Detective Grimm Novels & Stories

They are Brittany (James' girlfriend), Ace and Luke (James' best friends), Jake (who found James) and Alicia (the last person to pass through the hallway according to CCTV data). Nicholas Gray is one of the youngest detectives in the NYPD, not only because he is only twenty-five years old, but also because of his 80% successful history in solving complex criminal cases. Several times Nicholas solved complicated murder cases, but murder cases in a school environment are rare. especially since the school that experienced this was Golden High School. Security is pretty tight. But on the day of the incident, all the security who usually patrol around the dormitory all gathered in the main hall.

I peer sleepily at the clock while trying to unplug the phone from the charger and bring it to my ear. It’s a little after three, which means nothing good. “Detective Street,” I answer gruffly. “Street, this is Detective Zimmer,” he barks. Zimmer works out of another precinct; he’s new to homicide and I don’t know him well. “I saw the bulletin you released yesterday. I’m at a scene and I think it’s connected to your guy.” Rolling out of bed, I head to my closet to gear up. I wait for Zimmer to give me his location before ending the call and shoving the phone into my pocket.

And she, for one, wanted no part in stealing such a mysterious grimoire to fulfill such stupidity. Jess noticed another detective trailing behind the woman, a man she guessed to be in his fifties. There was something familiar about him, a figure she had seen before but never interacted with. He was the head detective, renowned for his remarkable investigative skills. Though Jess knew little of the man, one thing was clear—she needed to keep her distance. Still, her curiosity held her gaze on them, unwilling to let go of the scene unfolding before her.

“Think, damn it. Seventeen, dark hair, maybe using a fake name. If you’ve seen a girl running scared, I need to know.” Every answer came back the same. Silence. Confusion. Dead ends. Rhett slammed his phone onto the table, the crack of it turning a few heads in the common room. Hawk raised a brow from the bar. “You trying to break it or just scare it into talking?” Rhett shot him a glare that shut him up quick. ________________ Grim found him later, sitting outside on the porch, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. “You look like hell,” Grim said simply.

I stared at his name engraved on it, my jaw tightened until I was certain I heard a crack. At that moment, my phone buzzed inside my pocket. At first I ignored it, keeping my eyes glued on the grave like if I stared too long, he would come back. But then the buzz became insistent, burning a hole into my jacket. With a frustrated growl, I picked. “Mr Turner,” a strange voice filtered from the receiver. “I’m Detective Grant, calling in regard to the death of your son, Jayden Turner.” My breath stalled as my fingers on my phone dug into it. But I didn’t utter a word, letting him continue.

As they parked, a familiar figure approached. Dr Helena Vasquez, the dhampir medical examiner, had an olive complexion paler than usual against her black coat. "Detectives," she greeted them, her accent more pronounced under stress. "The scene is... unusual. Also, in saying that, they’re are quite a few unmated males inside as part of the team, your mates are going to have to keep their wolves in check, considering the changes in your scent, Ma’am.”

"I was eight when she came back. It felt like meeting a stranger. She claimed she'd given the baby up for adoption, and my father... he took her back like nothing had happened. He's a good man, and it makes him vulnerable." Damien's voice dropped to a whisper. "A week later, Philip Payne and his family were found shot dead in their Georgia apartment." I gasped. "Did she...?" I couldn't finish the question. "I don't know," Damien admitted, his unseeing eyes focused on some distant point. I'd always known Mrs. Grey was manipulative, but murder? Surely there had to be another explanation. "Is Danish Rob...?" I began, piecing it together. "Yes," Damien confirmed. "He's that child."

A detective was seated just across from me, sending a piercing gaze my way. "So you killed someone?" He asked, and bit of skepticism in his tone. "I did!" "...and when did this happen?" He asked again, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Just a couple nights ago." I answered him, as my mind flashed back to that night for a moment. "Care to explain how it happened? Maybe tell me why you did it?" He pressed on. My eyes zeroed in on the ID card hanging from his left, breast pocket. I was able to read his name from there; Detective Jon. C. Grayson.

He took a seat in the chair in front of me without saying a word, as his eyes studied me for a good minute. I was utterly confused, but I wasn't complaining. The view was nice. "Hello Miss Leir. I am Detective Deckor and I have a few questions for you, if you don't mind" He introduced, shocking me right out of my skin. "Yo-you're the detective?" I asked as he took a pen and notepad from his coat. "Yes, is there a problem?" He questioned with a perfectly arched eyebrow. I didn't answer, I just regarded him for a while longer. I didn't want to believe it.

“You think five years inside makes it all disappear? Your past will haunt you forever.” Richard’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as his wolf pushed closer to the surface. “She just saved two lives. Everyone here saw it. You don’t get to talk down to her.” Anderson’s gaze shifted again, this time dropping to the badge clipped to Richard’s chest. I saw the exact moment recognition clicked. The air tightened. “Richard Grayson,” he said slowly, each word deliberate and sharp. “Drakoria Inspector, Central District Crime Unit. Number 325649.”