Murder On The Waterway: The Case Of The Kanaima Demon

Chapter Sixteen

It was a little past 10 p.m. when I finally arrived home, seeking refuge after a day packed with unexpected excitement. Mr Kumar was now safely tucked away in a modest ground-floor hotel room, monitored closely by a marked police unit. The interview with him played on a loop in my mind, and despite the creeping exhaustion, I couldn't shake the feeling that there were still countless loose ends to tie up.

Before stepping onto my doorstep, I followed my usual routine of scanning the area for ominous vehicles, just like the black Audi and the damaged Navy Capri I had encountered. Thankfully, this time, no such unwelcome surprises awaited me.

Resting on my coffee table was the card Skip had given me on my first day. His cryptic advice - 'head down, gob shut, and you'll be okay' - felt redundant and necessary. "Good luck" seemed like a gross understatement, and I couldn't help but wish for a miracle to make some headway in our perpetually elusive case.

My new place felt cold and empty, like a space that still belonged to a stranger. The memories hadn't settled in yet, and the unfamiliarity gnawed at me, a constant reminder of the unsettled nature of my life lately. It was as if I had tumbled down a rabbit hole of the bizarre, with werewolves and other supernatural phenomena becoming an ever-present possibility.

Lost in contemplation of the day's events and the enigmatic puzzle ahead, I was abruptly interrupted by the persistent ringing of my phone. I answered with a hint of trepidation, half-expecting yet another distressing call about a new murder.

"Hello," I answered tentatively, trying to conceal my unease.

"Georgie?" came the voice on the other end.

"Michael, what's wrong? Another one?" I asked, the anxiety coursing through my veins refusing to wane.

"Haha, steady on. I know you're getting used to always being on edge, and given everything, you expect to be called in," Michael reassured me with a touch of humour, temporary relief from the constant weight on our shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm a little jittery, making no headway, and I feel utterly useless going home with so much unfinished business," I admitted, the vulnerability in my voice laid bare.

"That's why I called. I saw the look on your face when we left. The conversation with Kumar left so many loose ends, including him. I've got a bad feeling about it; call it intuition," Michael confessed, his concern evident in his tone.

"Yeah, something just doesn't add up. I can't quite believe the company angle. Shooting so wildly if they're that anonymous and cloak-and-dagger? It feels like there are too many moving parts," I mused, the gears of late-night contemplation creaking to life.

"Exactly. Why meet in the park with a random box? Anywhere would do. And the newspaper ad columns? It all feels too convoluted. How about tomorrow? We strip down the details to what we know, armed with what Kumar told us," Michael suggested, outlining a plan to cut through the layers of confusion.

"I think Kumar is holding something back. He knows a secret or two. Maybe a good night's rest will jog his memory," I pondered, hoping that sleep could provide some much-needed clarity.

"Perhaps. Speaking of rest, switch off your mind and get some sleep. We never know when Locke will wake us up," Michael advised, reminding me of the unpredictable nature of our work.

With that, I ended the call, the urgency of our situation and the myriad of unanswered questions weighing heavily on my mind. Casting my gaze around the dimly lit apartment, I wondered what the coming days would bring and if, by some miracle, we would finally make sense of this bewildering case. Pouring myself a glass of whiskey, I hoped that the soothing warmth of the alcohol would usher me into a peaceful slumber, granting me the strength needed to face the challenges that awaited.
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