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He shot Kris a quick, unreadable glance before he knelt beside the dead girl and checked for a pulse. Then he sighed, and his big head dipped.
“Were you on duty when the other one was found?” Kris asked.
Alan Mac’s head came up so fast he must have gotten a crick in his neck, since his hand went there and rubbed. He climbed to his feet. “Where did ye hear about the other?”
“I … well … uh…” How was Kris supposed to explain that she’d learned the news from an ancient German who’d disappeared into the mist faster than the characters in a Stephen King novel?
Alan lowered his voice: “That information has not been released.”
Uh-oh.
She was saved from answering when a boatload of police and techs arrived and began to set up a perimeter, pushing her out of it. Alan’s attention was captured, but he pointed a large finger at her and said, “Dinnae go anywhere, ye ken?”
“I ken,” Kris muttered.
Her gaze wandered over the crowd, searching for the man she’d met at Urquhart Castle, but he wasn’t there. She almost asked Alan Mac where he’d gone, but she knew where that would end. With the beginnings of a headache when he insisted that there was no such man. Although if that were the case, the constable wouldn’t be here.
Kris’s mind whirled. This place was starting to get to her.
And now she had an envelope of cash from a man who’d “gone poof” after tasking her with gathering information on a monster. Or perhaps a serial killer.
“One is both the same,” she murmured, a saying of her brother’s that had always confused her. Until just now.
People came and went. In the states she would have identified a coroner or medical examiner, crime scene techs, forensic experts—hey, she watched SVU—but here she had no clue on procedure or the proper titles for the players involved.
Eventually, Alan Mac separated from the others, took her arm, and led her a few yards from the hubbub.
The fog still floated atop the loch, obscuring the opposite shore, but the police lights illuminated the near side like the grand opening of a used-car lot.
The constable removed a small notebook from his jacket and poised his pencil over a pristine white sheet. “What happened?”
“I was walking home from the pub—”
“Which one?”
“MacLeod’s.”
Alan lifted his gaze to hers. “Ye found that already, did ye?”
“Dougal invited me.”
He frowned. “Dougal Scott?”
“Is there more than one Dougal?”
“Around here? Aye. So ye had a date with Dougal—”
“No,” Kris interrupted. “I met him to talk about…” She waved her hand at the now-invisible loch.
“Ah.” Alan nodded. “He’s a good one for that. But he let ye walk home all alone?”
“Let me?” Kris bristled. “I’m not a child.”
“Mmm.” The sound made Kris bristle even more. But before she could say anything, Alan continued. “How did ye end up down near the loch?”
“I…” She glanced in that direction and hesitated.
“Did ye see somethin’?” Kris gave a reluctant nod. “What was it?”
