"Because I'm not interested in blindly searching the largest body of water in Europe, hoping to get a blip on sonar. What we need, True, is hard evidence that'll tell us what's going on down there."

"Yeah… sure, I guess we can walk. But I'm bringin' my binoculars an' camera, jist in case."

From my shopping bags I retrieved glass jars, rubber gloves, flashlights, plastic bags, bottled water, and some snacks, then started packing my knapsack. "We'll need sleeping bags, we'll probably have to camp out a few nights."

"Christ, Zachary, whit's the plan then? Tae drop cookies along the shoreline an' hope Nessie hops in one o' these jars like a bloody bullfrog?"

"Actually, the cookies were for you."

* * *

An hour later we arrived at the Invermoriston boating dock. Police had closed down the launch, and had cordoned off the campsite and trail, but when they saw who I was, they allowed us to negotiate the shoreline.

From the Moriston River inlet, we followed the Loch to the south as far as the pier, True playing the part of my impatient shadow. Like most of Loch Ness's beaches, the ground was covered in smooth, rounded stones, which served to camouflage anything but the most obvious tracks.

"So, Sherlock Holmes, whit're we lookin' for then? Nessie turds?"

"Sure, Nessie turds would be great." I took a long scan of the shoreline, then began retracing my steps back toward the river.

True shook his head. "This science stuff, it's pretty borin', yeah?"

"Well, it's not deep diving off a North Sea oil rig, but it beats aimlessly searching the Loch."

"Maybe, but I've had better times watchin' grass grow. Now whit're ye doin'?"

On hands and knees I crawled by the water, pausing occasionally to press my nose to the rocky surface.

"Zachary, please, yer embarrassin' me. Ye think ye're a bloodhound now?"

"I detected a rancid odor yesterday. I'm hoping to catch another whiff."

"Sweet Jesus. Tell ye what, how 'bout I blah blah blah blah blah …"

I closed my eyes and inhaled, my mind absorbed in my "zone."

"… back wi' a few cold ones an some lunch. Okay? I said okay? Hey, Zack?"

I stood, moving to another section of shoreline, repeating the exercise.

"Ken whit? I think ye've lost yer marbles."

We both heard the rumble and looked up as a motorboat maneuvered close to shore, blasting its horn at us. "Hah, it's Brandy, shouldae known. Hey, Brandy girl!"

The Nessie III was again overloaded with passengers, all aiming their cameras at the now-legendary campsite. Brandy was visible in the wheelhouse, as was her string bikini top. She waved at her brother, then, seeing me, flipped me the middle finger.

"Look's like she's still pissed at ye."

"Hell hash no fury like a Highland woman scorned."

"Amen."

I returned to my work, my mind, tainted with the vision of Brandy in her bathing suit, fighting to refocus.

"A sandwich then?"

"Huh?"