Fictional Female Detectives Novels & Stories

It was all a mystery. “I went there to visit a childhood friend.” The woman started,”It was in the evening. I was taking a stroll, then a lady bumped into me. I couldn’t really see her face, but I’m certain it was the model. I saw a glimpse, it all happened extremely fast.” The detective raised his chin, he had moved, as if by a concious act of will, into a world in which time was precisely measured, details obsessively noticed, senses preternaturally alert to sound and smell. There was progress in the case finally.

"Since it's 4 PM right now,'' he added. Ignoring her assistant words, after getting some fresh air Rae immediately sits down on her chair. Her eyes latched on the files as she works analyzing some unfinished cases, including the Cannibal one. When the female detective works, she always forgets about painful things. It's a way to avoid unnecessary emotional pain. She flipped her pen around her fingers, focused her gaze on that aquamarine penguin pen. The stacks of paper on the desk won't get any less if she kept rolled the pen around her fingers and yet she keeps daydreaming about the gentleness of that crush of her, useless thoughts. "Did you miss him already?" she could hear a faint whisper

“That was the day before yesterday, you have been unconscious since then and a day has passed. Today is Monday.” Chester mouthed an “oh” and turned to look at the TV, the headline caught his attention with its big red letters, it said; New York Senior Police Detective Under Arrest For Serial Murders. “The New York senior police detective, Detective Aiden Shaw has been arrested for the murders of seven young girls over the years. Detective Aiden Shaw had been the detective in charge of solving the murder cases along side his partner, Detective Tia Sparrow. Following evidences presented by his partner, Tia Sparrow, which had him confessing to committing the crimes, Aiden Shaw was arrested yest

I sat down, placed my hands flat on the table, and looked at the two detectives with the expression of a man who had voluntarily come in, had nothing to conceal, and was mildly inconvenienced by the necessity of explaining that to people who should already understand it. Micheal sat beside me, his own face arranged in the carefully neutral expression of a lawyer who charged enough per hour that his presence alone communicated serious intent. The lead detective was a woman. Mid-forties, sharp eyes, the unhurried manner of someone who had learned that patience extracted more than pressure. Her name was Detective Okafor. Her partner was younger, male, quieter. He sat to the side and took notes

I cut in. Silence. “Dig deeper,” I continued. “The Castellans have been accused of murder more times than you can count. Yet no body was ever found.” His jaw tightened. “If I wanted this buried,” I said evenly, “your guards wouldn’t know it happened.” I reached for the tablet, zooming in. “That woman,” I said, tapping the screen, “isn’t Michelle.” He laughed. “Detectives these days are a joke—sloppier than the ones in a kid’s show.”

The police station was cold and impersonal. Lucy sat in a hard plastic chair, watching through a window as detectives questioned William in an adjacent room. They'd been separated immediately upon arrival, standard procedure for potential co-conspirators. A female detective named Sarah Chen entered Lucy's room. No relation to Margaret, she'd clarified immediately, but the name still made Lucy's stomach clench. "Mrs. Ashcroft, let's go over this again. You claim you had no knowledge of your husband's financial activities?"

She took a seat opposite Athena, reading the file, "I'm Detective Carter. You're as beautiful as they described you. You have quite an interesting story, growing up in an orphanage, marrying into one of the wealthiest families in New York, and then surviving a car accident that left you in a coma for five months. Living as the only daughter of one of the Richest in the country. They address you as Ms. Weltons, even though you're still legally as Mrs. Chrushvan. And now, you're the prime suspect in the planned assassination of Mr. and Mrs. Chrushvan as well as Ms. Koshiba. Is this some sort of revenge plot? "Huh?! No! I haven't planned anything. Up until now, I have no idea what's really hap

Jax's Point of View 'Who is she?' Shelby asked. Shelby was the chief detective of New York and was also under my pay check so he protected me from any sort of criminal charges that I may face if any men are careless or tell me about any snitches that phone the cops with intentions of putting me out in business. My go to man for snitches. But who was she? 'My fucking headache. Each and every fucking day.' 'I'll say it she's sexy.'

The sterile environment felt eerily silent, save for the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. I could see the curiosity and concern etched on the faces of Inspector Mark and Magdalena as we approached the second body. Detective Cordelia, with her fiery red hair and a no-nonsense demeanor took the lead and motioned for us to gather around, and we gathered closely near the table where the were the second victim lay. It was a lady, her life tragically cut short under mysterious circumstances.

And yes, for the client's pre-scheduled telephone contact. “How are the investigations going?” begins the female voice, aged and crackling on the phone. After she hired the detective, she left formalities aside and always uses words in a tone of order and instruction without emotional appeals. This is one of her characteristics that made the old and experienced investigator believe that she was dealing with a passionate issue. Involving revenge on a betrayed or unrequited woman. The old man never talks about the cases he investigates with other fellow veterans. But colleagues do not behave in the same way and explain many details that should have been kept confidential.