“Not me. Back in February a coupla’ college students from the States were taking photos by boat along a stretch known tae us locals as the Kill Zone. They saw the half-eaten remains of a deer and went ashore. One of the American lads spotted something protruding from the dead deer’s rib cage. Bloody thing turned oot tae be a tooth—four inches long and barbed. Fortunately, the water bailiff took it from them, or we’d have been invaded by scientists and Nessie hunters. I thought word had leaked when yer team showed up unannounced.”

“And have you seen the tooth?”

“Aye. And missin’ one dinnae stop it from killing tha’ elk last night. Sheriff called me not ten minutes before ye arrived. The remains washed ashore in Invermoriston, jist down the road. Wannae take a peek wit’ me before they dispose of the evidence?”

It was half past six at night. While my father was enticing Dr. Liao and her entourage into his web of deceit, Brandy, Willy, and I were getting ready to eat dinner in our humble resort abode.

Suites 300 and 302 were connecting rooms that provided us with the living space of a three-bedroom apartment. There was a kitchen and double balcony overlooking Loch Ness, and a living room filled with baby toys.

I was feeding Willy in his highchair, and Brandy was reheating day-old Scotch pie when my cell phone rang. It was a California area code.

Jonas Taylor…

“Jonas, I was waiting until later to call you. I really appreciate Masao’s offer, but I’ve decided to accept a faculty position at Cambridge.”

“I understand. The money was dogshit. Unfortunately times have been tough. We may end up selling the facility to a developer who wants to build waterfront condos.”

“J.T., while I have your ear, have you ever heard of a submersible diver by the name of Ben Hintzmann? He says he trained under Graham Hawkes.”

“It’s possible. I don’t get up to Hawkes’s facility much these days; we’ve become competitors. My son, David, and I have been designing a new submersible we call the Manta. If things work out, I hope to sell them as the ultimate rich man’s toy.”

A knock on our other front door hastened the end of the call. “Well, good luck with that. And send my best to Masao.”

Brandy chided me with a scowl. “Are ye expectin’ anyone, Zach?”

“No, but I’m secretly hoping it’s the pizza delivery boy. The smell of that re-heated mutton concoction is making me ill.”

“When ye get yer first paycheck from Cambridge we’ll feast on take-out. Until then I’m making do.” Opening the door to Suite 300, she turned to the man knocking on Suite 302. “Can I help ye? Oh, it’s you.”

Ben Hintzmann stepped into view. “Evening. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Brandy blocked him from entering. “We were jist aboot tae eat supper.”