Murder In Waltham Novels & Stories

People with ordinary problems and ordinary days, completely unaware that somewhere inside their city a woman had been murdered and buried beneath an official report and a polished public statement while the people responsible continued their lives without consequence. I picked up my phone. The news from last night was still open on the screen. Victor Hale. Circumstances surrounding death under investigation. I had recognized the name the moment it appeared. It was the same name attached to the financial account I had been three days away from tracing when my life in this city was quietly taken apart around me. Victor Hale was dead. Which meant someone was still cleaning up, still removing th

Jake thanked Darren. “Mrs. Wilson, we've all been worried about you. Now we're relieved to see you're okay,” Helen said. She stood behind Jake's wheelchair. “God has given me another chance at life, Helen,” Alena said, to which Helen responded with a gentle smile. “Grandpa has spoken to the police. They are investigating this incident. Hopefully, the perpetrator will be caught soon. This was premeditated murder. Whoever did this should be put to death!” Jake Wilson looked furious as he said this.

Since seniority was a factor that hindered them from reporting directly. "Very well; Alpha Justin Pavlichev will be tasked with working with you to solve this issue," I concluded and banged the gavel to end the conversation. Christian was next. He got up and greeted everyone. "On the sixth of July, Alpha Thompson Amos, his wife and eighteen-year-old daughter were murdered in their house. Due to investigations and eyewitness accounts, his Beta, Mike Maguire, was implicated as the perpetrator of this crime. Unfortunately, the suspect fled Grizlo taking with him his daughter and wife. They have remained at large ever since. They sent video footage to deter us from searching for them and have al

Almost everyone looked sad, or they were very good at pretending. ‘I’m terribly sorry for your loss. A very elegant lady Miss Arora,’ said the inspector solemnly, nodding and reflecting on a previous meeting with Esha. ‘This is a case of murder. The room seems to be untouched ... Nothing is missing ... The victim was found wearing a camisole and a black trouser. She has a severe bruise on her head. It is murder, alright. Ah! A terrible affair. Everything points to the fact that the murderer got away, at least for the time being. I gather that she was last seen at 4.30 by the housemaid?’ ‘Yes,’ Jyoti croaked from the corner. ‘I see ...’

I said, then I walked into my office and sat down, ready to return the call. Twenty minutes later, I clenched my fists and slammed down the phone so hard that it bounced off of the desk and skittered across the floor. Rage roiled within me at the news that a friend from the D.C. Police Department had shared: Alan Cooke, an MID associate, had been brutally murdered, his body discovered by none other than Amelia. Fucking. Hartley. Clenching my teeth I hurled my office chair back, its wheels clattering on the floor like echoing gunshots.

"Then who is it?" "We're still working on that." Captain Colson flipped to the next photo. "This is from the night Fred died. Same figure, around the same time." "What about when John was killed?" "There's no footage for that because he died at home. But we did find something else." Captain Colson produced a report. "The murder weapons in all three cases were different, but there's still one thing in common—the killer knew each victim's daily habits extremely well." "What does that mean?"

"How could you even think that about me? Yeah, I survived, but I was a victim, too. And now, just because of one photo, you're calling me a killer? Do you have any idea how much that hurts?" I swallowed hard, my voice breaking. "I said I probably fell asleep around 10 PM. I never said I was sure. My head was spinning from the altitude, and I wasn't clear. And come on—I'm just one woman. How the heck could I take out five grown men?" Alex's stare locked onto my face. "Yeah… doesn't seem likely." Just then, the coroner walked in with a fresh report, the pages still smelling like ink. He handed it straight to Alex.

Right after, she headed up staggering to the desk she was before and reached for the phone. “911, what’s your emergency?” “A murder happened-“ she inhaled some oxygen and gulped her saliva before continuing her explanation, “-Easton Apartment, Narragansett, Rhode Island. Please hurry up.” “Okay, Ma’am, can you stay on line with me?” “Yes.” “Good. Is the murder still there?” “N…no. I don’t know what was happening nor do I know when it was happened. One of our residents was found dead, just by now.”

Crimson color soaked the carpet. The room smelled awful. Walter Newton lay dead, buried in blood, naked with lacerations on both sides of the abdomen and under his lower left breast. They phoned Bates. After Max and Dale looked over the rest of Walter’s house, nobody else appeared. **** Bates called a third meeting the coming morning. Officers’ gathered in the narrow room again. Twenty of them stunned over Walter Newton’s assassination.

“And you couldn’t accept it. You have dedicated your whole life to her, first as a dance partner and now as her manager. You were angry about her betrayal, so you suffocated her while she slept, turning her on her back so that she would struggle to breathe, removing the walnut from the back of her nightdress. After you murdered her, you fed a length of twine through the keyhole and tied it round the bolt, so once you had shut the door you could drag the bolt across. Because you had rubbed the twine with your paraffin wax bath treatment for your arthritis, the twine was now highly inflammable and you were able to light it from the outside with a match. Unfortunately for you, there was the