Novel & Cerita Crime Fiction

Two minutes later, he was dead. Two shooters. No security footage. No witnesses. No suspects. And even now, a prosecutor with decades of enemies, his case remained unsolved. The NYPD called it a mafia hit, but no family ever took credit. No names were ever whispered. She poured herself a double shot of whiskey that night, let it burn down her throat like liquid armor, and told herself she didn’t care. It wasn’t the first lie she’d told herself. And it wouldn’t be the last. —

A framed picture of his family sat in the corner, slightly bent. James sat down with a sigh, leaning back for a moment before focusing on the task at hand. He needed to connect the thieves they had arrested to two major unsolved crimes: the Abibba house robbery and the infamous wedding heist. His mind began to piece together the clues, knowing today’s interrogations would be the key to everything that had been bothering him.

"No! That can't be true. Mike wasn't faking it. He really didn't feel well. He was wrapped in a blanket, just resting. You saw the photo yourselves! His face was pale—he didn't look right!" Alex glanced at the photo again. The coroner shook his head. His voice left no room for doubt. "The body doesn't lie. He wasn't sick. He was poisoned with cyanide. Someone killed him." Alex's gaze snapped back to me. "What if Mike was just acting weak that whole time?" A chill shot up my spine so fast that my teeth clenched. Mike was pretending to be sick? Why would he do that? My throat tightened. "So… are you saying Mike was the actual killer? But then, why would he spare me?"

“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.

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.

We always had to be available whenever it was required of us. “Sorry, we lost track of time,” Zayn apologized quickly, running his hands through his hair stressfully. Boss shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to waste any more time. “It better not happen again,” he muttered briefly, before cutting to the chase. “Anyway, there's been some mass murders in Manhattan lately. I'll need you two to investigate these, and do what you can to find out who was behind them.” “Fuck,” Zayn heaved. “Is there a pattern between them?”

Innocent victims put through suffering at the hands of the perpetuators who were currently free men and a menace to the city because of the numerous unsolved cases that were now piled up. That was why she felt so passionately about her job which was making sure those sick bastards were eventually locked up behind bars and their victims set free or at least their families got some closure in the case of murder. The crime rate had recently reached an all time high and the office of the FBI was flooded with unsolved cases and deep dark mysteries. Charlie Brown knew what was going through everyone’s minds - the sudden rise in crime in this city had to have something to do with one or all of the

A collection of dark, raw narratives that people would have to read. “You’re insane,” Jenni says, shaking her head, though I can see the faintest hint of interest in her eyes. “You think you can find real criminals and get them to tell you their life story?” “It’s unique,” I insist. “And no one’s ever done it. People would be hooked. I tell them I'm doing research for my dark romance, which I am. Then I use everything in another book as well.”

After an hour he decided to go back home and pack an overnight bag, so he could leave straight to the office the next day. "Detective, do you have a moment?" He cursed on the inside when his captain called him into his office. "I understand you had close the double homicide case. Good job detective. Now, while you're doing the boring report work we have an open murder case. They believed that the suspect had fled the city and was trying to blend into the bigger City area rather than the rural side of town." Ian was trying hard to keep himself calm when his captain opened the file in front of him revealing a blonde-haired woman, looking fragile and beautiful just like one of those Stepford wi