Murder On The Waterway: The Case Of The Kanaima Demon

Chapter Nineteen

Beneath the towering iron railway bridge, the vast expanse of water stretched out, and tall graffiti-covered walls confined us to this eerie underworld. The first thing that drew my attention was a rope dangling over the rusty red metal railing adorned with sombre blue police lights casting a cold glow above us.

Michael, never one to miss an opportunity for a cigarette break, mused, "At least we know what's happened."

I was lost in the overpowering scent of iron and burning flesh, mingled with the distant aroma of smouldering wood, a harbinger of the impending winter. The pathway under this bridge was expansive and unthreatening, offering no chance of anyone being accidentally pushed into the water.

Michael chimed in, "We know what's happened. We just don't know how. I mean, look how high it is."

I considered his point. "That's not a road either; the London Fire Brigade will need to shut down the tracks to get up there."

As we gazed up, our eyes fixed on a rope that hung from the bridge, attached to a massive upside-down cross, suspended some fifteen feet above the inky waters. And on this macabre crucifix, a burnt and unrecognisable male figure hung, his attire resembling the last outfit Kumar was seen wearing.

"Whoever's behind this is hell-bent on making our lives miserable," I muttered, my thoughts turning to the possibility of finding witnesses among the onlookers.

Michael, still in disbelief, added, "Just when I was suspecting Mr Kumar's involvement, he ended up dead," taking a drag from his cigarette while the cold, winter-scented air swirled around us.

I couldn't shake the idea that someone was orchestrating these brutal scenes, driving us further into the darkness. I speculated, "Maybe this is all part of the plan. If the demon lore is real, it's likely possessing someone, and that someone's under the control of the real mastermind, eliminating anyone connected to the plan."

Michael, always the wise one, built upon my theory, "And they're doing this while keeping us running in circles with misdirection."

His words revealed a side of him hidden beneath the facade of a cocky detective – a sharp mind that was slowly unravelling the mysteries before us.

I probed further, "What about the women from Ladies' Night? Annabelle could've been close to one of them, unknowingly spilt the beans, and that's why the killer is erasing anyone with connections."

This led to even more questions than answers. As Michael and I tried to piece together the puzzle, the chilling realisation dawned that this might not be the end of the madness, but only the beginning.

Just as we were grappling with the gravity of our predicament, our boss, Locke, approached with a grim expression. His attention, like ours, was drawn to the gruesome sight hanging from the bridge.

With fading light and the bitter chill of the impending night setting in, we knew the victim's body had to be sheltered. But the lingering odour of the Kanaima toxin, acidic and nasal-burning, clung to us.

I cautiously moved closer to the edge, my gaze locked on the tragic figure hanging above, whose body had been mutilated. The wind teased the frayed remains of his shirt, revealing a hole in his chest where Kumar's heart should have been.

My momentary distraction was interrupted by an unsettling feeling. It was that familiar sensation of being watched, a presence lurking nearby. A flicker of anger mixed with intense scrutiny sent shivers down my spine.

Paranoia seized me, and I scanned the crowd, the press, and anyone observing us. I was convinced someone was here, their eyes trained on us. My blood ran cold when I heard a voice echoing in my head, a voice only I could hear.