Murder On The Waterway: The Case Of The Kanaima Demon

Chapter Two

The first arm slipped free, and the beam of my torch flickered, struggling to comprehend the eerie tableau in front of me. It possessed a macabre artistry, a statement in death that defied simple explanation. As the light brushed her wrist, doubts crept in. Was it merely a smudge or dirt? I examined it again but to no avail. My thoughts turned to the mark—a distinct upside-down cross etched on the top ridge of her forearm, a chilling and sinister symbol that sent shivers down my spine. This wasn't a random crime; it was part of a twisted narrative.

"Things are taking a peculiar turn," I pondered, my voice heavy with bewilderment. "She bears a U.V. stamp on her arm. It might be a clue to her recent whereabouts."

Dalton furrowed his brow upon hearing this revelation. "What kind of stamp?"

"An upside-down cross."

"That's associated with devil-worship, antichrist nonsense, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure. But when we're back at the office, we should look into clubs and late-night establishments. It could be an entrance stamp of some sort," I suggested.

Dalton nodded, jotting down a note in his pocketbook. The unusual stamp, though unsettling, offered a welcomed distraction from the haunting images that plagued my dreams. The nightmares had become less frequent, and when I closed my eyes, I no longer feared the encroaching darkness or the recurring visions of Dalton's arm adorned with that sinister smiley face and serpent.

"Not my usual scene," Dalton remarked casually. "Are you joining the farewell gathering on Friday for the GUV's send-off?"

"It does feel a bit inappropriate," I hesitated. "But a free drink is hard to resist. Where's it happening? Any word on who's stepping into his shoes?"

Dalton smirked. "You won't believe it. It's Locke, the Acting Detective Inspector. Seems eager to join our team."

"Oh, the joys," I responded with a hint of irony. "There's something off about Locke. He did end up helping us, but his attitude grated on me. Reminded me a bit of you, to be honest."

"What's that? Suave?" Dalton chuckled. "You cheeky bugger. Well, you're right; we may not be alike, but I reckon he's different. Or maybe not. There's just something peculiar about him, an odd vibe."

Our banter provided a brief respite from the gruesome scene, but as the body descended closer to the ground, the sight of her mutilated face and the eerie paper in her mouth filled me with dread. This was more than just a murder; it was a grotesque statement.

With each inch the body descended, revealing more details, her battered face became more starkly defined—a testament to violence and suffering. The paper tucked inside her mouth was a small beige scroll, her missing tongue leaving an unsettling void. As I watched the blood seep from the wound, illuminated by the torchlight reflecting off the water's surface, it created a haunting dance of concentric rings, sending chills down my spine.

My heart raced, and my mouth grew dry as I stared at the reflections on the water. Her image seemed to move, a smile playing on her lips as she looked back at me. I swivelled my head in both directions, but no one was there. No ghosts. Not yet. That sinister upside-down cross left a profound sense that we were dealing with forces beyond our comprehension.

The rubber sheeting stretched across the uneven pavement, the walls covered in graffiti as a stark backdrop. Foul smells permeated the air, competing for dominance with each breath. The atmosphere crackled with malevolent energy.

A collection of discarded "special brew" cans exuded the stench of stale beer, blending with the scent of human and animal urine. The line between them blurred in this grotesque setting where death merged with the offensive bouquet. This place resembled a nightmare painting, offering a glimpse into the abyss.