Rafael wiped his feet and came inside. His breath smelled like he’d been drinking, but he seemed sober enough. I offered him a soykaf, but he shook his head. Instead he flopped onto the couch. "Cops find anything yet?" he asked. He played with his hands, cracking his knobby knuckles. I noticed that his fingers were scraped and wondered if he’d been punching furniture again—or if he’d picked a fight with someone.