Murder On The Waterway: The Case Of The Kanaima Demon

Chapter Eleven

The roads stretched before us, lit by the cold glow of streetlights. The temperature had plummeted further, and I had taken refuge in my car just in time to escape the biting cold.

The journey back from the warehouse had been eerily quiet. I had ventured closer to the outskirts of the lake, away from the haunting sight of the dead animals. It wasn't mere imagination or a reach for connections; the evidence accumulated, giving us a slim chance to gain ground in a seemingly incomprehensible case.

A significant part of me had yearned to return home when the opportunity had arisen. The rapid succession of events, culminating in the grim discoveries of two bodies, was far from pleasant. Yet, the most surprising element of the night had been Michael's abrupt appearance, raising the unsettling question of whether I was being shadowed.

Even now, as I sat behind the wheel of my car, a feeling of impending danger lingered in the shadows. My claws seemed to dance in the moonlight as my grip on the steering wheel tightened and my foot pressed too heavily on the accelerator. I was rushing to get home, speeding through Bow Road, past the train station, and turned onto Mornington Grove.

This change was temporary, a move closer to work, having sold my flat. It carried too much baggage, both good and bad, forever tainted by the memories of Helen's murder and losing our baby. The realisation that I had been bugged and my conversations monitored only added to the haunting.

Now, I was in a three-bedroom house, not overly spacious but with a solid foundation. At the end of a terrace, it provided a semblance of a fresh start, away from the prying eyes of nosy neighbours. Pulling up outside, I was ready to collapse onto my bed and sleep for a week.

The persistent sensation of eyes piercing my skull refused to leave me. I kept glancing nervously over my shoulder at every little noise. Bright headlights suddenly approached from behind, setting my nerves on edge. This case had wound me up tightly, the ghosts of the victims still haunting my thoughts, and the fear that they might appear at my doorstep was ever-present.

I stepped out of the car into the familiar sounds of the city, with the distant wailing of sirens barely overcoming the din of traffic. The bitter wind I had felt earlier was now only a bearer of gasoline fumes. I was relieved that the traumatic day had ended.

However, it seemed even this home wasn't off limits. My heart jumped as I approached the gate leading to my front door; on the worn brown doormat was a neatly wrapped A4-sized box adorned with a bright red ribbon.

Every sound in the night's stillness set my nerves on edge. I watched a cat scurrying under a parked car near a letterbox on my left. Torn between alerting authorities and investigating the mysterious parcel, I was in a dilemma. No one should know where I lived except for Michael, and even Skip was unaware of my new address. There was no reason for me to receive any packages.

The incident with the severed ear that Michael had received earlier haunted my thoughts. Could this be a similar situation? In the distance, concealed in the shadows, I detected a faint orange glow, the cigarette ember. A thin wisp of smoke curled through the air, betraying the smoker, whose presence seemed too coincidental.

My sixth sense was rife, and my body responded with my claws extending and fangs threatening to emerge. My instincts drove me to investigate further, slinking closer to the source of my trepidation.

The smoker took a few more long drags, the cigarette ember glowing brighter. I approached furtively, staying low, concealed by the parked cars. I closed the distance to within three car lengths when a loud car engine suddenly roared to life. Its rumble echoed through the calm street.

A black Audi, its windows ominously tinted, accelerated away, leaving screeching tires and the pungent smell of burnt rubber. The absence of license plates hinted at a clandestine motive. The coincidence was too much to ignore; it had to be connected to the mysterious package.

As the sound of the engine faded into the distance, I returned to the parcel. It was lightweight, and it didn't possess the feel of something dangerous or metallic, such as the components of a bomb. There were no visible stamps or postage markings, and notably, there was no address label.

Despite my intense curiosity and the desire to open the box, I resisted the impulse. I couldn't afford to give the unknown watchers the satisfaction of seeing me succumb to anxiety. Instead, I waited until the following day, when I could have the parcel thoroughly examined at work, especially with ADI Locke overseeing the investigation. Caution and thoroughness were essential in navigating this complex and unsettling case.