Chan Murders Novels & Stories

A bone-deep chill ripped through me as a thought I couldn't control slipped out of my mouth. "You're saying… Mike killed the other four guys in the van to get revenge, and then… he killed himself?" Alex gave a slow nod. "That's one way to read it."

Not that this news was surprising. I changed back, waited until the desires of the predator had cleared my head, and then turned to Amun. “So, we began with a missing fiancé and now have four murders.” “Five,” Amun said. I thought about that number for a while. It hit me like a sledgehammer. “Mrs. McQueen.” Amun nodded. “And five is the number we know of. It’s not at all obvious what is going on here, a killer who strikes every 18 years, now that is a very strange quantity of time.”

Liam walked in silence all the way to Chloe's car and stood at the door averting his eyes. "Well?" She said after five minutes of silence and eye aversion. "Uh…The case is closed…Well, I still have a lot of paperwork to file, but…It was found to be homicidal murder with the deceased Veronica Moulton as the perpetrator, and her death was deemed a suicide." "Oh." She looked at him with no expression. She was relieved to be finished with all of this nonsense and had decided when she was working on the crossword puzzle to forget about Liam and work on piecing her shattered life back together.

Emily chose to let the two police investigators do their job by asking a few questions about Rayden's alibi from the previous night. This afternoon, Emily had a court hearing with Judge Malcom. The case of the serial murder of five women in Chicago, committed by Jared Detroit, was being tried in the Illinois state court. Murat accompanied him in the visitor's seat in the front row, directly behind the prosecutor's seat. Meanwhile, the defendant sat in the defendant's seat, accompanied by his lawyer.

And suddenly, they see a shortcut, a shorter route which would release them from the suffering they were subject to, and they go for it. ‘While executing the shortcut, some of them fumble,’ continued the inspector. ‘Why? Simple ... they fumble because they are amateurs! Some are so overwhelmed by their success, they end up doing crazy things. Husband murders wife but wants to kiss her one last time allowing the servant to spot him. Son murders father, and instead of running away, he starts looking for his father’s pen. Why? He wants to have a souvenir of the bad times. His sister walks in, and then he has no place to hide. These actions cannot be explained, Navpreet,’ said the inspector gloo

Blaine keeps on massaging his sore back cause by falling down earlier “The chief wanted me to check upon you. He said that you’ll probably stayed awake last night reviewing the documents” “Oh. But I didn’t got anything. I still didn’t find any clue regarding the Phantom Night” Phantom of the Night. Sihan City's most infamous murderer. He started murdering people six months ago, which is also when I started working as a detective in this city. There have already been ten murders since he began his killing spree. We never learn anything about his crimes because he don't have a killing pattern. His first target is a man in his twenties, the second is an elderly woman, the third is a high school

The crime scene photos were old and yellowed with age, but the wounds on the victims were identical to the ones in her case—gaping, jagged lacerations that spoke of unspeakable violence. She scanned the report, her pulse hammering in her ears. Lead investigator: Detective Michael Cross. Her father. The world tilted on its axis. "My dad worked this case?" Harris nodded, his expression grave. "Thirty years ago. Same pattern, same full moons, same damn claw marks. He never solved it. And then, one night… he vanished."

Zack explained but Harris was quite confused. "Human Flayer? What do you mean?" He asked. "14 years ago, there was a popular serial murder case called the Flayer Murder case. The culprit was called The Flayerman. The case was titled Flayer Murder case because all the victim's corpses were discovered without furs. Flayerman would flay his victims alive after torturing them and rendering them helpless and defenseless and then he'd use the flayed furs to make garments and cashmere which he'd sell to the families of the victim." Zack exclaimed.

His fingers shook as he swept a cold smile across the crowd. “The memory decoder is a new product. Data misalignment is normal. Maybe Finn altered the memories before he died to drag his wife down with him. After all, he’s a murderer who even dared to kill his wife's parents!” A team member burst in, face ashen, shouting, “Chief! Another murder just happened in the south district! The victim was carved up and had bones severed—the method is exactly the same!” Linda struggled to her feet. She looked at me slumped in the chair, long devoid of life, her whole body shaking.

For once, she didn’t push him away, and when they lay down, the distance between them didn’t come back. Next morning, the phone rang too early. Quinn’s eyes opened instantly, her instincts kicking in before her thoughts could catch up. She reached for her phone, already knowing it wouldn’t be anything good. “Hale.” Mark’s voice came through sharp. “There’s been another murder.” Her grip tightened slightly around the phone. “Location?” she asked. Mark didn’t hesitate. “Your hometown.” Quinn’s gaze shifted toward the window, the quiet street outside suddenly feeling different. “Who's the... victim?” she asked.