Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.
Hide the Dead Girl
Detective James Matthews steps out of his car onto the rain-soaked pavement. The flashing blue of the police sirens reflect in the gathering puddles as James forces his way through the amassing crowd of neighbours and bystanders towards the house.
(This is the first of many parts to Nalani Kealoha. I'm pursuing a writing career and I wanted to get some feedback. This will be an entire book. However, each part will be one chapter)
The Paltry Killer
Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. A quote from Benjamin Franklin. A man who when you look at his portrait, all you see is a happy looking balding man in spectacles. The man that appears on the one-hundred dollar bill. Why would this jolly, Santa-like man say something so austere?
Dene flexed his wrists upwards, barely an inch of movement and certainly not enough to scratch his nose. He eyed the door again. Although he could see movement from the short shadows on the floor, the lack of windows offered no hint as to when their owners would enter the room. Thanks to the strap across his forehead, he could barely move his head to either side, and the slightly squat position put too much pressure on his spine. Dene knew that the moment he was released he would be in agony. He was pretty sure his detainment was against his civil rights, let alone the physical restraints, and the moment someone came for him he was going to tell them.
The Touch of Fear
In the dead of night, at approximately three in the morning, murder was in the air and blood was drying on the ground. The smell of death floated around the city of Chicago.
A Taste for Murder
“Contestants, you have 90 minutes. Let’s cook.” An angry hiss seared the air as the onions hit the pan. Too hot! She galvanised into action, snatched the pan from the heat, and shuffled the contents about.
I returned home with a smile on my face. A lovely date, it had been. As I had imagined, she was a beautiful girl; one of my dreams. Her laugh gives my chest a flutter and my fist clenches. I've always been a shy sort.
"Courage is being scared to death and saddling up anyway." —John Wayne Her boots slammed against the pavement as she made her way into the building, her service weapon in her hand and her finger poised on the trigger. She stepped forward with a paced caution, her eyes wide as she adjusted to the lighting. The building that towered around her was dark and musty, filling her with a damp chill, despite her gear. She wore a heavy Kevlar vest, a dark blue long-sleeved V-neck that snuggled her body. Black jeans hugged her legs, a heavy black belt buckling the waist close to her sharp hips. Her feet were clad in sleek black combat boots, the thick soles silent on the concrete, while the heavy breaths of her partner stirring the hair around her ears. She couldn't help but flinch as the A/C rattled to life, clanging through the air vents like a pin ball in an arcade machine. She raised her hand over her shoulder, motioning for her partner to move forward. Her eyes remained fixed on her path as he slid past her, his shoulder brushing hers. He was dressed in similar attire. She watched his dark silhouette as it became outlined against a cylindrical light that hung from the high vaulted ceiling. The hallway was long but narrow, various forms of boxes and crates stacked up alongside the walls. Seven men and four women followed closely behind her; she could hear their heavy footsteps and the shuffle of their guns as they adjusted their grips. Slight irritation shot through her, wishing her and her partner could have gone in solo. She halted as he stopped in front of her, a slight hang motion gesturing for her to wait.
"Initiative is doing the right thing without being told." Victor Hugo The sound of her heart best slammed against her head, echoing around the seemingly endless chasms of her soul. Everything around her was silent, the steady ringing in her ear dying down to a low buzz. Her hand jumped to her necklace, twisting the silver pendant around her finger. The harsh white light of the courtroom glinted on the horse pendant, a sharp glare catching the prosecutor's eye. The tall man blinked, and the glare was gone. Her other hand was balled in the soft fabric of her blue dress, wrinkling what her mother had carefully ironed hours before. Wavy, dirty blonde hair fell down her neck, ending in graceful swirls where it brushed along her shoulders. Her wide brown eyes were fixed ahead of her, her mouth dully responding to the questions being thrown at her.
Fate of Reality
Chen Song woke up to the sound of a deafening gunshot. After springing out of bed, he sprawled to the closet to grab his revolver. As Chen Song made his way down his four-story villa, flashes of his daughter raced through his mind. Memories of her childhood and the danger she might be in filled Chen Song with rage and anger.
Lay shifted, yawning behind the back of his hand before pushing to stand. When he opened the door to his office and peered into the mostly empty chairs of the waiting room, he was fractionally more awake. As it was late in the afternoon, there were only four people left for him to see and one had not arrived yet. No worries as it was not their time yet.
Life Is Not What It Seems
Friday morning, in the suburbs of York, the sun was gloriously shining as we adequately filled the car with suitcases and other various items. “I love you. It’ll be fine once we’ve got away,” Jackson, my fiancé, says to me aspirated. I shrug and lean into him as he wraps his arms around me and kisses my forehead. “I love you too.”