“Yessir. I got a visitor for Leland Dahl here. Uh-huh. Name’s Jack Dahl.”

The officer paused, listening. Jack waited.

“I think so. Uh-huh. Will do. You bet.”

When the officer hung up the phone, he sat back in the chair and sipped on his coffee. Then he opened the desk drawer and got out a ring of keys and snapped them onto his belt.

“Chief,” he said. “It’s your lucky day.”

The officer stood up out of his chair and called for another officer to come watch the desk. Then he pushed a button so the gate to the jail buzzed open. Jack rose from the couch and followed him through the metal detector and down a hallway to a visiting room, where the officer used his key ring to unlock the door. Fluo- rescent lights switched on overhead.

“Find yourself a spot,” he said. “I’ll be back with him.”

Jack went in, and the officer shut the door. The visiting room was empty save for him. Cinder block walls painted white. Floor a discolored pale tile. Eight tables were scattered about the room. Cheap oak veneers. Plastic chairs on chrome legs. There wasn’t anything on the tables. No magazines. Nothing.

He went to a table in the rear corner and sat with his back to the wall. The air stale. Faint smell of disinfectant. There was a small window by the door, but it was up high and was dirty and cobwebbed, so he couldn’t see out. He clasped his hands on the table and looked at them. The white bandages. Red blotches soaking through. When he looked up, the door opened.

Leland Dahl stood in the doorway. He wore orange prison clothes, like hospital scrubs: a loose shirt stuffed down the front of ill-fitting pants. Too many years of meth in his blood had eaten him down to wire and bone. He stepped into the room and stood looking at Jack. Eyes bright. Sunken and carved in shadow. Jaw smoked by beard, long nose bent, dark hair greasy and aged gray and combed over to the side. He was tall, hunched, rachitic. He came forward and slouched in the chair across from Jack. “Well, well,” he said. “Lookie who’s here.”

The officer stepped inside, shut the door, and folded his arms across his chest. He stood there, waiting. He was about twenty feet away.

Leland let out a low whistle. “Well. Look at you. All growed up.”

Jack watched him from across the table. He didn’t speak.

“How long’s it been? Four years?”

“Seven.”

“Seven years. Shit, I must be dreamin’.”

Jack didn’t answer.