Unsolved Case Files Pdf Free Download Novels & Stories

She finds me still staring and awkwardly walks away, her cheeks flushed. “Weirdo.” I mutter under my breath, opening the files that are laid out for me to see. The most recent cases that needs help. Finding none that interesting to look at, I pull out a file I had made with my own research. A file not even the police know exist because it’s my personal file, and nothing to do with the legal investigation. A file of Joslyn Airam’s murder case. I close my eyes and let the words burn a whole in my chest. Quietly, I push them away.

That file had been too thick for a small town. And the topmost paper had contained a grainy photograph of a crime scene—one that looked eerily like the park near the bookstore and cafe. Ashwin shivered, gripping his lap as Ishaan drove. “What’s on your mind?” Ishaan asked without taking his eyes off the road. Ashwin hesitated before answering. “The murder cases.” Ishaan’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “You saw something, didn’t you?” “There was a file on the detective’s desk,” Ashwin admitted. “It was labeled ‘Unsolved Homicides – Mount Haven.’ There were a lot of cases.”

Painfully aware of Harris's presence I turn my attention towards him. I force a smile. "Hello, Mr. Harris. I hope you're doing well." He scoffs. "I'm sure you do." He rolls his eyes and turns away from me. Fucking asshole. I unpack the files from my bag, placing them on the table between myself and Brian. "Are these the case notes?" Myra asks. I nod. "They are. These files consist of notes collected by myself as well as my supervisor, Julia." I pass the folders to her.

"The telephoto set from the third-floor office. The originals are on a drive that I have not touched since I took them. I am selling the drive and signing an NDA. Fifteen thousand." "Five," Damien said. "Twelve." "Five," Damien said again. Same tone. Same pace. The PI looked at him. He looked at Roman. Roman was looking at his laptop. "Seven," the PI said. "Five," Damien said. "And I want a signed statement that Hartley Solutions engaged in unlicensed investigation activity on behalf of a former client, and that you are selling this material independently to end the engagement."

Kimberley asked me. “I need to go back to the Jenny Davies case,” I said sipping my beer. “That’s where the answer to this case lies.” * I used the interview suite to read the case file. It had recently been refurbished. Decorated in pastel colours it was now furnished with padded chairs and seaside prints on the wall. I squared the green file on the table in front of me and opened it

The people who were originally inspecting the work over there widened their eyes and then exchanged glances with their secretaries. The secretary reacted quickly, stepping forward with a smile that never diminished. The person who answered the phone had a special level, and all the difficult cases nationwide would eventually be consolidated to him. Especially with those unsolved cases from the past, the longer they remain unresolved, the harder it becomes to find the culprit.

It’d been years, but they looked neat and perfectly in good shape. Adrian’s hand trembled around the edges of the paper as he held them. ‘What are these?’ He wasn't sure what he was going to find, but he braced himself for disappointment. He sat up on the floor to support his numb legs, his back relaxing on the vault as he finally opened the file. By the third page, hot tears were already blurring his vision. Inside the file were detailed documents on a secret case his Dad has been working on. The Wrongful Arrest of Isabella Greene.

But when he tried to look up someone like Ezra or Peter, a message popped up: Insufficient permissions. He clicked his tongue. Ordinary records weren't worth much anyway. Then a thought hit him. He pulled up the unsolved cases.

POV: Lena Moretti The case file was four hundred and twelve pages long. I knew because I'd counted. Four hundred and twelve pages of financial analysis, document reproductions, timeline reconstructions, transcribed recordings, and witness statements that told the story of Victor Crane's thirty-year predation machine from beginning to end. My mother started the work. I finished it. And the result was sitting on my laptop in a folder labeled "Final Submission" waiting for the one person who could turn paper into prosecution.

Although I was tempted to start the search, I held my horses and focused on other tasks on hand. I couldn't afford to look suspicious on my first day. After logging in, I grabbed the file from the pile. The title immediately made me frown. “Cases of Crimes Committed by Former Fiancés and Romantic Partners.” A startled gasp escaped me. “What?” I flipped open the file. The first report described months of stalking after a broken engagement. The second was an acid attack. And the third was murder. My smile disappeared completely. The deeper I read, the colder my hands became.