A LOVELY OLD FISHING PORT ON THE MORAY FIRTH

Two days after our foggy run-in with the constable, Brian and I were shivering in our Portsoy B&B room. The walls and bed were covered in flowers – roses and daisies everywhere, as if a summery wallpaper could actually warm up the room.
"The heating runs for a full hour each morning and evening," our landlady had proudly announced at check-in, beaming as though offering us a free voucher to a luxury resort.
Brian gripped his fourth cup of tea and shot me a look that said this was somehow my fault.

FAMOUS FOR THE JACOBITE STEAM "HARRY POTTER TRAIN"

"Did you know him? Ben Gillespie?"
"Saw him around sometimes. He came up here with his drone often enough." Malcom spat on the ground. "One of those rat packs with selfie sticks and drones. But at least he walked to the spot. Some of these drone nutters don't even leave the car park. Just launch their contraptions from right there and later claim they've 'seen' Glenfinnan." He spat again for emphasis.

SOUTH OF ABERDEEN, SURROUNDED ON THREE SIDES BY THE NORTH SEA.

The castle stood ahead, alone on its cliff. We weren’t the only ones out. A dog walker struggled with a Golden Retriever determined to explore every puddle, and a lone figure stood at the cliff’s edge, watching the sky. I saw him launch a drone. It skimmed past the old battlements and then hovered above us, observing us. My skin tingled. The drone, once just a gadget, now seemed sinister, tied in my mind to the murders.

SET IN THE CAIRNGORMS, IT IS THE ONLY COMMUNITY-RUN CASTLE IN SCOTLAND.

I followed him. "What exactly are we queuing for?
"He gave me that familiar look, with his eyebrows raised and his mouth in a straight line, just like my father used to when I tried to sneak into dinner without washing my hands. "When you see a proper queue, you join first and ask questions later. Could be free samples, commemorative keychains, maybe even those little shortbread tins shaped like terriers."
"We're supposed to meet Haggis-Fiona in twenty minutes!" I tugged at his sleeve, but he stood firm, his eyes bright with the hope of potential freebies.
I gave up and wandered over to Braemar Castle instead.

HIGHLAND VILLAGE THAT SITS ON A SHELTERED BAY WITH VIEWS OVERLOOKING LOCH CARRON.

She nodded slowly. "Ach, well, Moira's very... passionate about it. Especially since her laddie..." She trailed off, then continued more quietly. "Poor woman's never been the same since Liam was lost to the perfect picture."
"Lost to the perfect picture?" I waited, hoping she would say more.
"That's how she describes it." The shopkeeper leaned on the counter. "The boy died chasing some daft photo he saw on that Likecosm. Moira's been on a crusade ever since."

DURNESS IS THE MOST NORTH-WESTERLY VILLAGE IN MAINLAND SCOTLAND.

"Most sensible people don’t drive five hours to a place with no signal just for a meeting." He put away his useless phone with a melodramatic sigh. "Jo, you know there’s this thing called Zoom now. No driving, no stress. Just WiFi and a laptop. And I don’t even want to start with the fact that if we have a breakdown now, we’ll probably get eaten by whatever Highland creatures live out here."
"Mostly sheep, Brian. Sometimes a Highland cow. Neither are known for their taste for humans."
Brian looked out of the windscreen at the empty landscape ahead. "Why Durness? What’s so special about a tiny village with more sheep than people?”

BUCHAN NESS LIGHTHOUSE IN BODDAM IS LOCATED ON A SMALL ISLAND SOUTH OF PETERHEAD.

But the waving wasn't admiration. It was alarm. Soon, the group grew from three to six, all hurrying towards us, their faces showing everything from concern to panic. Leading them was an elderly man in a flat cap so worn it looked like part of his head. His red face was lined with worry under thick white eyebrows.
"Are you MAD?" he demanded, reaching us first and jabbing a finger towards the drone, which was now hovering serenely above the lighthouse. His accent was thick Scottish Doric, making "mad" sound like a two-syllable word loaded with generations of disapproval. "Have ye not heard about the drone murders? There's a killer after folk like you!"

ORKNEY IS FULL OF WELL-PRESERVED NEOLITHIC AND VIKING ARCHAEOLOGICAL SITES.

"You have quite a collection," I nodded towards the shelves.
"Confiscated," Reggie answered, setting the kettle on the stove. 
Brian stepped further into the room, still staring at the drones. "Is that a DJI Mavic 3? And a Phantom 4 Pro? Those are expensive models."
"So are rescues," Reggie countered flatly. He pulled three mismatched mugs from a cupboard and dropped tea bags into each.

CROVIE IN ABERDEENSHIRE IS BUILT ON A REMARKABLY NARROW LEDGE BETWEEN THE BASE OF THE CLIFFS AND THE SEA.

The path down was steep. Brian grumbled about the logic of building where high tide could post itself through your letterbox, but I barely heard him.
Brian's elbow jabbed my ribs, jolting my camera. "Look!"
I tracked his finger to where a small dog splashed at the water's edge. Stubby legs kicked up droplets that caught the morning light. The tartan coat was unmistakable - the same one posted across Hashtaggie's Likecosm feed.
"Hashtaggie, in the flesh," I confirmed. "Or rather, in the fur."

A FAMOUS, COLOURFUL, CURVED COBBLESTONE STREET IN THE OLD TOWN OF EDINBURGH.

Around us, tourists clutched tartan tea towels and miniature whisky bottles, squeezing in for selfies along the famous curved street.
Brian glanced at the tourists, then back at me. "You'd never know, would you? That someone was actually murdered here."
I pointed at the stone steps leading down from Victoria Terrace above to the street level. "That's where they found her. Sana Patel, 26, a fashion influencer with about 40,000 followers. She was lying right there on the steps, her drone next to her."

A DRAMATIC, RUINED FORTRESS ON A COASTAL CLIFF-TOP NEAR NORTH BERWICK IN EAST LOTHIAN.

"How?" The word came out as barely more than a whisper.
"Pushed from the cliff," Murray said flatly. "A fisherman found her body on the rocks below this morning. Her drone was still at the top of the cliff." Murray went on. "It wasn't damaged. The last photo shows her body. Just like the other victims."
I closed my eyes, trying not to picture it. "Was there a cairn? With a thumb painted on it?"
"Yes. Small pile of stones on the beach below, about 20 metres from where she landed. Top stone had a black thumb painted on it. It’s our killer."

CRAIL IS THE MOST EASTERLY OF COASTAL VILLAGES ALONG THE SOUTH SIDE OF THE EAST NEUK OF FIFE.

The electric car's hum shifted as we wound along the coastal road from Edinburgh to Crail. Something about the pitch felt almost... reproachful? I checked the dashboard for warning lights but found none. Just that persistent, slightly off-key drone that might as well have been whispering: Turn back now, you fool.

LOCATED AT THE NARROWS OF LOCH LEVEN, IT SERVES AS A GATEWAY TO GLENCOE.

Ian’s cottage sat at the end of a narrow track, Scots pines on either side and a loch catching what little light there was. My car complained over potholes deep enough to deserve their own grid references. The place looked as you’d expect: stone walls, slate roof, a chimney sending woodsmoke into the damp air.
Then Ian swung open the heavy oak door.
"Welcome to my wee sanctuary." He clapped once, and the cottage interior blazed with light.
Brian's mouth dropped open. "Bloody hell. It's as if GCHQ invaded a tartan emporium."

A SPECTACULAR, ACTIVE LANDSLIDE LANDFORM ON THE TROTTERNISH RIDGE ON THE ISLE OF SKYE.

I walked slowly, pretending to look for drone shots but always glancing over my shoulder. Knowing I was being tracked by GPS didn't help much. By the time anyone got to me, it might already be too late.
Through the thick fog, I could just make out The Needle's silhouette. On my last visit, the tall rock formation had been crowded with tourists posing for photos. Today, it was just me and the silent stone. It looked so unwelcoming, almost as if it wanted to be left alone.