Murder On The Waterway: The Case Of The Kanaima Demon

Chapter Three

My feet remained rooted to the spot; my mind was lost in thought and distracted. It may have been impolite, but the chilling atmosphere and dropping temperature were hard to ignore. Spits of rain glimmered in the dim light of the streetlamp. Despite the scene cordons, curious onlookers cut through the darkness along the pathway, their wet shoulders bumping and bobbing. Oblivious to Locke's presence, I was fixated on the haunting spectacle before us.

The lamplight flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced across the grim scene, turning the whole place into an unsettling dreamscape. The murmurs of the onlookers transformed into ghostly whispers, blending with the distant howl of the wind.

"There's no tongue. They've taken a souvenir," I blurted out absentmindedly, my gaze fixed past Locke, my thoughts diving deep into the abyss.

An icy wind swept through the area, extinguishing a nearby streetlamp. The sudden darkness sent shivers down my spine like an ominous presence lurking nearby.

"How do you know that?" Ms. Walker retorted in surprise, dropping to the rubber sheeting where the handbag rested. With a small silver torch and a swab stick, Ms Walker sifted through the bloodied cavern, her face etched with confusion while Dalton suppressed a chuckle.

"He's right. No tongue."

The rain continued to fall, hissing and whispering as it pounded the ground as if it held a dark secret. The nearby trees rustled with an unsettling ghostly moan, mourning the horrors that had unfolded beneath their branches.

"Gone. Completely gone?" Locke's voice rose with astonishment.

"Yes, it has been removed," confirmed Ms. Walker, still perplexed.

"Guv. Georgie has an uncanny attention to detail, and we were the first ones here," Dalton chimed in, his tone laced with mischief. We were among the few who knew the truth, a fact that gave us an edge, but for how long, nobody could say.

"Oh, I haven't forgotten. The man with nine lives."

"The man!"

"Yes, Georgie, the man. You seem to have nine lives."

"No. The man. In the crowd. It has to be a man: too big not to be, wearing a dark black or navy hoody. Six foot two, maybe three. Broad build. Second row deep, face shielded. The hood fixated in our direction."

I couldn't express what I wanted in front of Locke and Walker or if I even understood their importance, but I knew that something was off. While most were caught up in gossip and distraction, I was attuned to heartbeats. That one heartbeat was racing, consumed by nerves or adrenaline. Perhaps they were riding the high of being close to a murder scene. Were they the culprits? The mastermind behind it all?

Locke reached for his radio, discreetly concealing his actions from the crowd. Suddenly, a loud popping sound rang above us, causing us to duck in surprise reflexively. The panic of a gunshot quickly dissipated, replaced by a softer pop and the revving of a struggling car after a backfire. The hooded figure had vanished.

"Any available uniform, this is Acting D.I. Locke. I need the area thoroughly searched. We're looking for a tall man, possibly wearing a blue or black hoodie, around six foot two or three, who may be rapidly exiting the scene."

Locke regarded me as though I had lost my mind, but I hadn't. Not anymore. Could the murderer be so bold as to return?

"Holy shit. The base of the skull has a hole. While searching for the tongue, I shifted some blood to the back. It's dribbling onto the sheet from the head. It looks like the tongue has been removed from the back of her head," Wainright exclaimed, her stomach churning while Walker turned pale. If what she said was true, this murder had taken a horrifying turn—a 'collector' of body parts.