Detective Holbrook Novels & Stories

My eyes widened and I dropped my spoon when the headline appeared on the screen along with my ID picture and the school doctor’s. The young Senior Investigator Hibara is the prime suspect for the murder of Dr. Celina Marquez, according to our city’s most trusted consulting detective, Arthur Cake.

And in a flick of a moment, my brain possessed all the questions and the theories that he had come up with an attempt to solve the complicated case. “Miss Ellie Parkinson, I'm Secretary Jason Fox, head of the London Police Criminal Intelligence,” he announced, in a hoarsely agitating voice. “Now without wasting any moment of this crucial interrogation, let me ask you the obvious question. What was your objective behind the cold-blooded murders of Emily Billings and Broderick Barnes?” “I didn't kill them, Mr. Secretary,” I asserted loudly, refusing to withhold my gaze.

After disconnecting the call, Daniel Brooke walked to the study and locked the room. He sat straight on the chair, putting his tightly clenched fists on the table. His solemn gage was firmly fixed on a certain point on the opposite wall. He contemplated how to deal with Mr. Mayor. He couldn’t even touch a single strand of his hair without strong evidence, and this was not something that Derek could do. For this, he needed a professional detective who had the guts to go against Mr. Mayor. But he didn’t know anyone like this.

A thin trail of muddy footprints led across the floor toward a row of interview rooms. A woman at the front desk offered me a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Detective Hale met me halfway down the hall. He was tall, clean-cut, maybe late thirties, the kind of man who looked like he’d never once raised his voice. “Mrs. Blackwood,” he said, offering his hand. “Thank you for coming.” “Where’s my husband?” “He’s being questioned right now.” His tone was polite but careful. “Why don’t we sit for a bit?”

"If this is connected to our family, you can't handle it alone. Let me help officially." "How?" "Bring me in as a consultant. I have credentials in historical research, religious symbology. Your captain would buy it." She paused, keys in hand. The idea of Elias in her precinct, her carefully separated worlds colliding, made her stomach clench. But another victim was already waiting, and she was running out of time. "Fine. But you follow my lead. In my world, I'm Detective Blackwood. Nothing more." "Understood." Elias paused before continuing, “just promise me that you’ll be careful, and at least think about what I said about at least coming home to let everyone know that your safe and a live

Victor didn’t answer. They stepped out of the car and headed inside. Alec had barely taken two steps when a familiar voice spoke from behind them. “Well… if it isn’t Alec Blackwood.” Alec stopped. Victor glanced over as a tall man approached from the hallway, jacket slung over one shoulder, badge clipped to his belt. Detective Harlan. The detective’s eyes settled on Alec with faint amusement. “Nice to see you,” he said calmly. “Once again under… perilous circumstances.”

AXEL BLACKWOOD: "Mr. Blackwood," he started, "sorry for barging into your office—" "You better be," I cut him off. "And it better be for a damn good reason." The man straightened, trying to recover. "I'm Detective Harrington Smith," he said. I tilted my head, unimpressed. Surveying the man at the front of the pack, I was able to tell that he was middle-aged, balding, and reeked of bureaucratic arrogance. He tried to look confident, but his shifting eyes gave him away.

CHAPTER 36 New York City Police Department (NYPD) Headquarters, 1:00 pm The young detective named Nicholas Gray looked up quickly when his coworker Hendrick Mckenzie--or Hendrick as he was more commonly known--tapped him on the shoulder. The hazel-eyed detective sat down in his chair--which was next to Nicholas' desk--and immediately handed Nicholas a dark brown folder. They had been in the same division (serious crimes division) for the past five years and their relationship had been very good. So it was natural for Nicholas to think of Hendrick as his own brother.

"So, who lives here?" The neighbor replied, "That place is owned by Mr. Largo, a kind man. Is anything the problem?" Meyer reassured him, "It's all fine, we just wanted to meet him, that's all." The detectives conferred among themselves. Detective Dane asked, "Who the hell is Timothy Barclay? Where is he? Why is he hiding?" Meyer replied, "He's somewhere, but we just can't figure out where. We're getting close, though."

"You do know of my hate for the man. How then can you ask me to bring him into this?" "From my perspective, Your Grace, detective Harold is the only person who can get to the root of this," Mr Brown said. "He has the new instruments for all of that." Edward grumbled. That was what he hated the most about the so-called detective, his love for the new lie that was coming up. The so-called scientists call it the beginning of a new era but Edward only found it to be the beginning of a destructive one. It was the same new era nonsense that had caused him his old face.