she added, looking out over the Loch. “But we may as well start.”
He sighed. “You really think you can find something that will convince those men not to go hunting for Nessie?”
“I don’t know. But I can try.” She looked up at the sky. “And there’s a good few hours of daybreak left. Why not start now?”
Niall smiled at her for a moment. “I’m glad you’re here, Helen Washington.”
So am I, she thought simply, for a moment unable to think about monsters, or vigilantes, or disappearances. So am I.
Chapter 22
They started their search on the bank of the river a few hundred yards down from old Maggie’s cottage. It was slow going at first — Niall wasn’t sure what they were looking for, and she had to shoo him out of the way, insisting he walk behind her while she scanned the sand and rocks for any sign of a disturbance.
“Blood would be useful,” she said, eyes narrowed as she examined the ground. “Footprints, unusual materials like fabric or flesh… really anything that looks like it shouldn’t be here.”
“I found a stick,” he offered. She suppressed a laugh.
“Does it look like it should be here?”
“It’s driftwood.”
“Probably not, then.” She heard him drop it, and chuckled. “Just — you bring up the rear, okay? I’ll check the beach, you double-check it. Just make sure you don’t get confused by my footprints,” she added, taking a careful step.
“I’m not stupid. Just big,” he added, taking a careful step. “And not accustomed to beachcombing.”
“Yeah, well, never too late to learn,” she murmured, glancing back up at the horses.
“You’re better at horse riding than I am at crime scene investigation,” he pointed out.
She laughed. “You sound like Eamon! Be patient.”
So they passed the afternoon, scrutinizing each inch of sand. Exactly how useful this activity was, she couldn’t be sure. There was a lot of shore to Loch Ness, and this was just one tiny stretch. But it felt good to be doing something, to be examining the ground, using those old skills, stretching the muscles… and she could tell it was good for Niall, too, to be doing something concrete in the service of solving the mystery, however unlikely it was that it would help. And it was nice to spend time with him, just the two of them. He was good company, good conversation… and the weather had even cleared up, gracing them with a little bit of sunlight.
Maybe that was what made Niall call her name an hour or so later, his voice sounding cautiously excited. She raised her head from a rock she’d been studying for bloodstains, a little annoyed to be distracted like this — but her annoyance changed to intrigue when she saw what he was pointing at. Up on the bank, closer to shore where the sand turned to grass, just clear of the road, she could see Niall standing by a bush. But there was something wrong with the bush — it was broken, she realized with mounting excitement. Broken as though someone — or something — had walked through it, or over it.
Carefully, she ran up the beach, making sure to skirt widely around the area between the bush and the water. Niall was almost vibrating with excitement when she reached him, his eyes wide and his body full of tension, and in that moment he reminded her so much of his son that she almost burst out laughing.
“Down here,” he said softly, as though he would wake something if he spoke too loudly — and she blinked down at what he was pointing at, reaching out automatically to dissuade him from touching anything (even though they were hundreds of years away from any kind of fingerprinting technology, old habits died hard, and her crime scene muscle memory was firing on all cylinders.) She scanned the bush — crushed, she realized with mounting excitement, the damage came from up above — and noticed that it was growing out of mud, not sand. The mud continued a little way down the beach before it gave way to sand, and to her delight, there were several prints preserved in the hard mud.
“Do you remember the last time it rained?” she said softly, shooting a look at Niall.
He frowned. “It was … a while ago. It’s been overcast, but not raining —”
“These prints were made the last time it rained properly — rained enough to leave thick mud like this.”
“It was before we discovered the raft,” Niall said, his