Murder On The Waterway: The Case Of The Kanaima Demon

Chapter Seven

'Hotel Tango dispatch, DS Dalton from the Murder Task Force. We need assistance at the warehouse near the train tracks at the bottom of Mile End Park—a non-emergency related to the recent crime scenes. Please request ADI Locke, SOCO, and pathology. We'll provide updates as we proceed,' I radioed, the words heavy with the dread of a gruesome discovery.

'Received by Hotel Tango. Initiating contact with ADI Locke,' came the response from the other end, signalling the bureaucratic gears turning into motion.

The body lay inverted, feet pressed and secured to the wall beneath the window. Arms outstretched, palms upward, a scaffold board fixed under her back, with nails driven through her hands. This eerie display bore the recurring motif of an upside-down cross, a macabre symbol of sacrilege.

There was a disturbing sense of undress, reminiscent of Rachel and Tracey's cases. The body, bloated and now a pale shade of red, was a stark contrast to the life it once held. Approximately two weeks had passed; flies buzzed and circled the putrid air, emanating an odour akin to the darkest corners of hell. An eye was missing, leaving a cruel void where life once resided.

Her hands were slightly soiled, but there were no evident signs of a struggle. The larynx was crushed, bearing wide bruising, a brutal testament to the inflicted violence. The assault appeared to be from behind, rendering the victim unable to defend herself, hence the lack of defensive wounds.

The macabre tableau was both gruesome and surreal. The victim was at least five foot ten, hinting at the killer's stature, likely at least six foot three, to execute such a gruesome display.

A poignant question plagued my mind: was she missed? Dalton was preoccupied with planning, providing an opportune moment for me to inspect the ghastly scene without prying eyes.

Inspecting closely, I surveyed her entire form, seeking details correlating with the scent. My focus returned to her head, where a fly rested on the bloody, flayed edges of her eye socket. The skin was jagged and turned outward, evidence of a swift and brutal removal of the eye, inducing disgust and dread.

As I attempted to sketch the scene, I realised the hands displayed fully extended claws. My attention shifted from the eye to her flame-red hair, now covered in dust and a speck of blood. Peering through the strands, I was struck by a revolting sight that made me gag.

"Michael, come here and see this," I called out, prompting Michael to react with shock and horror.

"The perpetrator removed the top part of her skull and then adjusted her hair like some twisted surprise," I explained, my voice trembling.

"But why? The eye is gone, so I guess that's the remembrance," Michael suggested, his tone as unsettled as mine.

"I don't know, perhaps toying with her? Maybe practising," I suggested, the scene defying reason.

"It seems Ms Walker will have her hands full with this one," Michael observed, empathising with the forensic expert assigned to unravel this gruesome murder.

I couldn't agree more; too many unresolved questions hung like a persistent dark cloud, evoking an unending nightmare.

"I'll handle the investigation here. I'll radio in to secure the scene," Michael decided, taking charge in the absence of ADI Locke, whose whereabouts remained a mystery.

***

As Michael and I scoured the warehouse for clues, the towpath was cordoned off with four checkpoints around the site, cutting it off from the public like a forbidden realm. The heavy iron doors groaned as we pushed them open, revealing a vast, dimly lit space with rows of towering crates, casting long, menacing shadows that seemed to come alive in the low light.