The detective had not sat idly by. 

Fashioning a toothpick from a twig he'd found with his small pocket knife, Manny felt restless as the sun continued to set in the distance. The cold wasn't making him feel anymore sluggish, instead giving him a crisp feel for his surroundings he sought to take advantage of. Wiping his hands on his trousers, he made his way toward the other side of the house, hearing the door open. Manny squinted as Leon walked out, but said nothing. There was something else. 

There was something odd about the way Leon walked at one point. A slight misstep in his gait that piqued Manny's curiosity. Noticing it was gone once Leon passed a certain threshold, Manny went over to investigate and noticed a small impression in the grass. He crouched, reaching into his pocket to draw his knife out again, gingerly slipping the blade into the soil for a moment, feeling the dirt loosening a bit too easily. 

"Huh." 

He tried the ground a few feet back, and it looked to be much thicker. The smallest suspicion began creeping into his head, one a few of his colleagues would consider a bit too paranoid. But in this world, there was no such thing to Manny. Counting his steps, he moved from the side of the house to the front lawn and checked the soil with his blade again, before checking the other side of the house, and then the back. His theory seemed to hold up the way the grass felt. He even felt a solid mass below the back of the house, feeling the distinct texture of concrete within his fingers after he ripped off a bit of the grass. 

"Figures," he said, and made his way inside. His booted footsteps would be clearly audible to Ellie and Kennedy, as would the creak of the door as he (somewhat) slammed it shut. He walked into the living room, cleaning his knife of dirt as he did so. He didn't quite look at them, lost in thought and routine. "This house was built on a crossroads." Manny said professionally, making his way into the kitchen to see just what supplies they had on hand. His voice could still be heard from the other room, as could the sliding drawers and the jingle of containers. "Probably covered up completely a few years ago. Feds might have thought to keep this house under wraps in more ways than one." 

A few moments later, he entered the room with salt and some ornaments. "If only silverware was actual silver," he grumbled, plopping down on the couch. Next he spoke, his voice was louder, as if continuing his previous thoughts. "Which means more than likely, someone wanted to cover up the fact that a demon has been summoned here at some point." He dropped a few .45 shells onto the table, the projectile clanking and rolling about. "And one can still be summoned, with the right spells." 

He popped the top off of one with his knife, pouring out a bit of gunpowder and replacing it with salt. He would do the same to another five shells. "There's also a bit of sulphur on the drapes I saw earlier. All this next to a graveyard? Probably shouldn't stay here for much longer." He broke a small ornament on the ground, shattering it with his foot, the brass likeness of a Greek Neoclassical Olympian now reduced to rubble. He let out another stomp, breaking it further. He began to put the smaller pieces into the rest of his bullets, and with the small pile of gunpowder he'd accumulated, he'd pour the rest of that into the salt shaker.  

The telltale click of his gun cocking brought his gaze back to the women. "I did ward the place. Can't be looked at as long as we're on the premises via magical means. At least for a short while." He winked to Kennedy at that last statement, before addressing both of them. "So...we got a plan?"