Murder On The Waterway: The Case Of The Kanaima Demon

Chapter Seventeen

We were diligently following leads from the list we had. However, the initial address we received turned out to be a dead end - a derelict location that had nothing to do with our investigation. Nevertheless, we found some clues in Ross Walter's diary, suggesting that the head we found at his house was an elaborate misdirection. This raised questions about his involvement in the case and whether he was still alive or collaborating with Kumar. The influence of the demon over them was another aspect to consider.

I inquired, "What's the chance either of them is here?"

Michael provided the details he had gathered. "Well, it may have been in the diary, but checks show it as Mildred Thistle, age 76. She bought the place a few years ago after her husband died."

It felt like we were navigating in the dark, making assumptions and trying to piece together a complex puzzle. The address was in a small estate near Limehouse Link, near the water, with the Thames River and the Regent's Canal nearby. The entrance to this gated community was off Narrow Street. Accessing the location could be challenging, and I certainly didn't want to get spiked attempting to jump over the gates. The memory of being shot twice last month and almost dying was still fresh in my mind, so I wasn't eager to experience the sensation of pain again.

We parked across the road, and fortunately, number 12 was the house closest to the street. The smell of the Thames wafted over from the left, where a small beach was marked on the map, perhaps an attractive feature for the elderly residents. Despite the picturesque surroundings, I couldn't shake the feeling that we might be on a wild goose chase.

The house looked familiar - red brick with a small garden similar to Kumar's or Annabelle's. An unmarked police car was stationed nearby to monitor the potential return to the house. It appeared to be a front garden, semi-detached, with two parking spaces, both currently empty. The gates leading into the courtyard were set back from the road, and the well-kept ornamental flowers added to the elderly atmosphere. Two junctions at either end of the street led to a dual carriageway, providing an easy escape route.

Michael expressed concern, saying, "I don't like this, Georgie; it doesn't feel right. I don't know if we're wasting time or things could improve."

I agreed, "I know what you mean; it feels strange. But strange enough to make it plausible."

As we prepared to approach the gate, I noticed we were being watched. An older man sat in a chair outside a small supermarket a few doors down, and his eyes were fixed on us. The aromatic smell of his cigar reached us, and I couldn't help but be grateful that Michael stuck to cigarettes.

I mentioned our observer, saying, "We've got a fan," trying not to make it too obvious that I had noticed.

Michael, always quick with a witty comeback, quipped, "Aww, have we? That's a pleasant change from being called 'pig scum'." His humour lightened the mood.

"I thought that was a term of endearment," I responded as we approached the gate. However, our sense of unease was only intensifying.

"What's up, Georgie?" Michael asked.

I pointed to number 14, the house next door, which seemed to mirror number 12. "This. Look at number 14; the garden is all neat with potted flowers. This one is almost mirrored. But they're all dead, and weeds are pushing through the cracks in the stone."

Stacks of newspapers and spoiled milk deliveries showed no one had been tending to the house for at least a week. The eerie silence and signs of neglect in this abandoned house raised more questions about what we were getting into.
***

The door we faced was a striking yellow, slightly over two-and-a-half inches thick, with a letterbox positioned at chest height for me and head height for Michael. There was a comical element in Michael's attempt to make himself appear taller, quite different from the first time we met. Back then, it was all about bravado and battle strategy. He'd tiptoe when interacting with someone on the street or step to the curb if necessary. It was as if his bullishness compensated for his lack of physical stature.