Murder on the Waterway: The Detective Reynolds series, #2

By Ryan Holden

Step into the shadow-laden streets of London with Detective George Reynolds in this heart-pounding supernatural thriller. "A Haunting Canal Way" presents a chilling tale of murder, revenge, and a diabolical game of cat-and-mouse against a backdrop of dark forces.

 

As Detective Reynolds arrives at a gruesomely staged murder scene, he's hit by the grim premonition of the horrors to come. The killer's twisted signature? The victim's tongue was replaced with a taunting scroll, the first in a series of menacing messages. Reynolds quickly realises this is no ordinary murderer; they are hunting a demon controlled by a mastermind puppeteer who leaves the entire police force reeling with every unpredictable move.

 

Amidst this harrowing investigation, an impending blood moon looms, threatening to unleash the next phase of Reynolds' evolution as a werewolf. Balancing his supernatural transformation with the intricacies of the case, he, alongside his partner DS Michael Dalton, delves deep into a labyrinth of danger and deceit.

 

The stakes skyrocket when pathologist Ellena Walker, a far-from-ordinary victim, is kidnapped. Her resilience and ingenuity leave crucial clues, leading Reynolds to a high-stakes showdown. With the killer's identity and the demonic force unveiled, Reynolds faces a battle that demands every ounce of his strength and cunning.

 

"A Haunting Canal Way" is not just a pursuit to stop a murderer; it's a race against time, supernatural forces, and the transformative effects of the blood moon on Reynolds himself. Who will emerge victorious in this deadly confrontation? Will the blood moon spell doom or deliverance for Detective Reynolds?

 

Join Detective Reynolds as he navigates this treacherous journey, where every twist brings him closer to a sinister truth. Are you brave enough to follow him into the heart of darkness and beyond?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ryan Holden
• Release date: Nov 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223455929

Ryan Holden

My journey as a writer began years ago, kindled by an early fascination with English literature and language, a passion ignited during my GCSE studies. It was the timeless narrative of 'Of Mice and Men' that first captured my imagination, leading me down a path forever intertwined with storytelling. As life unfolded, I explored various passions and embraced the responsibilities of adulthood. I navigated through life's complexities, finding joy and fulfilment in raising two wonderful sons. Now, as they step into their journeys, I've been graced with the opportunity to revisit my first love: writing. My ambition is to craft immersive worlds that readers can lose themselves in, worlds where the lines between the supernatural, crime thrillers, and horror blur into an irresistible tapestry of intrigue and character-driven narratives. "Secrets in the Bones," my fourth novel, marks a significant milestone in my writing career. It represents not just another story but a venture outside my comfort zone, being the first work I've presented to agents and publishers. With a treasure trove of stories waiting to be told, my journey as an author is far from over. I am currently immersed in writing "The Cursed Knights - the Book of the Dead," a foray deeper into the horror genre. Each new story is an adventure, an opportunity to explore the uncharted realms of imagination, and a chance to connect with readers who share my love for the mysterious and the macabre.

Book preview

Murder on the Waterway

The Detective Reynolds series, Volume 2

Ryan Holden

Published by Ryan Holden, 2023.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

MURDER ON THE WATERWAY

First edition. November 19, 2023.

Copyright © 2023 Ryan Holden.

ISBN: 979-8223455929

Written by Ryan Holden.

Also by Ryan Holden

The Detective Reynolds series

Burnt Blood

Murder on the Waterway

Black Widow

Secrets in the Bones

Knights of the Living Dead

The Teddy Mayfield Horrors

66 Carpenter Street (Coming Soon)

Watch for more at Ryan Holden’s site.

MURDER ON THE WATERWAY

THE CASE OF THE KANAIMA DEMON

Ryan Holden

Copyright © 2024] by Ryan Holden

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the publisher’s prior written permission, except as permitted by U.S. or U.K. copyright law. For permission requests, contact www.RyanHoldenBooks.co.uk.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Edition Number: One/2024

CONTENTS

MURDER ON THE WATERWAY

CONTENTS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

About the Author

Acknowledgements

1

FIRST MURDER

The sky threatened rain, heavy and brooding. A subtle hint of moisture lingered, foreshadowing an imminent downpour. Grateful this crime scene was sheltered, I walked the narrow path along the canal's edge, the pungent odour of decay masked beneath the murky surface. A solitary boat drifted distantly, its colour obscured by the night. I was already picking up on the scent of blood wafting through the air.

Scanning the shadows through chipped black railings, looking for anything obvious, I was desperate for a clue. Something to explain the brutality described by the control room.  The corpse of a young woman had been found roped and nailed to the underside of a canal bridge by a vagrant down on ‘Gunmakers Lane’ near Victoria Park. Unfortunately for me, not far enough away from our last nightmare and already had my stomach churning. I mean, ten feet above the bloody water, of all places. Stuff like that shouldn’t even be remotely possible. Then again, who am I to talk? I'd given up guessing the rules of this 'sadistic game.' Especially with the blood moon on its way.

Hanging back under the trees, I peeked across the water at warehouses, feeling watched. The crescent moon cast its shimmering glow over the inky waters, guiding my eyes to a bank-side mooring shrouded in shades of black and white. A thick, grimy brown rope wrapped around the base, its frayed end showing signs of hasty cutting, making me question coincidences.

Kneeling, I shuffled closer to the rope, my senses going nuts at the faint trace of blood. Its coarse strands intertwined with slimy moss, rough enough to sink into flesh if grasped tight. Reminding me of another less thick and weathered rope—the one I'd latched onto to save Andy. The sample was too small, and the weather had already diluted too much, yet it had me thinking.

With one uneasy glance at the quivering waters, I returned to the pavement, eyes scanning the Victoria Green Belt before staring into the shadows. A rustling of leaves drew my attention from the bridge, and the sudden snap of twigs made me jump. It was only a fox, its low, yellow-glowing eyes briefly locking onto mine before it darted away.

Finally, I arrived at the first cordon, greeted by a disinterested officer in a Hi-Viz vest guarding the entrance. Another barrier was just ahead at the foot of the steps, where another uniform fought back a bustling crowd of curious onlookers. Flashing my warrant card, I slipped beneath the tape. One of the crowd exclaimed, Oooh, I can see her insides, while another added, Her hands and feet are nailed like the fucking Christ.

A semi-shadow cast by a streetlamp near the bridge added to the eerie atmosphere. Leaning over near the edge, I spotted a familiar face. Any ETA on LFB? And where's the bloody camera? Detective Sergeant Michael Dalton barked in his unmistakable cockney accent.

Seeking the old git’s attention, I hollered, So, you started without me? He turned quickly, momentarily befogged, gradually appearing through clouds of warm breath, showcasing his old, charming self. His weathered face was clear, with a newfound carefree bounce in his step despite the lingering memory of being shot in his shoulder.

Took your time, didn't you? Dalton fired back with bravado. Yeah, figured I'd take a different route, hoping this mess wasn't real. A dead body under a bridge is hardly normal; then again, nor's the fucker I’m working with. Oh, wait, that’s you, I laughed. Dalton nodded with a smirk tinged with disgust, returning his attention to the bridge.

Well, it's the first since everything went to hell. And it ain't pretty, he grimaced, gazing toward the ceiling.

So, you have a fix on the time of death yet? I asked, standing alongside him, peering under to catch a closer glimpse, albeit reluctantly.

Three, maybe four. Think it needs your expert eyes. You know... check for anything unusual, Dalton whispered, his wide eyes scanning the area warily to ensure our conversation remained private. After a quick look over his shoulder to check the coast was clear, I activated my 'werewolf' eyes and got to work.

Well, coffin dodger, best you keep the others at bay, I retorted flippantly, inching as close to the edge as I dared. My feet stirred loose gravel, causing them to cascade into the water, making me nervous. The occasional drip of blood punctuated the rippling sound of the flowing stream on the other side of the bridge. The mooring rope strapped around the corpse, soaked and twisted, appeared like the piece I found down the way.

What do you see? Dalton wheezed, his voice laced with curiosity and a tinge of concern.

More blood, but something seems off, I replied, trembling slightly. Dalton handed me a torch; his expression was both curious and guarded. I hoped that the additional light would reveal only excess blood. Still, an uneasy feeling settled in my gut, suggesting more to discover. The small yellow bulb highlighted the victim's bruised face, uncovering the purple patches that marred her once-fair skin. Apart from the pooling blood that had me drooling, I noticed another anomaly. Her bloody tongue was missing, replaced by something else; a swirl of bile surged into my throat.

Dalton, her fucking tongue is gone, and there's a... well, from here, it appears to be a note, I said, fighting back the puke.

What the hell? This one is messed up enough as it is. The idea of taking trophies, that’s fucking awful, Dalton growled gruffly, echoing my thoughts. The note in the victim's mouth suggested an element of this case that could torment us in the darkest and most horrifying ways imaginable.

THREE FIGURES DRESSED in black wetsuits gathered on a boat beneath the bridge. The engine rumbled a steady hum as the skilled operator created a frothy wake while the other two eagerly extended a large rubber sheet across the water, ready to receive their grim cargo. The low arch of the bridge cast a sinister shadow, offering a brief, gruesome journey for the deceased woman's body. Two LFB shimmied from Gunmaker Lane, carefully abseiling down on either side of the bridge. Their movements beneath the archway led them closer to the corpse as Rigor Mortis reluctantly released its grip, producing a dissonant and haunting symphony as they removed the cruelly embedded nails from her limbs.

While watching this gruesome operation, I glanced at Dalton, who stood nearby, arms folded, a cigarette tapping impatiently between his fingers. Wisps of smoke billowed from his mouth, adding to the already damp night air. His anxious demeanour permeated the surroundings.

I thought you were supposed to cut back, I quipped, trying to lighten things up. Dalton chuckled.

I was supposed to, but then I realized what kind of shit magnet I'd be working with. We both laughed, getting a brief respite amidst the chaos of a harrowing new case. Dalton's words held truth, for it seemed trouble had a knack for finding me.

So, any word from our elusive friend yet? I asked, referring to our missing colleague. Not a word. I'm not surprised. Skip has been off the grid, dealing with betrayal since the emotional ordeal hit him the hardest. He needed time to heal physically and emotionally, Dalton explained with a trace of bitterness.

He took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the night, filling the air with its acrid scent. I winced. What's the status on the home front? curiosity got the better of me.

Last I heard, she had to step away for a while. Any chance of reconciliation? Dalton sighed resignedly, releasing another plume of smoke. Nah, mate, that ship has sailed. Out of sight is best left out of mind. Besides, she's probably knee-deep in that rubbish way of life. I think I'll get a dog instead. At least they're bloody loyal, he mused, managing a reluctant smile. a happy dog with a grumpy old dog, I teased, mocking his well-earned wrinkles. in fact, one of those saggy-looking bulldogs would suit you, actually. Poking fun at the wrinkles. Before pulling myself back to the task at hand. My eyes stayed fixed on the poor woman; who could do such a thing? Murder was bad enough; this was truly sadistic.

2

HIDDEN SECRETS

The first arm dropped free; my torch flicked back and forth—with me wondering how one person could do something so unconventional. Make no mistake; this was a statement piece. The beam grazed her wrist. At first thought, it could’ve been dirt. Shining it again, but nothing. Double-checking, no eyes on me other than Dalton.

Everyone was too busy either with the body or trying not to look. Focusing, I took a deep breath and let the wolf side take over. Sure enough, as I gazed at her skin, it stood out like a fluorescent beacon. An upside-down cross ran along the top ridge of her forearm.

Things are getting weirder. She has a kind of ‘U.V.’ stamp on her arm. It might be a clue where she was last, I said, puzzled by what I saw.

What of?

An upside-down cross.

Isn’t that some kind of devil worship, antichrist bullshit?

Fuck knows. But when we get back to the office, it might be worth looking up clubs and other late-hours places. Maybe an entrance stamp or something,

Dalton nodded, making a note in his pocketbook. The stamp was different, but it was a nice change of pace from the images in my mind when I slept. The nightmares are few and far between now. When I close my eyes, I'm not worried as much about letting the darkness in or seeing what’s on Dalton’s arm, that smiley face, and the serpent drifting on repeat.

Don’t sound like anywhere I’d be seen dead in. Speaking of which, are you up for the leaving do on Friday? The guvnor’s send-off,

Poor taste... But yeah, can’t turn down a free drink. Whereabouts? He wasn’t with us for long. Any ideas about who’s taking his place?

Oh yes. You won’t believe it. It’s that prick ‘Locke.’ Acting Detective inspector. Apparently, he was quite keen to work with us,

Oh, the joys. There’s something about Mr Locke I’m not sure about. He helped us in the end, but his attitude was grating. Reminded me of you, to be honest,

What’s that? Suave? You cheeky twat. You're right, though. I might not be like you and Andy, but I understand he may be different. Or not. It’s a strange vibe, said Dalton, chuckling again. It’s nice to see, considering the crap we deal with.

Sounds like fun times ahead,

The body was lowering, rigid; the nearer it came, the clearer the view of her mouth was. The paper was a small beige scroll. Blood flowed, no tongue; it had been taken. The torch followed the flow until it met the water. A green, black sludgy surface, the light reflected against the particles until the blood hit. Ripples of rings echoed across the waters. I found it hypnotic as I stared into a lucid daydream.

My heart jumped with a sudden dryness through my mouth. Seeing the lady’s reflection moving and smiling back at me. My head spins over each shoulder; nothing is there. No ghosts. Not yet.

They had spread rubber sheeting across the uneven pavement, and rough tufts of grassy weeds enveloped the graffiti-riddled wall. Conflicting rancid smells were competing for lung space every time I breathed in.

A scattering of gold’ special brew.’ cans let out the stink of stale beer dregs. Piss, human and animal, in reality, no difference, with the dead body stinking of death. That and more than the body’s relaxing bowels.

Poor girl, she didn’t deserve that, Dalton uttered lowly while makeshift lights were erected.

Looks an attractive one, too. At least she did. One of the LFB wetsuits shared their thoughts from over my shoulder. A little poorly timed, but they were right.

Dalton and I, gloves at the ready, moved in for a closer inspection. While Dalton was busy making notes. Sketching an outline of the poor woman’s body so he could record visible signs of trauma to give us a reference point in the future. The ‘U.V.’ symbol and the scroll in her mouth were my distraction. Even with the biting cold, I’m adamant about the ‘three to four hours.

Hey, can you take some photos now? We can’t wait too long for SOCO. Make sure you get the paper in the mouth. Clothing and all injuries,

I hollered at the officer holding a camera, busy gawping at the remaining holes and smears of blood on the bridge roof. SOCO’s work will be more thorough, but we needed to get a move on and see what the paper was.

In fact, capture that too. Please. We need to tell this poor girl’s story, pointing to her mouth, figuring we may as well, making it easier to explain. Otherwise, it might not seem that believable. It’s not every day we see a body like this. After what we’ve been through, that would take some doing.

Tweezers? flicking Dalton’s arm, interrupting his trance. His eyes bulged wide, giving the impression nothing good was going through his mind. My curiosity was on what’s worth trading for a tongue.

What do you think I am? A walking utility belt? Anyway, SOCO will be here soon; don’t be messing with the scene,

Go on then; tell me you haven’t, goading with a smirk, knowing he carries all sorts—no less than a million evidence bags.

Yeah, yeah, wise guy. Remember who’s in charge here? You should carry this stuff if you know what’s good,

Why do that when you have them? Wouldn’t that be counter-productive? You carry the supplies, and I’m more than likely to be the one to do any running,

Making Dalton chuckle again. And a nod of agreement before fishing a pair of silver tweezers from inside his coat pocket.

Don’t get caught. Anyway, you bring something else to the equation. How else would we know about the ‘cross’?

Dalton was right. Our partnership could work—something that wouldn’t have been imaginable a little while back.

The body was on the turn; my sense of smell was going haywire. I wondered what condition the body would be in if we fished it out of the water. Like ‘Lewis’ last month, only he was wrapped in bin liners. The gases breaking free were bad enough; I tried my best not to fall on top. Reaching over to drag the paper free. At first, it wasn’t budging; only blood slipped out. Finally, it came free with a little gurgle that made me jump.

You best not be messing with our body. a woman’s voice echoed around the cave-like walls, coming from the left of us.

Given half a chance,

Dalton fired back with a quick quip. Two women were approaching. Even in the dark, one had blonde hair tied back. Milky clear complexion with black, thin-framed glasses resting on a ‘button-nose’. Smart suit trousers and a warm blue Parker coat. Judging by her case, she’s the pathologist, arriving as my hand squirrelled the scroll away. The other, SOCO, black overcoat, grey suit trousers, and brown hair tied up in a bun. Carrying a holdall and a camera.

Now, now, old man. I’m not into teaching old dogs new tricks,

What about wolves? Ah, Georgie, I forgot to mention. Under this initiative, we have a dedicated pathology officer and SOCO,

Dalton was too on the nose with his little joke, putting me on the back foot. The SOCO lady seemed to take it in good humour, clopping under the bridge and making me notice their boots. Police issue to mix with suit trousers, smart yet functional.

For how long?

Feeling drawn to her presence.

As long as the funds are there and we’re getting results,

Speaking of which, if you two don’t mind, we need to examine our friend here so you can get ‘those results.’

Georgie, this is Ms Walker and Ms Wainright. And this miserable-looking sod is Detective George Reynolds. Bit of a shit magnet. He grows on you like a rash,

Charmed, I’m sure. Besides, I have three brothers, so I’m used to troublesome men. I’m sure, Mr Dalton, with all your years on this earth, you’ve had your share of rashes, Ms Walker quipped, confident, with a sassy edge, while Ms Wainright seemed quiet and timid.

Give it a month; you might regret that. Excuse the old git. He’s not had his meds today, which makes him forget his manners. Ms Wainright, can you swab the inside of two fingers of her right hand? There’s a brown residue that looks odd,

I caught sight of it at the last minute. Reminding me of chalk dust smudging with the palm.

Oh. Good eye. Yeah, sure thing. Mr Dalton reminds me of my grandad if he doesn’t get his afternoon scotch,

Ms Wainright laughed, breezing through. Dalton and I parted like waves. Grazing the scent of her sweet perfume and the Palmolive soaped skin. Tweezers and scroll in hand. First impression. Ms Walker was highly intelligent and attractive. While Ms Wainright seemed more elusive, no less attractive, in a librarian way. Having these ‘on-call’ could be handy.

Dalton, has anyone scouted the surroundings for CCTV? The park is closed at 3 pm this time of year. In what ways could they have come and gone? I looked toward the nearest entrance, trying to picture the other points apart from how I came.

Yeah, uniforms are canvassing as we speak. There’s not much else to be done here without witnesses. We already have a statement from the finder, which is a little incoherent, and the signature was more like a child’s scribble, but that’s all we’ll get from someone who stays drunk. How about we get some grub and compare notes? Nice little Indian down the road, ‘Bhouraj’s Palace.’ It’s called. I passed it on the way here and have been drooling ever since,

Dalton’s eyes darted to the scroll as he spoke: A ‘Chicken Jalfrezi’ whetted my appetite. Somewhere nice and out of the way to see what this is.

‘We got something. We got something,’

A couple of excitedly raised voices bounced outside the dark pathway to the right, on the other side of the bridge. Two uniforms came sprinting through the darkness towards us in the background of a street lamp bouncing in the wind. Had to be at least thirty feet behind them. One held out a black, medium-sized handbag—A gold-looking buckle and safety catch that shone as they thrust it under our temporary lights.

Dalton took custody, hoisting it around and checking the weight. It suited him; his gestures made me laugh. There’s a jingle of keys. It had to be in her bag. Under the light, the black was glossy leather or fake. It’s clean, but with enough moisture around the fingers, it could capture a print, assuming no gloves were worn.

If the scene was anything to go by, the killer had the preparation of somebody who may have worn gloves. Even if the trace of blood on the earlier rope cast doubts over that assumption. My attention turned to the body, the ceiling, and the bag.

Reviews for Murder on the Waterway

[ricky moyles · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I love the next step straight on from the last; feels like an exciting way to showcase the journey of the protagonist as he struggles emotionally while getting the unexpected chance to love again. Seriously recommend everyone give this series a chance. The author might be new, but their books feel refreshing, and I can easily see their style progress with each one. Awesome works.