Murder On The Waterway: The Case Of The Kanaima Demon

Chapter Thirty-One

The eerie atmosphere of the boatyard seemed to thicken with each passing moment. A loud "drip, drip, drip" echoed through the air as if the very soul of the place weaved a haunting symphony. It was unnerving how quickly we had become accustomed to the unsettling backdrop, where it almost felt nostalgic.

The moon hung low in the sky, an evil shade of crimson, casting an unsettling glow upon the boatyard. It was as though the heavens conspired to create an atmosphere of dread. Time seemed to crawl, each passing minute amplifying the fire coursing through my veins. The urge to shift into my more primal form gnawed at the edge of my consciousness, but I fought it back with all the strength I could muster.

My anger, usually simmering beneath the surface, flared to life with renewed intensity. It was directed at the murderous fiend who had led us on this relentless chase. But more distressing was that Ellena was still missing, her fate hanging by a thread.

Black iron fencing encircled the boatyard, serving as a sinister barrier. Only one security guard, heavy-set and seemingly half-asleep, guarded the entrance. With a wave of my warrant card, he reluctantly pressed a green button, allowing us passage. A simple boatyard permit granted access, with no regard for potential intruders slipping past the guard's sloth-like awareness.

To the left, a carpark stretched around a series of warehouses set back from the water. I raised a photograph to compare with our surroundings—a building with red bricks and a corrugated sheeting roof, several sections featuring grey shutters, and a large yellow roof adorned with the Billingsgate market sign. The surroundings matched the image, and there were containers and unattached lorry trailers, nearly twenty of them.

In the distance, the ghostly silhouettes of boats in various stages of construction or dismantling filled the landscape. The one closest to the warehousing resembled the photograph, confirming that we were on the right path.

As we ventured further into the boatyard, the chilly night air painted our breath with white clouds while the echoes of our footsteps resonated across the tarmac. The hairs on my neck bristled, not just from the chill in the air but from an unsettling feeling that we were walking into a trap.

The space before us was vast, too vast to scan efficiently. I relied on my heightened senses, straining to listen for heartbeats. I could hear hundreds, but most belonged to rodents and other nocturnal creatures. It was a cacophony of life in the darkness.

"I don't like this," Michael admitted, his voice laden with unease, as he exchanged one cloud of cigarette smoke for another.

"Nor do I," I confessed. "Ellena has been reported missing. Her car is flagged in case it falls into the wrong hands. I hope it's a misunderstanding, and she'll turn up safe and sound."

"Her car keys were inside, and I didn't check for any matching a car. I'm afraid we might face the worst-case scenario. I can only pray that Ellena is still alive."

Michael's suggestion to check the basin first seemed like a rational approach. If we could secure the boat, the tide of the investigation might swing in our favour. We could possess what our adversaries sought, using it as a bargaining chip without ever intending to relinquish it.

Wrought-iron railings waist-high lined the water's edge of the basin, with a smaller section to the right and the main expanse across the bridge. The pungent odour of the slimy water, combined with the black swirls, assailed my senses, evoking a sense of déjà vu. It was then that I recognised the echoes within my mind as the old faithful made its presence known.

I grabbed Michael's arm, bringing us to a sudden halt. My unease deepened, a growing sense of foreboding clawing at the edges of my consciousness. It was more than the stench; it was the anticipation of an impending catastrophe. The ominous red moon offered no solace, casting its evil glow upon us.