Murder On The Orient Express Novels & Stories

The late-night radio crackled with an urgent news alert as they drove off. "A murder took place in the early hours on the twelfth of October on Jubilee Avenue. The suspect, Hagen Zeller, is on the run from the police and has taken a young woman hostage. In a struggle during his flight, he accidentally killed her. The police have now apprehended the suspect, with more details to follow as the investigation continues." Trevon was lounging in his chair with his eyes shut, lost in thought, when his eyes snapped open. "Did Madeline get off at Green Jubilee Road?"

Her hands tightened around the case files, the paper crumpling beneath her grip. Was Damian Voss a suspect? Or was he something worse? Evelyn leaned back in her chair, rubbing her head, the weight of the evidence pressing down on her. It wasn’t enough to make an arrest, but it all pointed in one direction—Damian Voss. Billionaire. Businessman. Untouchable. And somehow, connected to these murders. Her thoughts were interrupted by a noise—something shifting outside her window. Evelyn tensed, reaching for her gun. She lived on the fourth floor. No one should be out there.

Velmont explains the best he could. “How?” Hercule asks. “We found a silk shirt in Qillalon’s room. Piece of a torn page in Zane’s. Crime scene photos in Mercimer’s and a piece of relic in Cain’s chamber. All of these items were evidence in the Omega murders, and they are planted in your rooms.” Gertrude voiced out.

he practically worshiped. Lily felt as though she would puke; she had never seen this level of sycophant before! “Why am I here?” Christopher demanded again. “A Miss Rosa Benson has been murdered in cold blood in her apartment, and you and your wife are our prime suspect,” the inspector blurted, staring at Christopher squarely when he saw that Christopher did not accept his earlier praise. “What?!” Christopher exclaimed in shock.

“Okay. I see he has a propensity to disappear without a trace. Questionable comings and goings. Possible murders in which the victims may have been shot at close range after death. “So, how were they actually killed?” “Unknown. Their brains are usually blown out. In one case, a man was decapitated.” I fight a wave of nausea as I flip through the photos. And guilt. Because I should have researched this case deeper myself before I sent Dune. I guess I was too wrapped up in my personal research. “Does the organization actually know what they’re after here, or is it a mystery investigation?” “Unclear.” “Permission to terminate suspect if engaged?”

There was a sense of foreboding in her voice as she spoke over the phone, making it clear that the situation had escalated. Alexander's hands trembled slightly as he reached for the remote control and turned on the television. The news anchor's voice echoed through the room, and the screen displayed the headline of the hour: "High-Profile Murder Case Unfolds in London." The news segment offered a chilling account of the previous night's events. Dramatic music underlined the grim tone of the report, and images of the crime scene flashed across the screen. A cluster of police cars and flashing sirens created a stark tableau of chaos and crime. The reporters painted a vivid picture of the polic

In the echo of his words and the silence of the hall, it seemed as though science itself had retreated, cowering before a horror that medicine could not describe. "There's no way but to continue working and exerting even more effort. The case is incredibly complex and intricate." Detective Mohammed rose abruptly from his chair, his voice sharp and his face grim as he addressed Susan, who watched him warily. "Another priest has been murdered... in exactly the same way as Nabil." A heavy silence hung in the air before Mohammed strode resolutely toward the door, as if carrying the weight of a mystery that grew more sinister with each passing hour. Susan's voice broke the tension, filled with an

Anqing's face turned a little green, and said ruefully, "The point is that it's not Jingtian's fire, but that we smeared combustion oil outside Miss Ovis's office, which is murder." Linda Santas's face turned white for a moment, and the whole person was transfixed. Murder!

He smiled. Right at that moment, a news on the TV caught my attention. “Breaking News: Missing Moscow millionaire and alleged Crime Boss, Alessandro Vincent has been found dead this morning. The body of the now deceased fifty-two years old socialite was found hanging naked on a pole in the center of the City Square with the word “TRAITOR” carved into his forehead and his genitals mutilated. So far there is no clue on how he had ended up in this situation. The right authorities are now working to uncover the mystery behind this atrocity.”

“When we found him, he was dead.” Daniel cut me off. “In his own home. Murdered. “Time of death was around four yesterday afternoon. Before your company even left for the escape room. “The weapon was an axe. “And on the doorknob of his apartment, we recovered a fingerprint.” Daniel lifted a fingerprint comparison report. The red markings made my eyes ache. “After analysis, that fingerprint… belongs to you.”