"You know her?" Johnson asked.

"No, I don't," Roy said.

"Then how in the heck could she be more important?" Johnson asked. "People die all the time. You worry about all of them?"

"Kinda wondered about that myself," Arnie said. To Roy: "We're losing a lot of fishing time, man."

ROY AND ARNIE MOTORED OFF and Virgil sat down, Johnson bitching and moaning and working his Double Cowgirl as they continued the drift. Virgil stuck a finger in his off-ear and punched Davenport's home number on the speed dial. Davenport answered on the second ring.

"You on the lake?" Davenport asked.

"Yeah. Two hours," Virgil said. "We've seen two fish."

"Nice day?"

"Perfect." Virgil looked around in the growing light: and he was right. It was perfect. "Partly cloudy, enough breeze to keep us cool, not enough to bang us around."

"Virgil, man, I'm sorry."

"What happened?"

"A woman got shot by a sniper at Eagle Nest Lodge on Stone Lake, over by Grand Rapids. Her name is-was-Erica McDill. She's the CEO of Ruff-Harcourt-McDill, the ad agency in Minneapolis."

"I've heard of it," Virgil said.

"So two things-she was a big Democrat and the governor would want us to take a look no matter what. Plus, the sheriff up there, Bob Sanders, is asking for help."

"When did they find her?"

"Right at sunup-an hour and a half ago. Sanders is out looking at the body now."

"Where are the Bemidji guys?" Virgil asked.

"They're up in Bigfork, looking for Little Linda," Davenport said. "That's why Sanders needs the help-his investigators are all up there, and half his deputies. A woman on the Fox network is screaming her lungs out, they're going nightly with it-"

"Ah, Jesus."

Blond, blue-eyed Little Linda Pelli had disappeared from her parents' summer home, day before last. She was fifteen, old enough not to get lost on her way to a girlfriend's cabin. There were no hazards along the road, and if her bike had been clipped by a car, they would have found her in a ditch. Nobody had found either Little Linda or her black eighteen-speed Cannondale.