Sheriff Holmstrom handed me a black nylon Inverness Police jacket. "Put this on, we need tae pull a quick bait an' switch. Castle grounds are congested wi' dozens o' news vans, television crews, an' reporters, most o' whom have been campin' out since last night. Every reporter an' his mother wants tae speak wi' ye, an' I can't have them followin' us tae the crime scene."

Crime scene?

Before I could question him, he paraded me through a mezzanine filled with media, who swarmed upon me like hungry sharks. "Dr. Wallace, how large was the creature that bit you?"

"Could you show us those scars?"

"Dr. Wallace, are you planning to go after the monster then?"

"Dr. Wallace, how do you respond to accusations about this whole thing being a ruse?"

"Dr. Wallace …"

"Dr. Wallace …"

Holmstrom pushed me through the crowd. "Dr. Wallace is late for a meetin' in North Inverness an' has no comment at this time."

We exited the mezzanine through a side door, entering a private access way. A door to the right led outside to the police parking lot, the door to the left, an indoor garage.

"All right, doctor, if you'll give your jacket to Officer Johnston here, we'll have you on your way."

Johnston, a man about my size and weight, placed the police jacket over his head, effectively hiding his face, then was hustled out to the parking lot by the six escorts to an awaiting police van.

Sheriff Holmstrom ushered me inside the garage and an awaiting black Mercedes Benz. The vehicle's windows were tinted, meant to keep nosey reporters from seeing inside.

The driver waited ten minutes before driving off. As we rounded a bend outside the castle, we saw the last of the reporter's vehicles pulling out of the parking lot to chase after the police van.

Neither the driver nor his partner spoke to me as we followed the back roads south out of Inverness and onto the A82. Heavy gray rain clouds hung over the Great Glen, and the trees' leaves blew upward, forecasting another rainfall.

We continued south, escorted by that cursed Loch, then suddenly I was overcome by a terrible sense of dread. Crime scene? Oh, God, it's Brandy! True said she was unstable. She must've committed suicide… or maybe her crazy old man wigged out and stabbed her with his sword?

"Was it Brandy Townson? Did something happen to her? Hey goons, I'm talking to you, answer me!"

They said nothing, but I felt easier after we circled through Drumnadrochit and continued south past Urquhart Bay.

Where were they taking me? What had happened?

Another fifteen minutes passed before we entered the village of Invermoristan.

The police lights told me we had arrived.