and he’s overjoyed to see her. “Everybody knew that girl,” he goes on, his smile widening. “If you catch my drift.”

“Did you know her?” I ask again, my own smile gone.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Bristal says, pushing against my arm as she turns her attention from her uncle to me, suddenly remembering that I’m a dog myself; a terrier, specifically, and I’ve got a bone I’m not going to let go of.

“You’re his niece, not his lawyer,” I tell her.

“It’s okay,” Dover says to Bristal. “Yeah, I knew Denise. Haven’t heard that name in thirty years.”

“A lot of people haven’t,” I tell him. “We wouldn’t have, either, if we hadn’t spotted some discrepancies in the reporting of the tornado. Do you know what happened to her?”

“Happened to her? Last I heard she’d run off.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

The smile slips, and I think I spot true confusion in his pale blue eyes. “She was still around after the tornado, I think,” he says. “Can’t say for sure.”

I would love for this to be my moment. I would love to whip out the picture dated June 11, 1994, which shows him standing next to Denise at the railroad tracks. But my phone is in that locker, and I already made an argument in defense of my dad not mentioning seeing Denise, either. And Dover isn’t denying seeing her. Even if he did, he could claim a fuzzy memory due to a concussion from the brick hitting him.

Bristal was right about her uncle; he’s smart. He’s giving me half answers and shallow nods. Nothing I can get my teeth into. But he’s not only smart—he’s also mean. Bristal can’t see it, or maybe she just has a different definition of the word. She hasn’t put together the puzzle pieces to form the picture that I already see, one that I have all the corner pieces for. I’m just filling in the middle now.

“What are you in here for, Dover?” I ask.

“I already told you—” Bristal says, but her uncle motions for her to be quiet, and she does. His eyes are on mine, unblinking.

“A few things,” he admits, one shoulder rising in a half shrug. “But what you’re digging for is aggravated assault, I believe.”

“Against?”

“My girlfriend,” he says. “Broke her jaw, her arm, and two ribs.”

He ticks them off on his fingers like a grocery list. Beside me, Bristal goes silent, perhaps seeing this side of him for the first time.

“Takes a lot to hurt someone like that,” I say, keeping my voice even. “It takes practice.”