Detective Novels & Stories

- he asked at the end. - Yes, that's right.- Leo answered first, with a serious expression on his face.- I'm Leopold Evans, Detective Inspector in Criminal Investigation Department of the South Wales Police police in Cardiff. And this is Detective Esther Moore, my partner.- he introduced them one by one, and when pointed to Esther, she merely nodded her head slightly as a confirmation.

A laugh came out from inside the room: "Ha-ha luckily you finally came, I was advised by Director Vincent to cooperate with you in this case. I'm Leonard, deputy captain of the city A police department, nice to work with you” He entered to the surprise of the police. A female police officer shouted: “Could it be that he is Albert, the famous criminal psychologist detective who has solved many difficult cases. I still have his book The Punisher here. The book is about the tough murders he has solved, including his analysis of the psychology of criminals in detail. I didn't expect him to be so young and handsome."

This helps us get an accurate picture of the movements around that time. The inspector nodded. ‘All the evidence points towards one direction sir,’ the sub-inspector urged like a wife convincing her husband to be strict on their son. The sub-inspector was more orthodox than the inspector. His brain was programmed to make immediate conclusions based on what he saw and heard. When deriving a conclusion seemed difficult, he would first have the conclusion ready in his mind, and then twist the facts as he went along. Spending time analyzing a situation wasn’t his forte – for him, conclusions were all that mattered. As Sherlock Holmes would have put it, “your eyes see things, it doesn’t observe.”

Detective Sullivan attempted his way over towards me, but barely passed Elizabeth when Captain Johnston’s voice was heard throughout the room. “Anderson! My office!” I take one last look at Elizabeth before sulking my way into his office. “Captain.” I say shaking his hand. “Detective Anderson. I didn’t expect to see you back in my office, let alone my squad room. How have you been?” His calm demeanor taking me by surprise. I half expected the same reaction I had gotten from Elizabeth. The way I left everything; I was amazed he wasn’t yelling down my throat.

She scribbles something down before handing it back to me. I look down at the list: Stalker: Private Investigator Hacker or Cyberstalker Obsessed Ex-Lover Security Expert Detective (who becomes obsessed with their subject… which will be you, Alissia!) Stranger stalker I laugh at her note about the detective, but I’m impressed. “Okay, but is a private investigator or detective really dark enough?” She shrugs. “Depends. What are they following? How much of their life is hidden in the shadows?”

He took my hand and held the door open for me, we stepped out and into my guard's car. *******MUCH LATER******* We are stepping back into the apartment. After a silent drive here, I was ready to get to know him more; I loved everything about him so far. “So what do you do for work?” My desperate attempt to get him to talk…. Easy to tell? Absolutely! “I’m a detective actually.” Shock flooded my whole entire system. “Wait, you’re a detective? As in you work for the police?” “That would be correct.” “Then why are you here? You’re not arresting me are you?”

My body tensed up, “So am I your mate?” “Um,” I almost choked on nothing, “Ah!” My thoughts weren’t aligning correctly for me to say something that made sense, ‘Um that,” How does he know?? I can’t even let anything slip since I can’t shift nor mind-link. “Don’t be surprised,” He smirked, “I’m a detective, A senior detective at that so I know about you lot.” “Oh…” I nodded, “I see…” That actually made sense for some reason. I paused and thought about it when something clicked in my mind, “Does Derek know?”

the detective alerted. “Question?” “Yes! I will ask you this once. Do you know Pablo Picasso?” the detective questioned. "Mr. Michael!" The detective yelled his name. It was as if Michael went through a trauma by just thinking about the question the detective asked. "you know him don't you?" the detective questioned again.

Opening the door, I found myself face-to-face with Detective Mason, a man known for his relentless pursuit of justice. "Miss Roberts, may I come in?" he asked, his voice brimming with authority. Nervously, I nodded and led him into my modest living room. Detective Mason's piercing gaze seemed to take in every detail, as if assessing the depths of my involvement in this dangerous game. "I've been following your activities closely, Miss Roberts," he said, his tone serious. "You've been treading on dangerous ground." I swallowed hard, my palms growing clammy. "I'm just trying to uncover the truth, to expose the corruption that plag

That’s for damn sure. The thin detective gives a curt nod and moves toward the body bags lying in a row. The air shifts — heavy, hot, and full of something like dread. He crouches beside one of them, the plastic crackling under his gloves as he peels it open. The smell hits first — char, oil, something that used to be human. My stomach rolls. He reaches in, tilts the charred head, brushes away soot, and pulls at what’s left of an ear. For a moment, everything slows — the crackle of the tape, the far-off hiss of radios, even the gulls seem to hush. Then the detective’s face changes. His eyes lift to us, catching Jackson’s first.