Detective In English Novels & Stories

I picked up. A detective’s voice greeted me.. Cool, clipped, precise. “There’s been a development.” Silence. “We’d like you to come in.”

Kylian tried to get him to say something but the silence made him uncomfortable. “Well…good thing that we’ve finally met,” he said, “I’ll have to formally introduce myself. I’m Detective Francis Burke.” “I see, you’re a detective,” Kylian leaned on the backrest, “I guess that’s your ticket to spy on people without facing any punishment.”

Perfect. “You don’t look too concerned,” he says, trying to sound casual. I finally glance up, slow, deliberate. My gaze lands on him like a knife pressed against skin. He shifts, just a fraction, and that’s enough. I smile inwardly. He’s uncomfortable, and I like it. He drags a chair out and sits across from me. Calm. Calculated. “My name is Detective Burner. I’m in charge of investigating the death of Emma Dalton King.”

They hadn’t been able to give me much to work with so far so I found myself doubting their abilities. The detective in charge of the case was called Detective Jameson, a skinny min who was probably in his late forties or early fifties. On the day when Emily disappeared, he appeared shortly at the scene and crouched beside the court’s exterior wall, eyes scanning the ground. His gaze lingered on a small smudge of lipstick on the stone floor.

The detective slowly lifted his gaze to mine. “Aiden…?” he prompted, his voice dropping an octave, desperately hoping I meant a teenager who stole a Honda. “You know exactly who I mean,” I said evenly. “The one they call the Walking Devil.” The detective swallowed hard. His eyes darted to the rookie, who suddenly looked pale, then back down to his desk. “That is a... hell of a serious accusation, ma'am,” the detective said, his voice now entirely stripped of its authority. “You have proof of this?”

He had been the one who had found them and broke up their happiness. He was skeptical of him. He also didn’t know if the detective could be bought off by Mr.King. He could very well be a good law enforcement officer who was just doing their job and wanted to help. He had to play him carefully. He turned the car off and got out. Both men looked tough. Both assessed the other for a few seconds before the detective spoke. “Nick, I’m Detective Lawrence, we spoke over the phone.” “Yea, I know. You sound the same. ”

He noticed the fear written plainly on her face. “Don’t be afraid,” he said gently. “I’m a police officer.” Elowen’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. She looked him up and down. He wasn’t wearing a police uniform. “A detective,” he corrected calmly. He reached into his jacket again, pulled out an ID card, and held it up for her to see. Detective Lucien Calderwood. The name stood out clearly. “Oh,” Elowen whispered. Lucien put the ID back into his wallet. “Where are you going?” he asked.

He stood up when he saw me. "Good morning too. Are you Ruthie Bernaldez?" "Yes, I am." He held out his hand to me, which I immediately reached. "I am a police investigator. I'm Detective Gaston." He let go of the handshake and sat in the chair opposite mine. There is a wooden coffee table between us. I swallowed and nervously looked at him. "How can I help you, Sir?" The detective cleared his throat before he spoke. He sounded very careful. "I just have a few questions for you."

I unlocked the door and I was shocked to see officers. “I am Detective Michael. We are here to ask questions about the murder of Natalie Alicia Angels”

“I asked you to take him down by whatever means possible not just find me. You don't expect me to go around knocking on every door in search of a notorious killer?” “But you expect me to roundup the same killer all by myself?” Betty curses, her frustration evident over the phone. “A choice isn't in existent for you, Elizabeth.” And with that singular statement I drop the call as I enter an office that belongs to the chief of police. “You must be the detective from Spain?” “Russia, sir but I'm half-american, if you must know,” I respond, about to take a seat opposite the huge bald man with a round belly shooting out of his blue shirt when a word stops him on his tracks.