Murder On The Waterway: The Case Of The Kanaima Demon

Chapter Twenty Five

"Shoe wear?"

"What?"

"Did you see what shoe wear?" Said Walker, sifting through a pile of papers.

"Erm, one had black all-purpose, maybe military. The other, white converse,"

"Size?"

"God knows. I didn't get the chance to measure. At a guess, ten or eleven,"

"Could be a match,"

I slumped in my chair, replaying the foot chase in my head. The green eyes then disappeared in black smoke. Michael didn't move for a few minutes when we returned to the car. Instead, he rested against the steering wheel, looking out the window in disbelief.

I felt that I'd told him one strange thing too many. The straw that broke the camel's back. Honestly, it's getting a bit much for me, too. At least for so many incidents in a short space of time. I'm a fucking werewolf, and so is the skipper. We're looking for a Kanaima demon. I saw ghosts, and I chased what could be demons.

All wrapped in a neat bundle of murders and stolen Egyptian relics. Not bad for the streets of London, where I was used to the recurring domestic. I could feel myself slipping as the hours ticked by. On edge and paranoid, my head is on the swivel, thinking everybody knows what I am and what I will become. I kept getting flashing images of those around me for the last twenty minutes. They're different, covered in blood.

Miss Walker stood next to me; I wanted to strip her naked while seeing her dripping blood. The throat is ripped out. The struggle was an understatement. I'm two things trying to handle a whirlwind of feelings. A look at my coffee, and I fancy topping it up with the governor's whiskey. Michael was busy reviewing the crime scene photos on the whiteboard and suddenly forgot what I'd been asked.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"Shoe wear for the two that ran. You mentioned they may have been to Miss Sexton's house and could smell sulphur,"

"Ah, yes. Sulphur and something else. But one had black all-purpose, maybe military. The other white Converse. Size ten or eleven." I said, remembering. "Why's that?"

"Well, you know how much you guys think we're supremely talented and love our work. Well, at the scenes, we went extra," she said with an alluringly dangerous smile that spiked my pulse.

"In what way?"

"We rigged an infrared lens on our crime scene camera to photograph the spaces where that dust was found." I liked where she was going, the way I could see differently when my eyes glowed.

"Okay, keep going,"

"What are you two lovebirds whispering about?" Michael butts in, bringing a tray of coffee.

"Fuck off, old man. You're only jealous because you can hardly get it up, and when you do. You're so old, you cum 'dust,'" Walker fired off, putting Michael in his place, laughing while casually brushing her foot up the side of my leg. Winking.

"For Christ's sake. Your mother said she wouldn't tell anyone. It happened just once," Michael quipped back, making us all laugh. They broke my 'funk' too. I was finally snapping back from the edge of despair. In time for Miss Wainright to saunter into the office, catching Michael's attention. I watched them exchange sly smiles.

I wasn't the only one needing a life reboot, and Michael could be on the verge of taking up the advice he'd given me. His soon-to-be ex-wife is hiding out. God knows where under God knows who.

"Right, when you're finished licking your wounds, Michael, Miss Walker was wowing me with hers and Miss Wainwrights' work,"

"Bloody hell, it's Elena, and that's Natasha. Jesus...you men,"