The Comic Book Murder Novels & Stories

Liam walked in silence all the way to Chloe's car and stood at the door averting his eyes. "Well?" She said after five minutes of silence and eye aversion. "Uh…The case is closed…Well, I still have a lot of paperwork to file, but…It was found to be homicidal murder with the deceased Veronica Moulton as the perpetrator, and her death was deemed a suicide." "Oh." She looked at him with no expression. She was relieved to be finished with all of this nonsense and had decided when she was working on the crossword puzzle to forget about Liam and work on piecing her shattered life back together.

And then he saw it a figure cloaked in city uniform, watching him from the rooftop above. Logan stepped back into the shadows just as the first shot rang out. Not a bullet. A tranquilizer dart. He yanked it from the wall and snarled. Someone wasn’t hunting just rogue wolves anymore. They were hunting him. He bolted, disappearing into the alleys, and when he turned the next corner he found himself face-to-face with someone he thought had died long ago. Lucian. Damian’s brother. Alive. And very much changed. Scarred. Wild. Smiling.

He questioned in disbelief. "Yeah, you heard the gentleman correctly, Murphy. He said you're under arrest. What else do you want him to say?" Jacob retorted. "It was an emergency. I'm sorry I have no idea what you're talking about here gentlemen. I didn't commit any crime please." "Hold your peace Murphy. You killed the boss." "No, I didn't do it." "Then who else could it be? You brewed his last coffee and it was discovered that he died after drinking from the same coffee which you served him. How do you explain that?"

His frown deepened as he pondered over my statement. "Very well," he said with a curt nod. "What would you say is a justifiable crime?" He asked eagerly, oblivious to the trap he was setting for himself. The man is a fucking walking contradiction. I took my time answering, reaching down to squeeze Addison's free hand. She squeezed back almost immediately, and I know she knows that I got her back. "Murder," I said, making his eyes widen. "Wh-What?" He stuttered, looking to everyone to see their reactions. He was shocked by my statement. "I believe that's not—"

Death is chaos. The way her expression changed when I told her about the bodily fluids—that was when I knew. She thinks it’s simple. She thinks I walk in, shoot someone, and it’s over. But it’s never that easy. Murder is an art, and like any masterpiece, it requires time, patience, and precision. In a way, it’s a lot like stalking. Not the person necessarily, but the location, the details. Everything has to be perfect.

he queried immediately. “The news came in now, but the murder reportedly happened an hour ago… he's a popular businessman in Dawkins street, he owns a big plaza…. He was shot in broad daylight, from the statements made by the people who saw him last, it had to be the Mafia… Allegedly, he had refused to pay their monthly commission and so they killed him.” the Detective announced “What? A murder took place an hour ago and it is only reported now? Like, what the hell? I won’t let these culprits go away!” he spat.

He walked over and grabbed a chair, dragged it across the floor, and sat in front of me. “Your point?” I said impatiently. “A handful of months ago, Moskov’s wife was murdered in cold blood in their home. An Italian bullet between her eyes and the American Mafia symbol carved on her chest.” Blake said as he took a drag of his cigarette. “The house was heavily guarded, only the best assassins in the world could make that kill.” He said as he smirked. “Ace and I are the best assassins in the world, and I never made that kill.” I scoffed.

he gave a look as if warning her. "You know if you want to kill me, just do and get this over, I'm tired of hiding " " Ohh, Darling." he tucked a strand of her hair, and Alison pulled her face back. "You were never the target; it was Nicholas; the house wasn't the first time we met Alison. I bought paintings from you two years ago. I was stunned by your resemblance with her, so I watched you and I plotted the whole thing. The incident at your house, the murder you witnessed, wasn't a coincidence; I let it happen. It was the only way for Nicholas to meet you "

“Zhedya Hunter. You are under arrest for the murder of Steven Andrew, also known as ‘the Ghost.’” Zhedya didn’t startle. He didn’t even stand up. He simply leaned back in his massive leather chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. A slow, chilling smile touched his lips. It wasn’t a smile of fear or surprise. It was a smile of dark, profound amusement. “Is that so?” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “I’ll need to call my lawyer, of course.” Miller stepped forward, planting his hands on the expensive desk, invading Zhedya’s space.

“…death confirmed this morning of the famous mafioso Santino Ricci, the man whom justice has never been able to reach despite years of investigation. Found dead in his hospital room, he never woke up from the coma into which he had been plunged..." The words rang through the air like a hammer blow. I remained frozen, my gaze glued to the screen where the frozen portrait of Santino was displayed. His stern face, the one that had made entire neighborhoods tremble, was now frozen in history. A shiver ran through me. It was me. It was my hand that evening that had plunged the blade into his flesh. It was I who had caused this coma from which he never emerged.