Detective Novelas e Histórias

But the most mouth dropping fact was that each of them read null. I snapped my head up at the detective and glared at him. "Is this some kind of joke?" I spat. The detective shook his head. "I honestly wish it was," He sighed with a grim look on his face. "Why is there no information about Elliott?" Felix asked. "That is what I would like to know too. I did my research as precise as I could and I still could not find anything on him. It felt like some higher power was intentionally hiding Elliott's Information."

“Did they take anything?” The detective shrugged slightly. “A laptop appears to be missing. Possibly a phone.” Damian’s expression remained calm. “And you believe this was a robbery.” “It fits the evidence.” Damian looked at Rourke again. “No.” The detective frowned slightly. “Excuse me?” “This wasn’t a robbery.” Alvarez raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?” Damian met his gaze evenly. “Because Daniel Rourke was working for me.” The detective waited. “Investigating what?”

A detective dressed in plain clothes emerges out of the home and walks toward the crowd, where reporters stand with microphones pointed at them. "Detective! Detective! What have you discovered inside? Is there any indication that Diego Myers is a drug dealer?" A journalist inquired. 'What,' I whispered to myself, surprised. The detective maintains his composure while not disclosing too much information. Her gaze moves to the home before he addresses the media. "At this moment, we are undertaking a comprehensive inquiry. As of yet, we have unearthed numerous items of

he continued. I held his gaze, unmoving. “Justice,” I repeated, my voice flat. “Detective what exactly does that look like to you?” “It looks like us doing our job,” he said firmly. “You let us handle this. Don’t make it harder than it needs to be.” I didn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch. The detective shifted slightly, glancing at Matteo behind me before turning back. “One more thing,” he added. “We suspect this might be tied to some kind of underground activity. Cartels, gangs, something along those lines. And if that’s the case, you’re now on our radar as well.”

Dominic shouted. “Well there's no reason to hid it anymore since you already know, I am Detective Avery, yes I work for the cops and Red Talcum head? I've been trying to pin down the Mafia ring you work for but it's been very difficult, Andrew Richardson” Avery said smiling and packing her hair in a bun.

I edged towards the door and was about to peep through the hole when Davies's firm grip on my shoulder stopped me. “Step back, please.” He said softly. He really wasn't taking any chances. I complied immediately and stepped back as the detective moved towards the door with his hand already on the gun at his waist. He peeped through the peephole for a while. “Mid-thirties Caucasian male, clean shaven, blue eyes.” The detective announced and turned towards me. “That's Myles Voss, attorney at law! You know him?” I knew who it was immediately when I heard the description.

Bang. Bang. A slight knock echoed into the office. Dante sat at his table, focused on his system. His eyes didn’t leave the screen. “Come in,” he uttered. Creak. The door glided open. Victor walked in, one hand still on the door, holding it wide open. “Dante, he is here,” Victor announced. A man walked in. Andrea Lombardi—the best and most well-known intellectual detective in Rome. Dante’s gaze didn’t leave his monitor. He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on his mouse.

The detective's name is Reyes. He's got a coffee cup in his left hand and a notebook in his right and he looks at me with some kind of suspicion in his eyes, taking in my backpack and my clothes and the fact that I'm kneeling on the road next to a body with my hand on a dead boy's chest. "You knew him," he says. Not a question. "He's my brother."

Rookie Detective Matt Harlan sat at his desk in the noisy precinct, staring at the thick folder in front of him. His palms were already sweaty. This wasn’t some small-time drug dealer or car thief. This was his first real case, and it felt like diving headfirst into the deep end.

"Meglio stare attenti a Dashkov; sei un uomo morto!" (Better watch out Dashkov; you're a dead man!) ................................ Detective Jones, a mob of messy hair all over his face, went through a folder in front of his desk for the fiftieth time. None of it made sense. It was missing a very important variable but he still couldn't put his hand on it. He'd even taken the work with him to his apartment, hoping he'd be able to think better, but nothing came. Nothing made sense. He took another sip from his mug of hot cocoa,