Spada steered Jung toward the front of the boat. I followed, sliding along the top of the overhang, looking for a way down that wouldn’t snap my ankles. Thankfully, Jung kept his mouth shut while Spada goosed him along, the gun poking into his spine. What was Spada’s endgame? What good would it do to kill Jung now? And why stop the boat here when he had to know the police were on his trail?

Jung was younger and stronger than Spada, but it didn’t look like he could capitalize on either advantage. He appeared sluggish, unsteady on his feet. Had he been forced to down that bottle of Scotch? Had Spada mixed it with some of the meds from Tim’s cabinet? This had to be how he and Darby dispatched Tim Ayers.

Jung fought against Spada’s hold, but got nowhere with it. “Get . . . off.”

The two reached the front of the boat and Spada shoved Jung hard into the railing. He looked determined to see Jung dead. “You’re going in, just like your buddy Tim. It’s too bad I won’t make a dime off you.” He wiped his brow, scanned the lake nervously. He knew his time was growing short. “But you’re no Ayers. I doubt they’ll send anyone to even look for you at the bottom of the lake.”

I scrambled to my knees, looking for a good jumping-off point. Spada turned, his back to me, and Jung glanced up and saw me there. His eyes widened, then narrowed, focused in. He opened his mouth to speak, but I drew a finger to my lips to quiet him. He chuckled softly instead. That’s when Spada yanked him to his feet and rammed him up against the railing again. “Nobody laughs at me.”

“He killed Tim,” Jung shouted, his back pressed to the metal, half out, but fighting to stay lucid. “Darby helped . . . he admitted it. They boarded his boat, got him drunk, drove him out, and then shoved him over . . . marina shifts . . . no, skiffs. That’s how they got away.”

I cringed, stopped breathing; he was talking to me. I watched Spada, afraid he’d catch on, look up, and find me hiding, but he didn’t. Instead, he stuffed his gun into his waistband, ready to get done what he needed to get done.

“And I’m going to kill you, too, so you can take all that with you when you drown.”

Jung teetered for a moment, and it looked like he might collapse, a marionette with cut strings, but he hung on the rail, fighting it. I had to give it to him. He shook his head as if to clear it. “Can’t . . . undrownabubble . . . undrownable.”