Romans & histoires Crime Thriller

Jan 2012, Siegel Gambino vs Victoria Larei Fraser. "In this criminal case, Ms. Fraser is accused of murdering Mr. Ryan Fraser and kidnapping of Mr. Gambino in late November 2011" I squeeze my eyes close and took a deep breath upon hearing the judge's words. At the same time, I rub my sweaty palms together as I anxiously listen to her. She is about to announce the outcome of the trial. This trial has been going on for so long and today concluded it and I hate to admit that I am the villain of this story.

"How could you even think that about me? Yeah, I survived, but I was a victim, too. And now, just because of one photo, you're calling me a killer? Do you have any idea how much that hurts?" I swallowed hard, my voice breaking. "I said I probably fell asleep around 10 PM. I never said I was sure. My head was spinning from the altitude, and I wasn't clear. And come on—I'm just one woman. How the heck could I take out five grown men?" Alex's stare locked onto my face. "Yeah… doesn't seem likely." Just then, the coroner walked in with a fresh report, the pages still smelling like ink. He handed it straight to Alex.

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.

“There’s no urgency to it. Directors and investors are always interested in a good script. However, I have a question.” “What is it?” “Why is this called ‘Suicidal Christmas’? I don’t feel like I’ll enjoy Christmas anymore.” Freyja smiled. “I think it’s nice. A lot of victims in crime thrillers were killed, so ‘suicide’ is the biggest mystery. If you were a viewer, you’d want to know who’s the killer, but what if it’s a suicide?” Norman crossed his arms. “If it was a suicide, the audience would be more captivated. My uncle says that most crime thrillers have a similar storyline. It all boils down to the solving part.”

It was as if he was standing in front of a closed door, aware of the secret it guarded. ‘But why would you think that way?’ protested the sub-inspector defiantly. ‘I know this is a high-profile case, and that the grim and strange facts lend it a character of its own. But every case does not require us to employ higher powers of observation and intricate analysis of the criminal mind. Sometimes, it boils downs to that one simple question. What was the motive? And from all the statements that I have collected, I am confident that this was a murder that had to be done. It was urgent. Type one in your nomenclature. The victim was murdered and then some clues were scrambled here and there to misl

The flames burned the paper, and along with it, my past. The ashes fell onto the carpet—just like this marriage, it all meant nothing in the end. Back in Cruxby, I quickly finalized the divorce. Owen, buried in debt and suspected of fraud, was soon taken away by the police. I heard that he kept shouting every day that he wanted to see me in the detention center, saying he knew he had messed up and that Sandy had seduced him. But I never went to visit. As for Sandy, Mr. Compton found that she not only lacked qualifications as a ski instructor but was also suspected of multiple honey-trap scams. Her so-called baby was nothing more than a fake ultrasound used to extort money.

Half-mouthed. A young, executive-type guy in a plum-colored shirt, open tie, looks me up and down as he passes, turning his head to catch my gaze over his shoulder. My eyes freeze on him as the third one twitches open. I catch it shut, slamming down an image of him stumbling forward as he grabs at his throat—something black sluicing from his mouth, running over his hands. Hot as tar. Smoking where it spreads. There’s panic in his eyes. Like he doesn’t know why. He’s gone when I see clear again. Another stranger I killed for no reason.

He tried every key on the ring that we got from the guard and finally found one that worked. The smell inside this corridor was even worse, but I still was able to follow my nose to the last cell. When I walked up to the bars I froze. There chained up to the wall was the woman who smelled like sweet ripe strawberries. "Liam keys NOW." He ran over and unlocked the cell. I burst through the door and over to her. She looked up at me in fear, but then she smiled, "Mate." "Liam, hurry help me." "Malik, these chains are silver." I knew then that she was either a wolf shifter or a Lycan.