A Flood of Sorrow

A FLOOD OF SORROW BOOK 2 IN THE JOSEPH STONE THRILLER SERIES J R SINCLAIR Copyright 2023 © J R Sinclair All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Published worldwide by Voice from the Clouds Ltd. www.voicefromtheclouds.com CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Join the J.R. Sinclair VIP Club PRE-Order Summer of Embers Go Behind the Scenes In memory of my sister Ione, the woman who was instrumental in lighting the fires of my love of reading. CHAPTER ONE The rain hammered down onto the roof of Alex’s narrowboat, The Kraken, becoming more deafening by the second. Tracey tore her attention away from the laptop screen she’d just been looking at with her boyfriend. They’d been attempting to finish the last episode of the crime show they had been binge-watching for the last two nights. She cast a withering look towards the ceiling. ‘Oh, I give up! I can barely hear myself think over all that racket.’ Alex paused the episode right in the middle of the big reveal about who the murderer was. ‘I could sort out a Bluetooth speaker…’ He frowned, spotting something move past the cabin window. No, not something but everything sliding past the porthole at an increasing speed. That was a problem because right now The Kraken was meant to be safely moored to their regular spot on the embankment. He jumped to his feet and rushed to the window. The bushes and trees lining the towpath were now under at least a foot of churning water. Alex grabbed his waterproof cagoule jacket and shrugged it on over his shoulders. ‘What is it?’ Tracey asked as she surfaced from beneath the blanket that only a moment ago they’d been snuggled up under. ‘That bloody flood they’ve been warning us about just ripped us from our mooring,’ Alex called back as he headed to the door. As he walked outside the air caught in his throat. He took in the transformation of the Isis, the name the locals gave this section of the Thames that snaked its way through Oxford. Rain slammed down into the churning surface of the river like a hail of gunshots. The river was swollen and running fast, carrying a flotilla of broken branches and rubbish—and his home—right along with it. Alex sucked air through his teeth, trying to assess the situation without panicking as dark storm clouds scudded overhead, erasing all the colour out of the world and pressing down on the city beneath them. A few seconds later, Tracey appeared on deck wrapped in her yellow waterproof jacket. ‘Bloody hell, this has turned ugly, real quick.’ ‘I know, I know, and I only have my own pig-headedness to blame. I heard the warnings. But unlike our neighbours, who sensibly moved their boats over to the Oxford Canal, I honestly thought we’d be fine on the river. I even took the piss out of them last week, pointing out the fact that a boat was probably the safest place to be if it did flood.’ Tracey shrugged. ‘No biggie, just power up the engine, and we can find a new mooring to ride this thing out.’ He smiled at her. ‘Yeah, you’re right, there’s no need to panic. What would I do without you?’ She grinned at him. ‘Get your knickers in way too much of a twist.’ He laughed, leant over, and kissed the top of her head. ‘Isn’t that the truth.’ Alex reached down to the control panel and turned the key to the start position. Immediately the engine began to turn over, but three seconds became ten as the engine refused to catch. As their narrowboat gathered speed in the fast-flowing river, so did Alex’s heartbeat. ‘Come on,’ he muttered to his boat. ‘You did get the engine serviced like you said you were going to?’ Tracey asked. He grimaced. ‘It’s been on my to-do list, but I never had a chance to get round to it. You know how busy I’ve been at work.’ She shook her head at him, the whir of the starter beginning to slow as the battery drained. He returned the key to the off position, threw out a silent prayer to the river gods, and tried again. Three spins of the starter and then, with a glorious gurgling cough, the engine burbled into life with a puff of blue smoke. ‘Ta-da!’ Alex said, patting the top of the cabin. ‘I had every confidence in you,’ Tracey replied with a shrug. He winked at her. ‘Yeah, right.’ As the boat settled into a steady chugging, he threw it into reverse and gunned the throttle. With a roar from the diesel engine, The Kraken started to slow, but she was still being carried forward by the strengthening current. ‘Is it too late to try and turn her round?’ Tracey asked as the wind howled around the narrowboat, driving the rain into a slanting angle. ‘No dice, in this torrent. The moment I try that, the boat will probably pitch over. The best we can do is ride this thing out until the river slows,’ Alex replied. ‘Okay, but we’re so looking at buying a flat after this. So much for the romantic life on the water you sold to me when we first met. Not one mention of chemical toilets