Crime Fiction Novels & Stories

Letting out a growl she runs to the area, the bricked walls not so high but in the height where a human cannot climb, she walks in, the interior is the walls of separate rooms in different heights, where some are short one wall and some are two, typically like a maze. Cautiously she tramples across the bare land, her eyes catching every corner. Her movements stop, she steps back leaning on to the large wall...The sound of footsteps get closer... She jumps forward when a familiar man comes to her view, the man who murdered Philips's son, she read through the files in Mintz’s office to find out whether Mintz had known about it and as expected he did know, he knows everything behind the AIM’s c

"I'm here to help, sir. I intend to prove myself." Garrison smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Good. Because you're not here to sit around and twiddle your thumbs. You're here because we've got a killer who likes to dress women up as brides and leave them dead with a rose on their chest. We're up to six victims now. All young women, all found in various picturesque spots around town. No fingerprints, no DNA, no witnesses. Just bodies in wedding dresses and roses." Jane's stomach twisted. She had read about the Bride Killer in the papers, but hearing it described in such stark detail made it feel more real. More horrifying.

I’d eat it alive. It’s always this way with the guys who hang out in public areas. A twist under their skin, dark adrenalin rushing their veins. Filthy as ditch water, murky as their eyes. They’re looking for something, but when they get it they don’t know what they wanted to do with it, or why. Sometimes it’s fake—that consternation, that fear—but sometimes it’s not. There’s the City Library up in the capital. Coded knocks on bathroom stalls. Those scenic spots along the highways where people like to stop. Parks.

“Ok I’m going to give you one chance to lure me into the world you have created. My wife talked highly of it.” “What do you mean 'lure you' sir?” “You have the synopsis?” “Yes sir,” Ludo opened her laptop bag and got a piece of paper and wanted to hand it to Mr. Visashi. “No. Keep it for now.” Ludo was surprised. “Where is the manuscript?” “Its in the bag sir.” “Ok, tell me about your story. What genre is it?” “Crime fiction.” Mr. Visashi’s face brightened. It had been a while ever since a writer had come who was in the genre of crime fiction.

He moves so fast I cannot even remember the faces of people I speak to. “Please,” I ask him “Slow down.” My feet ache and my muscles are sore. I have long since dropped the flowers on some random table, hoping silently they would burn and take the building and everyone in it. My fingers grasp onto a glass and I gulp down water quickly, my throat parched from flimsy small talk. The wedding will be in the papers. I can see the headline now- Two Crime Families Put Aside Differences; I knew the papers would sell quickly. Crime sold. I would know. My name had been in the papers since the day I was born thanks to my father. New York would tremble underneath me if I wanted it to. I dripped in cashm

I left Aaron for the meantime on the part where the fountain pens are to go to the novel section. Since I saw Sophie Lark's Brutal Prince on TikTok's recommendation, people who have read this say that it has a strong female lead. I enjoy books of that genre, therefore I may be interested in reading it. I looked at the shelves. I also picked up a book and read the synopsis on the back when Aaron came to me here. "You like reading books?" he asked. I turned my eyes on him, "Uh, sometimes. If I'm interested in the plot," I answered.

He obviously loved thrillers as most of the books were made up with novels by Ian Fleming, Desmond Bagley, Hammond Innes, Ian Rankin, Michael Robotham and Alistair MacLean. My mobile sounded and I moved out on to the landing. Caller ID: Kimberley. “Hello, darling,” I said into the phone. “I need a drink,” she explained. “Bad morning?” “Ever since that break-in you investigated, Bio-Preparations insist on having an audit every month,” she said breathlessly. “Why have they got to have it on a bloody Saturday?” “You poor thing,” I said soothingly, feeling partially responsible. “So how about the Waggoner’s Rest?” She persisted. “I’ve just arrived back at the quay.”

The crime scene was processed with the usual efficiency, but Casie felt the weight of the note in her pocket like a stone. As she and Rick drove to meet the Captain, she stared out the window, mind racing through possibilities. The symbols, the wounds, that ancient script—all pointed to something far beyond their department's usual homicides. "You're quiet," Rick observed, navigating through morning traffic. "More quiet than usual, I mean." "Just processing," she replied, the half-truth coming naturally after years of hiding her true nature. "These kills are escalating. The first two were found in abandoned buildings, but this one..."

The crime architect hadn’t just built the crime, he had demolished the evidence. Clinton suggested that they go solo on the case- no lawyers, no official channels, and no paper trail that could alert the wrong people. According to him, the truth they were looking for wouldn’t be found in court records or legal archives. It would be buried in plain sight, scattered across old newspaper pages and forgotten television reports from that period. If there were inconsistencies, that was where they would surface.

Shrewsbury The Third Twin: A Dark Psychological Thriller by Darren Speegle Aletheia: A Supernatural Thriller by J.S. Breukelaar Where the Dead Go to Die by Mark Allan Gunnells and Aaron Dries Sarah Killian: Serial Killer (For Hire!) by Mark Sheldon The Final Cut by Jasper Bark Blackwater Val by William Gorman Pretty Little Dead Girls: A Novel of Murder and Whimsy by Mercedes M. Yardley Nameless: The Darkness Comes by Mercedes M. Yardley