A slight breeze caught the bow of the boat and gently turned us. I felt cold.

“What happened then, Bob?”

“I”-and the words were catching in his throat-“I, I started thinking about what had happened to him. How he’d probably busted his spine, done something horrible, how he’d never walk again, and I thought of my wife, how her life dragged on, how Leonard didn’t deserve something like that.”

“Is that really all you were thinking?” I asked.

Bob was quiet for a moment. “I suppose I was thinking a few other things, too.” He paused. “About what was going to happen. About how, once I got help, and we got Leonard to a hospital, and he told the police what had happened, that I had pushed him over the edge, that even if I didn’t get convicted of anything, even if I could somehow convince them that Leonard slipped, that his lawyers, these goddamn lawyers of his, they’d find a way to ruin me. To destroy me.”

“Probably,” I said.

“And so, I put my…I put my hand over his mouth, and I pinched his nose, and I pressed really hard, and he couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t move his arms, he couldn’t twist away or anything. It took, I don’t know, a minute or so, maybe more. I think I kept my hand there a lot longer than I needed to. I was scared, that maybe I wouldn’t have done it for long enough.”

Now neither of us spoke for a minute.

“That’s cold, Bob,” I said, finally. “Getting into a shoving match, accidentally knocking Leonard over the cliff, I could see that. But the finishing him off, the smothering him, I have to be honest. That surprises me.”

Bob kept looking away. “Me too.” He paused. “I’m not proud of what I did.”

“So what happened then?”

“Once I knew, knew that he was dead, I tried to think of what to do. And I thought about the bear that, supposedly, was roaming the woods. I thought up a story, about how we’d run into it, made a run for it and got split up. When I got back up top, I really did run, deliberately tripped, let myself get pretty scraped up, to make the story as believable as possible.”

“You had us all fooled, Bob,” I said. “You did a darn good job of that.”

“I was already scared about what really did happen. But I just pretended it was something else that scared me.”

I shook my head sadly, turned the reel a couple of cranks.

“Zachary, are you taping this?” Bob asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“No, Bob,” I said. “I’m not wired, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just wanted to know what happened.”

Bob, one hand still holding his fishing pole, opened his tackle box and reached inside with his right hand. When it came back out, it was holding a gun. His Smith & Wesson pistol.

He pointed it in my direction.

“Oh, come on, Bob,” I said. “You’re not going to kill me.”

He swallowed. “I don’t know as you leave me much choice, Zack. I’d hate to do it. I like you. You’re a good kid. And I think the world of your father.”

I said, “There’s not just that. A guy falls and breaks his neck, you can call that an accident and get away with it. But you shoot a guy, how you going to explain that?”

“I don’t know,” Bob said. “I guess I could say you drowned, fell overboard. Weigh your body down, let it sink to the bottom. I could tip the boat over, there could be an accident.”

“They’d find my body, Bob. This isn’t that big a lake. And even Dr. Heath could probably find a bullet hole. And the other thing is, I don’t think you’re a bad person. I admit, what you did, smothering Leonard, I’m a bit taken aback by that, but you were a desperate man in a desperate circumstance. It was wrong, but I know how you must have been thinking at the time. And I know how badly you must feel about it now.”

He still had the gun pointed at me. “I do,” he said.

I said, “Honestly, Bob, I don’t know what to do. I could tell them what I know, but I don’t think you’d ever spend a day in jail. You could deny telling me this story. You could stick with your original version. Maybe there really is a bear out there with a clipped ear. How would they prove there isn’t? There are no witnesses. And it’s only my word about what Timmy Wickens said, and he’s dead. I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t even file charges. They’d realize, from the get-go, that they’d never get a conviction.”

“So then what’s the point of telling them?” he asked, resting the arm that was holding the gun on his knee, but still keeping me in his sights.

“Because that’s what you did,” I said.

“So you’re going to tell them.”

I sighed. It should have been an easy question. I knew Bob Spooner had killed a man. But it had started out as an accident. I knew Bob Spooner was basically a good person. A good man on the verge of being what’s known as an “old man.” I am not what you’d call a moral absolutist. There are a lot of shades in my world.

And yet.

“I don’t know, Bob,” I said, being honest. “If you’re worried about what will happen if I do, then you’ll have to shoot me. Now.”

I could see he was thinking about it. Thinking about it pretty hard.

Bob’s line started to go out.

“What the…” he said, looking down at his reel, the spool of white filament spinning away.

Twenty feet off our port side, a fish broke the surface, briefly. A muskie, a big one at that. The fish disappeared, then came up again, its head poking out of the water, trying to shake the lure from its mouth. Its cold black eye caught a brief glimpse of us before it went back under.

“Oh no,” Bob said, staring at the ripples where the fish had gone back under.

“What?” I said.

“It’s Audrey,” he said. “I saw the scar.” The scar under the eye. The scar that marked the fish that had been toying with Bob for years.

He didn’t have a chance of reeling her in, however. Not with one hand holding a gun on me.

“You’re going to need both hands,” I said. “And me holding the net, if you can get her close enough to the boat.”

More and more line was being fed out. Audrey was getting farther and farther away.

It was a hell of a choice for Bob. Take a chance at finally getting the fish he’d been trying to catch for so many summers, and risk spending the rest of his life in jail. Or take care of me, make sure I never told my story to anyone, and lose any chance of landing Audrey.

“Take this,” Bob said, handing me the gun.

I took it from him carefully, then laid it on the bottom of the boat, ahead of the middle seat, where I was perched.

The moment he’d given up the gun, Bob went into action, reeling in, bending the pole back toward him, horsing it, then easing it forward and reeling in the slack.

I grabbed the net, got ready to scoop Audrey.

“The hook’s really into her,” I said. “Way more than when she hit my line.”

“Looks like it,” Bob said. “But she’s spit it out before when I was sure I had her.” He glanced at me, just for a second, and said, “I couldn’t have done it.”

“I know,” I said.

He reeled in Audrey a bit more. “Are you going to tell?” he asked, watching where the line vanished into the black.

I kept watching for the fish. “I don’t know.”

Bob nodded. “Maybe, if you tell, and they do convict me, they’d let me hang Audrey on the wall of my cell.”

I smiled at that. The metal handle of the net was cold in my hands. I could see a shape in the water, something moving under the surface, darting left and then right. I leaned over the edge of the boat, let the net slip into the water. My hands dipped below the surface.

“Are you ready?” Bob said.

“I think so. Just lead her this way.”

When the fish was almost into the net, Bob said, “I’m not a bad man, Zack.”

“I know, Bob,” I said. “I’ve met bad men, and you’re not one of them.”