The Brooklyn-224 was a fifty-seven-foot twin-screw diesel trawler, with an eighteen-foot beam and wide-open bow and stern decks. Its interior was tastefully decorated, its lavish furnishings done in maroons and creams, its woods polished teak and mahogany. The aft saloon's master quarters was luxurious to a fault, complete with a king-size bed, plasma screen television, steam room, and black onyx marble whirlpool.

I paused to gaze at a framed photo in the master suite. The image was of a young John Cialino in his early twenties standing with a group of firefighters in a New York City firehouse, a sign reading Brooklyn Heights Engine 224.

"This guy was a fireman?"

"Guess that explains the boat's name." True looked around and whistled. "Ye ken whit, Zack? I say screw the monster. Let's you an' me get Brandy an' a few o' her friends an' take this barge oot on the Moray Firth. A week or three an' ye'll forget a' aboot thae nightmares, that I promise."

"No." I reached under the bed's silk pillows, found the yacht's keys, then headed for the wheelhouse.

True followed me up to the main deck, then peered out the open venetian blinds. "Ye sure aboot no wantin' tae take that cruise?"

I looked out the window.

Brandy had just exited a cab and was heading for our berth. "Damn. Wait here."

I hurried outside, meeting her halfway up the dock. "Hey. What're you doing here?"

"I've been lookin' all over for ye. The jury came back, they delivered their verdict less than an hour ago."

"Already?" No wonder the media had vacated the wharf "What did they rule?"

"Guilty. Murder one." She looked up at me, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Zack."

She hugged me and I held her close, not sure how to react. "Murder one? Jesus, I guess I was hoping they'd give him involuntary manslaughter."

"Angus needs tae see ye right away. He sent me tae fetch ye."

"He'll have to wait."

"Zack, there's talk o' the judge renderin' the death penalty. Ye need tae go see yer father. Ye need tae tell the judge what ye know."

"I will. Later."

"What're ye up tae then?" She pushed past me, heading for the trawler yacht. "This is Johnny C.'s yacht, isn't it? Come out, True MacDonald, I see ye in there!" She climbed aboard before I could stop her, then she pulled back the gray tarp that covered the Dive Suit.

"Bloody hell. Finley True MacDonald, I hope ye're no' plannin' on goin' down in this thing."

"Not me."

"Zachary? Oh no… no way."

"I'll be fine."

"Fine? Against that monster? How will ye be fine?"

"Its eyes are sensitive to bright lights. I'll be surrounded by them."

"An' what are ye intendin' tae do down there? Fit it for glasses?"

"He wants tae free it tae the sea," blurted out True. "I telt him he wis crazy."

"Crazy? He should be committed."

"I'll be okay."