Novel & Cerita Fiction Detective Novels

Elias had gone completely still. "Dominick," she acknowledged. "You're a long way from home." Her youngest brother's smile didn't reach his eyes. "So are you. But home has a way of finding us, doesn't it?" "How did you find me?" Casie kept her voice steady, professional, though her heart hammered against her ribs. "I followed the scent of death," Dominick replied. "Five deaths, to be precise. Very specific deaths." Rick stepped forward. "You know something about our case?"

She was in for a long day as well. They were wrapping up on a big case today. A man had murdered his wife, and all they needed was his confession. They had the proof, but the guy’s confession would nail him in court. Elizabeth was good at getting suspects to confess, but this guy was a real piece of work. Classic narcissist with terrible misogyny. He was going to be tough to crack, but she knew her presence alone would rile him up. Hopefully enough for a confession.

Bob said, chuckling. “Oh I don’t think that’s worse than investigating multiple murders, in which the only clue is the loans that they all the victims owe a certain bank”. “Yeah speaking of which, Danny I’m calling to tell you that you would have to open another case file, a fifth one” Bob said. Danny winced at the thought of having yet another victim of the mysterious killer. “Who’s the latest victim?” he asked “Owen Mclean an English businessman who deals mainly in real estate, I’d have my secretary send an email of the victim’s details to you, for profiling” Bob said.

“So the guy’s getting anonymous links to an underground darknet site.” “By guy you mean DC Harlow, right? The detective whose wife and child were burned alive.” “That’s right.” “Very Derek Raymond.” “What?” “The protagonist I mean, like the unnamed police officer who narrates all of Raymond’s Factory novels.” “Oh yeah, yes, that’s it exactly.”

I can't believe it took me three years to realize that being a detective is a curse. When my father first told me about it, I didn't believe him. Why the hell should I, anyway? All I needed to do was to chase down criminals and study their traces. For such a long time, I only thought about clues, forensic puzzles, and crime interrogation. Now, fuck it. It's my fifth bottle tonight. And I probably wouldn't stop until I knock myself out.

Yeah, he'd learned to practice patience, but dealing with the police while they questioned Betty had just about driven him to the edge of reason. He opened the car door for her, holding her elbow as she climbed in. Daylight had waned, and the parking garage was dimly lit, the sound of other hospital visitors echoing through the cement structures. Betty listened for other things. Furtive footballs on the pavement. The click of a gun safety being released. The slide of fabric or the soft huff is a breath. Someone had tried to kill Dan just a few weeks ago, and there was no reason to believe that person would be content to let him live. The road went quiet as he stepped around the car. The soun

"Maybe 'quirky cozy' is out. Maybe gritty Nordic noir is in. I should have set it in a fjord. With a depressed detective and a lot of rain." "Your detective is a retired surgeon who misplaces his reading glasses," I reminded him, sipping my coffee. "He'd get lost in a fjord and accidentally solve a tourism board embezzlement scheme instead." Arthur pointed a butter knife at me. "That's not bad. A crossover series. The Fjord Frauds. I'll make a note." His phone buzzed. He snatched it up, his face undergoing a rapid journey from terror to disbelief to unadulterated joy. He let out a whoop that startled a gull off our deck railing.

No. The department must be trusted. And the agency should send reliable people to work there. He closed all the windows with his mouse. - All open... you are a detective and you leave evidence like this? Maybe I do need a break. Without realizing it, he missed the slip of a criminal.

In the end, Meredith and George decided to arrange a meeting with the police detective assigned to Helena’s case, Detective Sergio. He was a tall, lean man with clean-cut hazelnut hair. Alice could make out the wrinkles in his forehead and cheeks as he settled himself in front of her. She watched the man remove his black coat and placed it on the table before taking out a medium-sized notepad and a pen. Alice loved comic books about detectives. Her favorite was James Gordon; he was Batman’s acquaintance and a respectable captain of the Gotham City Police Department. Whenever she saw a detective, she could not help but be mesmerized by their badges and work.