“Where are your lights?” the man yelled in Italian. “What’s wrong?” Just people in distress.

I idled the engine. “Broken,” Rosa yelled back. “It’s all right, we’re fixing it.”

“You’ll get run over. Go back to the channel,” he said, waving his arms. “Someone will pick you up.”

“We’re all right. We’re going to the Lido.”

“Bah,” he said. “In the dark. Sciocci.” This to the other fishermen, disgusted by our ineptness. “Then follow us. It’s another channel.”

I turned my head away from the light, looking toward the main channel markers, the string of white, now with a small blue light moving along it.

“Rosa, police. Tell them to go. The police’ll see us.”

I imagined someone with binoculars, scanning, drawn to the spot of light, two boats, one familiar.

Rosa shouted something up, forced and hearty, and the fisherman laughed but turned the boat, moving the light away. It started out again.

“It’s luck for us,” Rosa said. “We can follow them. They know the channels.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him to stop looking down my dress.”

I opened the throttle, following the fishing boat but keeping far enough back to stay in its shadow. We were making better time now, getting closer. I looked left, keeping the blue light in sight. One of the night ferries to Trieste was coming up behind it in the channel, and in the bright lights I could see it clearly now, a police boat, probably the one that had spun off through the Arsenale yard. The ferry passed and the blue light kept following the channel, the only place we could sensibly be.

“Are they still there?” Claudia said, watching me.

“Yes, but they’re heading for the casino.”

And then they weren’t. The blue light swung out into the lagoon, drawn irresistibly to the fishing boat’s light, cutting straight across to it.

“Damn.” I slowed down, letting the fishermen run ahead, watching the police boat race toward them. The fishing boat was making for the end of the Lido, the outlet to the Adriatic, past the big beach hotels. Its path drew the police boat right in front of us, a slice of light that crossed up ahead and then kept going, leaving us alone again in the dark.

“Go faster,” Claudia said. “They’ll come back.”

“We can’t. We don’t know how shallow it is.”

“The Excelsior boats go there,” she said, but I didn’t answer, trying to concentrate on the water ahead in what little light there was. The casino was miles down to our left, the fishing boat trying to leave the lagoon to our right—we should be heading straight for the hotel. In the day we’d see the white turrets poking through the trees. Now there’d be nothing to orient us but a dock light.

“They’ll be back soon,” Rosa said. “They’re almost at the fishing boat. Once they see it’s not us—”

I nodded and opened the throttle again, jerking us faster toward the island. Too late now to worry about shallows. If we didn’t get to the dock, we’d be in the police boat’s return path. Then what? Play hide-and-seek in the lagoon until we ran out of luck.

“The yellow light,” Rosa said. “There. See it? That’s where they unload.”

Down on my right, the police were making a loop around the fishing boat, probably cursing themselves now for having followed it. They’d head back to the main channel, cutting behind us, hearing our motor unless we were already at the dock, silent and invisible again.

The Excelsior landing area was a dead-end canal, protected from rough open water and at this time of year lighted only by the dock lamp at the entrance. I shot past the light, then cut the motor, so that the boat swerved as if we were skidding on ice. Our swell slapped against the wall, then came back at us, a bathtub effect. I held the boat steady, then pushed us toward the landing stairs.

“Okay, quick,” I said. “Where’s the car?”

“Across the street. Help me carry him.”

“Not that way,” Claudia said, positioning herself at the end of the tarp. “Slide it over the side first. Like this.” She motioned Rosa to the other end, and they pushed the rolled tarp onto the stairs while I held the rocking boat. They both got out, Claudia pulling the body up to the pavement. “Now lift.”

“Wait. I’ll do it,” I said, tying the boat.

But before I could step out I heard the other engine, grinding in neutral out past the dock light, looking around. I turned to see the blue light, then back at Rosa. “Run. There’s no time now.”

“And you?”

“I’ll say you forced us. Something. Just get going.”

“Help me. I can’t leave him.”

“Are you crazy?” Claudia said, her voice hoarse, breathing hard. She had started dragging the body but only managed to pull the tarp away. Now, looking at Moretti, then out toward the blue light, she seemed desperate, gulping air. “He’s dead. Look. What does it matter now? We did this to save him, so he wouldn’t be blamed for us. We could have done nothing, let him take the blame. But we didn’t. And now? Look. It doesn’t matter to him now. Let him be the guilty one. Then it’s over. We have to save ourselves.” She knelt by the body, reaching for the loose tarp. “Look.”

But Rosa was staring at her, eyes round, no longer seeing the body.

“But he’s not the guilty one,” she said evenly. “You. Take the blame for you. That’s what it meant, in the boat. How you knew what to do.” She looked at me. “Both of you? But why?”

I heard the engine again, louder. Why? There must have been a reason once.

“Rosa, just go,” I said.

“Leave him alone,” she said to Claudia. “What? Another one for the lagoon?” She turned back to me. “Yes, both. How else to do it? It takes two. All along, pretending—”

Behind us, some shouts, a light rippling up the canal.

“Rosa, they’re coming.”

“What were you doing? A game? And this boy—what, he’d pay for you?”

“No. That’s why we—” I turned to see the blue light closer, almost at the entrance. “They’re coming. Run.”

“And leave him? Then he’s their murderer. That’s what you want,” she said to Claudia. “Carlo’s boy, a murderer. Think of his name.”

“His name?” Claudia said. “He’s dead.”

“They’ll kill you,” I said.

“Not before I tell them.”

Claudia pulled out Moretti’s gun, then got up slowly, holding it in front of her.

“No, you won’t do that. For what? He’s dead.”

“Claudia, put it down.” I turned to Rosa. “Just run. We’ll cover you.”

“He doesn’t pay,” she said, looking calmly at the gun.

“Oh, but we do?” Claudia said. “The living.”

“Nobody pays,” I said, impatient, my head swirling with the sound of the engine, close enough to be in the canal now. “What? For Gianni? He was a murderer.”

“Yes? And what are you?” And then, before I could say anything, “Yes, me too. Many times.” She looked down at the body. “But not him. There is an obligation here.”

“Obligation,” Claudia said. “To whom? Go. We’ll tell them something. Maybe they’ll believe it.”

“No, they’ll believe me.”

“Then you’ll kill us,” Claudia said quietly.

There was a swell of water, a boat pulling close.

“Rosa,” I said, “please. Run.”

“I can’t,” she said, reasonable. “With my leg? I can’t make it now anyway. The car—it’s not possible. No time.”

“They’ll kill you.”

She glanced at the gun, her mouth twisting in a faint smile. “Who does it first? You or them?”

“I will,” Claudia said, breathless.

“And how do you explain this one?” Rosa said, looking at me. She shook her head. “Then you’ll pay for me. Me, him—you’ll pay for one of us, either way.”

There were shouts now, the sounds of people getting off a boat, coming up behind us the way the pursuit boat had, so that I wanted to hold up my hand again to make it stop.

“To come this far,” Claudia said. “No. You want to die? But not us. Not now. I’ll survive you too.”

Rosa looked at her, still calm. “How?”