A few minutes later, footage showed another inmate dumping his bin, then a second and third each dumped their bins. After the fourth inmate dumped his, he switched on the compactor.

“Gruesome,” Tester said as his phone rang with a call from his partner, Detective Hank Acosta, who’d gone to the security people at the criminal courthouse across from the jail to review their cameras.

“What’s up, Hank?” Tester said.

“Loften’s not dead! Look at the video clip I sent you that we pulled from courthouse cameras facing the street.”

Tester clicked on the video, willing it to load faster. When it was ready, he saw the compactor’s tailgate from the street, then movement at the small gap that ran horizontally across it.

A hand appeared, then a tennis shoe, then a head, as a man in an orange jumpsuit hefted himself through the gap, dropped to the street and fled. Tester cursed.

Loften had escaped.

46

Dillard handed Jeff a cold bottle of Heineken.

They stood at the barbecue in the rear patio. The aroma of steak, chicken and foil-wrapped fish sizzling and smoking on the grill was appetizing.

“How’re things at work, Jeff?” Dillard drank some beer.

“We’re pretty busy with a new contract.”

“Yeah, you look stressed.” Dillard flipped the meat. “Anything on your mind you want to talk about?”

Got a million things on my mind, Roland, Jeff thought. Like Vida, my job, my marriage, and how in the moments before we caught Loften, you got all weird asking me about my father’s death and saying how Lisa was pretty.

“Not really, thanks.”

“All right, but I’m a good listener.” Dillard continued positioning the meat. “I gotta say that was quite a beating you gave Loften the other night. I think you would’ve killed him.”

“I would have. I lost my mind.”

“You sure did.”

“And he didn’t really fight back, with you holding your gun on him.”

“We’ll just keep that between us. Remember, he came at you with a knife. He deserved what you gave him for what he did to Lisa.”

Jeff said nothing. Dillard continued working the meat while glancing at Jeff. Seeing he was checking his phone, Dillard said, “Something urgent?”

“Sorry.” Jeff tucked his phone in his pocket, then took a swig of beer and changed the subject. “You and Nell have a real nice house.”

Dillard prodded the meat thoughtfully with tongs as the grill hissed.

“I’ll show you around after we eat.”

Jeff stared pensively at his beer, then said, “Can I ask you something, Roland?”

“Ask away.”

“Before we came over, one of the detectives, Reddick, called to ask us if we knew anything about a woman who was murdered in Cleveland. A mall clerk named Maylene Marie Siler. They sent us pictures of her.”

Dillard concentrated on the sizzling meat, listening.