“Couldn’t hurt. She’s in Switzerland on vacation, or at least supposed to be. Hasn’t returned my calls yet, an’ I was just settin’ here wonderin’ why.”

“Technically, you’re supposed to be dealing through MI5,” she said. “Or at least—”

“I called to London and there’s no one can help me till the morning,” he said. “You would have liked this case, Nessa. Deputy Chief Constable is in a twit over his detection rate.”

She typed in her password and entered the data bank. She hadn’t been here long enough to know what the bosses might think of helping out a fellow police officer; she imagined the reaction could run from awarding her a commendation to kicking her back to Scotland.

“Nothing on any of your hits. Transport company again?”

“Highland Specialty Transport. I have done some checkin’ on my own. Seems to be a subsidiary of a Yank concern: Aesthetic Transfers.”

“Aesthetic Transfers?”

“Aesthetic Transfers Inc. I have the address here.”

“Hold on, Gorrie.” Nessa pulled open the drawer. Her fingers trembled as she clawed at the file.

Aesthetic Transfers—an international transportation firm specializing in international art and antique shipments and used by several museums. Sole stockholders—Morgan Family Trust (II).

Part of the Morgan empire controlled by Gabriel Morgan—a suspected dealer of fraudulent and black-market artworks and current tax scofflaw wanted by the U.S. Treasury Department. A suspected associate and possible employer of Marc Elata. Holed up in Zurich, Switzerland, where he had successfully fought off extradition by U.S. authorities.

“Frank,” she said, picking up the phone again. “Tell me everything again, very slowly. No, wait—give me your number. I’ll call you back on my mobile phone.”

“Department will pay for the call.”

“That’s not it—I want to get going. I’ll talk to you on the way.”

“Where are you going?”

“Switzerland. Give me your number.”

Inverness, Scotland

When he hung up with Nessa, Gorrie glanced at the clock. Though he had told his wife he’d be home by eight, he realized there was little sense making it there on the dot; she’d be talking schoolteacher talk with the visitor for hours and he’d only end up brooding in the corner. Better to take the time to work on this tangled knot.

Talking to Nessa made things no clearer, though it was good to hear her voice again. She seemed to be making a splash.

Gorrie’s thoughts returned to Cardha Duff. If the murder had anything to do with the power plant and its waste, the lass didn’t fit—unless Mackay had told her about the goings-on there.

Possible.