The Cheshire Murders Novels & Stories

"According to the radio reports, he was a cavalier and ebullient businessman prone to highs and lows, making tons of money and spending it. George Charles was a mover and shaker, living the high life, even dating the top celebrity model Jessa Rhodes. His mother had cancer, and he and his father Looked after her, and he somehow managed to pay for the place where they were living. His wife and daughter used to visit. He started the relationship with Jessa Rhodes only recently, giving her a ring and money. Then, more, or less the day after, she went to Iran for a photoshoot, and he was distraught." "But that's not the reason he killed himself?" I ask. "No, he was connected to Robbie Chase." "No

As happy as he has been in far too long a time. But that happiness does not last once he steps into his living room. Because once again the police are there. Only this time, they are not looking as friendly as they had mere hours before. This time, there is a judgement in their eyes that is aimed solely at Owen. “There has been another murder.” “What?” “We found the body of a young woman out back, past your work shop. In a large, inclosed well house.” The sheriff tells him. “She was raped, beaten and shot through the forehead. Then dumped into the well.”

She walked back into the crowd not daring to look back once. In a car parked at a nearby street in New York, Chad sat flipping through the file Peter had given to him one more time. Each page had another death, in addition there were at least three women and two kids, a boy and a girl. Two of them were confirmed murdered by him and the others suspected. John Flincher was the name on the profile and it was no doubt Jasmine's father. Chad's jaw tightened. He couldn't exactly pinpoint what he was involved in but someone with that amount of murder was no good news.

“Sleep tight, Kitty.” “I’ll try,” she yawned before drifting off to sleep. “You really think all her lovers are dead?” Cassie whispered to Cherry. “Well, the ones that I’ve done research on are all dead, and they all went the same way, ripped to shreds by an animal,” Cherry explained. “But I don’t understand. Why would an animal do such a thing? I mean, why does it have to be Kitty’s lovers? Something just don’t add up,” Cassie stressed. “I think we should go to the police and —”

So many theatre managers, and talent scouts. "Chis, Jane's another victim of the serial killer. Body, the crime scene, everything's clean. No trace of DNA, nothing. This is definitely the work of the serial killer." I just arrived at the police station when Grayson welcome me with the news of another victim. "Damn it, what else do we have?" My day just started, and it's already going bad. "Victim was found on Gilden. The scene was almost identical to all the crime scenes, except the victim has the word 'slut' carved into her chest."

Two weeks before Laurel Brown was taken, twins, chandelle and Camaro had gone out for a walk, still missing till date. A month before the arrival of Laurel Brown, sixteen years of Matilda washed up dead in her Twenties. Sebastian brushes his face of the rising sweat and but it does not answer the question. He recalls the body of Matilda; he recalls the detective in charge of the case was almost certain it had washed up from a total different community or perhaps somewhere even farther than Bushkill. Bushkill was the saints garden the place where crimes are rarely committed and the police force at high alert. They are not.

Chester’s face was blue as he reprimanded, “You might be pretty, but why is your character so despicable? You said that Dax and I chased you to help Darryl cover up his tracks? Heh, I was avenging for my late wife!” Dax chimed in, “Yes! Megan, how shameless can you be? Ask your own guilty conscience why Chester and I want to kill you? Isn’t it all because ten years ago you killed his wife? Yet now you have the audacity to come and slander Darryl. Why are you so anxious to come out and show proof? You must be the one who killed Master White Brows!”

' Teddy smiled. 'You're a good man, Don Don. Better than we deserve.' 'Come, let's us have anoda beer.' 'Yes, let's us,' Teddy laughed, relieved that he was not alone. Later, when they returned buzzing with a re-kindling of their merriment and solidarity, they found Lala sitting nervously in a darkened kitchen, voices on the radio hissing menacingly. The news on LCR was full of something terrible. An MP, Jo Cox, had been murdered, repeatedly shot in her constituents’ surgery in Birstall, west Yorkshire, by a man named Thomas Mair.

Someone knocked on the hospital room's door, and instead of a doctor, two uniformed police officers entered. Chester's expression shifted. He was puzzled as he asked, "Officers, is there something wrong?" "Chester Collins, you are under arrest for the suspicion of murder. Please come with us," the police officer stated firmly. Chester's face froze, and he questioned, "Murder? Officers, are you mistaken? I didn't—" "Whether you've done it or not is for us to determine. Please come with us." The police officers approached and escorted Chester out, regardless of what he had to say.

One of the tightly wound springs inside him marginally relaxed. He stared at the images, and a faint memory popped into his head at last. The woman in one, lying in a dark alley, had been a rape/homicide case in West Chester six months back. The case belonged to a different police department, but Jack made it his business to look into cases of women disappearing, then turning up dead. This one he’d quickly ruled out as Blackwell’s, and the West Chester police had gotten their perp within a few days, a rock-solid case. She’d been murdered by her ex-boyfriend. No link to Blackwell. Yet there had to be a connection to Ashley Price, since Ashley had painted her. How and when?