"You okay?" a man yelled. Holden barely looked up. No, he was not okay. He was sick. But he was alive. He was at least regaining consciousness enough to both hear what the man said and understand it. He wasn''t yet thinking clearly, because otherwise he would have realized it was a stupid question. Neither could he speak yet, so for now he just shook his head once: No.

The other officer was at the helm, and Holden squinted to see her throttle down, edging the boat forward so that in another minute--Holden''s head still precarious over the gunwale--the runabout''s bow kissed the edge of Holden''s Renegade. Holden couldn''t move anything but his head. He bent it and squinted at them sideways, recognizing khaki green DNR uniforms, one man and one woman, but not much else. "Water," he said, dry and squeaky, like a frog. Making an effort to talk threatened to precipitate another expulsion. This time he managed a dry swallow. Officer Flag reached down into her pack and brought out a water bottle. She handed it to Olathe, who was gripping the side of Holden''s boat.

He took the bottle and stepped into the Renegade and sat down next to Holden, noticing the empty whiskey bottles resting on the boat''s floor. No wonder the man was sick. "You been out here all night?" Olathe said, unscrewing the water bottle cap. Holden didn''t look at the officer. He stared at the water, still shivering, and said, "drink," whispered and raspy. Olathe started to hand the bottle over but quickly realized there was no way Holden''s shaky hands could grip it. He was still leaning over the gunwale, partially prone. Olathe managed to bring the bottle to Holden''s lips and tilt it and Holden sipped, some of it dribbling down his chin.

The three-day beard growth on Holden''s face was coarse enough to sand the chrome off a trailer hitch. His hair was salt and pepper, short and greasy. Given the F-I-S-H and S-I-N-K tattoos, his raggedy attire, the booze bottles, and disheveled demeanor, Olathe thought the man looked more Skid Row than Lake Vermilion. He looked like a drunk on an all-night bender, just coming around, lucky to be alive. While Olathe was giving Holden water, Officer Flag stepped back to a rear compartment. She pulled out a DNR-issued wool blanket and handed it to Olathe, who spent the next couple of minutes unfurling and wrapping it around the shivering drunk. After another couple of minutes and small sips, Officer Olathe said, "What''s your name?" Holden finally looked up at him, as if starting to wake from a bad dream. "Holden," he said.

"Riggins," the name squeezing out of him. By now Olathe and Flag had scanned the area and absorbed the scene. They needed to get over to the DNR boat, tethered against the shore. They could see a standard-size whitefish gill net, strung 100 feet along the shallows, near Holden''s boat. Out beyond the whitefish net, Flag recognized the faux pine branch floats. She had seen them at an outfitter''s supply store over in Ely. They were supposed to be natural looking floats used to anchor duck and geese decoys, and while those seasons were open, there were no decoys in sight. She wasn''t sure how they were being used here, but judging from the fact they hadn''t drifted an inch in this light breeze, she wanted to see what kept them anchored.

The COs had also registered a violation of the open container law, given the bottles in the bottom of Holden''s boat. Probably drunk while boating. Possibly illegal netting if he didn''t have a license. Hopefully, nothing more. But it didn''t look good. And where was Charlie Jiles? The whole scene was a cluster****, as Officer Flag liked to say. She was one of a handful of women COs in the state, so she felt like her language needed to be a little salty. She also grew up the middle child, a girl, in a family of four boys, so she learned their rough-and-tumble ways and how, when necessary, to land a blow.

But both officers remained silent because, if Holden was a perp, they didn''t want to piss him off. They wanted him to cooperate. By the time Holden''s hands finally settled enough to grip the water bottle on his own, Officer Olathe took another turn looking around. His eyes followed the same objects and jumped to the same conclusions as Officer Flag. They needed to get over to the runabout. They''d checked the numbers and verified it was Jiles''s boat. Now they needed to make sure Officer Jiles wasn''t lying in its bottom. When Olathe finally turned to consider the shoreline, he said, "Any idea why there''s one of our boats tied up to the shore?" With some effort Holden swiveled his head and glanced at the nearby shoreline.

Then he peered back into the lake and said, "First I seen it." Olathe caught Flag''s eye, and they exchanged a wordless comment, part irritation, part concern, mostly disbelief. "We gotta have a look at that boat," Olathe said. "Stay put." Holden nodded, clearly in no shape to do more than drink water and shiver more heat into his hands and limbs. After Olathe was back in the runabout, Flag pulled away from the Lund, steering toward the shoreline. She nudged the gunwale up close to Charlie''s DNR boat, and Olathe grabbed hold of its edge. A red fire extinguisher was out of its side bracket, laying on the boat''s bottom.

There was no sign of fire. A DNR officer''s hat lay near the extinguisher. Beside the captain''s chair they saw a Styrofoam cup stuck in a cup holder, frozen coffee dregs in its bottom. It was Charlie''s boat, but where was he? They took another moment to radio Dispatch and tell them what they had found. Other than Holden Riggins, who needed medical care and who they still needed to question, and an empty DNR runabout, nothing. Dispatch told them they had been unable to reach Officer Jiles by phone. They should secure his boat, search the area, and if they were unable to find him, one of them should drive the boat in. It was all very strange.

They would need to search this part of the island. It was Temple Island, they had seen, finally consulting a map. From Charlie''s boat, the shoreline rose rocky, steep, and poplar-covered to a granite overlook. There was a towering white pine way up on top. From there they figured they could get a better view of the entire area, but neither of them was looking forward to the climb. They still needed to check on the faux pine bough floats, which they both suspected were probably attached to an illegal net. They had decided to check on the floats first, when Holden called over to them. "Hey," he said, the word still scratchy in his throat, but sounding stronger.

"Somethin''," he managed, "in my net," pointing to the net''s middle. Flag pushed away from Charlie''s boat, put her motor in gear, and puttered to where Holden had pointed between the two white buoys. But it wasn''t until they were right on top of it that they recognized, through Vermilion''s red water, a body caught up and submerged in Holden''s net. When they squinted through the lake''s choppy surface, they noticed the body was dressed in khaki greens.