Priest Detective Books Novels & Stories

Unlike the clear water and white rice at the foot of the big Buddha statue, here we have a dish of sliced red meat and I swear that’s a bottle of Jim Beam. Well, the Catholics have their bread and wine. A tassel dangling from the prayer beads passes between the old monk’s fingers, his whispering ceases and his eyes flick open, fixed on mine. He smiles, as if we’re both in on some private joke. Norbu speaks up from behind me. “Rinpoche, this is Detective Landry, the private eye you requested.” Jigme Rinpoche nods. In my peripheral vision I detect Norbu bowing and retreating from the room. The senior monk coils the string of beads around his wrist and extends his hand. I offer mine to shake, b

He also looked at Damon’s hand on the door handle so Damon immediately let go of the handle and walked away slightly. “Aren’t you a thief?” the priest asked. “Because there is nothing in your face that will do evil.” “Ah, we are not thieves. We are just looking for something,” said Raven. “Looking for something?” the priest asked. The four approached the priest, who was still standing nearby. “Then maybe I can help.” The hunters looked at each other. “He’s a priest. He believes in demons.” Damon whispered. “So, shall we tell him about the blood?” Kyra whispered.

Detective Mac said that he did not want to go inside the church because he really did not have a good relationship with God. But I was the one supposed to have been a good Catholic girl with a gold cross hanging around my neck. It had been so long that I had acted to be a good Catholic girl I thought I might be slightly rusty but then I remembered that I was the detective here, in official capacity, so probably I would not have to act so much. The teenager to whom the priest was speaking was looking at him with wide eyes at his reference to Aslan and Narnia, even though I clearly did not remember what they were they were not in the Bible and were some kind of fairy tale of that I was entirel

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

Instead of showing himself here to get caught, he decided to Kidnapp Victor's kids so he can contact me indirectly. "You nailed it. I also strongly believe that Armstrong is the one calling for your attention. The question is, what does he want?" "We shall find that out in few time. I need you to also look into the los Angeles parish. I want you to find me the list of all priests who were nominated as the next church Bishop." "At your service." Muttered Mickey when Dannie approached Jessica's table. "Anything on the priest?" He said, giggly. "All we know is that he didn't commit suicide. And if he did, that's a very stupid way of killing himself." Denoted Jessica with all thoughts back to th

Zach just nodded slowly. "My name is Michael Emerson. I'm the detective on the Chad Donovan murder case involving Vincent Cox. Can you tell me how you two met and how you came to this hospital?" Mike asked, sitting next to Zach. Zach took a deep breath and stroked Kyron's head, who was starting to feel sleepy. "I am a priest. I serve at St. Andrew." Mike nodded as a sign that he knew the church. "I met Vincent by accident. He saved me from two thieves who were going to take my money. After that, I took him home because I felt sorry for him. He was carrying a baby, and he looked shabby." Mike's brow furrowed slightly, but he listened carefully.

I stood with a chair in my hands and stared at the empty doorway until the present room returned around me—bright, noisy, occupied by a different man in a black cassock. By midday I was carrying a box of the new priest’s books toward the parish library. The cardboard edge dug into my palms. Dust and old paper rose when I shifted my grip. Inside the library the air was cooler, polished, familiar. I set the box down and began shelving. That was when I saw them: the same volumes Cassian had borrowed and returned in the early hours before he vanished, spines aligned with bureaucratic neatness. I knew those books, They were the same books Mr. Halden had told me Cassian returned in the early hours

She added, "If you could, go far away from them. Don't reply too, no matter what happen... And try different attending masses in different churches until you find one that sprinkle authentic holy water." "Miss Lucy... I've long tried that, and it didn't work." He reminded after a low grunt. She helplessly shook her head. "... Sadly, the old priest I recommended you last time has already died." In the end, Nathan parted with the editor. He couldn’t tell her what was different with the one who talked to her this very early morning When he returned to his apartment, a slightly disturbing realization came to him. The book was still in his living room. Its position did not change, staying where L

“Yer right. We need to get the lass out of danger before you can set things right. What should we do.” I run through possible scenarios until a specific memory niggles in the back of my mind. “I just thought of something. Didn’t Priest work with someone in New York after his wife, Sage, was nearly kidnapped?” Scotty’s brow furrows as he searches his mind. “Ye, he did. He was the one that killed Armando Rubio.” Reaching for my phone, I dial Priest’s number. “I’m going to call Priest to see if he can put me in contact with his connection. Perhaps his man can help us.”

Through their bond, Casie felt his methodical focus, the way he was compartmentalising the supernatural aspects to apply standard investigative techniques. "The prints we found belong to a Joseph Mercer," Mendoza informed them, checking his notes. "Small-time fence with connections to several antique dealers in the tri-state area. No known supernatural affiliations." "Probably just a customer," Casie concluded, turning back to the blood pattern. "This is our real lead. What exactly were they looking for in his memories, Valeria?"