“Can I ask you something? Your dad.”

“What about him?”

“Did you ever find him?”

“He’s dead, Maya. It was a dead man’s switch. He built it before they killed him.”

Maya Ellis looked at me with the expression of a person deciding whether to be kind or accurate, and picked accurate, and I have been grateful ever since.

“That’s what the dossier says,” she said. “That’s not what I asked.”