Question

用英语写一篇犯罪案件故事

Answer 1

http://www.worlds-best-detective-crime-and-murder-mystery-books.com/
英文经典犯罪小说

http://shortstoriesfree.com/crime-stories/crime-stories.html
英文短篇犯罪小说

-----------------The Dark Subway--------------

The phone buzzed on Jill's table. Looking around, she challenged anybody in the organization to respond to it. Adam simply turned away. Jill knew Brett Bruce was calling. What she did not want was to prolong their quarrel. He complaint to her about her work, sulking and asking why she did not want to spend more time at the house. His continuous niggling implied that she was not expected to come back on time. After eighteen years of living together, one would believe they could work out a solution.

After putting on her coat and bidding goodbye to Adam, Jill left the workplace to face the expected and headed towards the subway. She reached the platform just when the passengers were assembling, waiting for the next train to arrive. It was just like any other day. The sound, the smell, the public produced no curiosity for Jill. Her only worry was to reach on time.

Following her, on the stairway running down from the lane, Jill took notice of a noise. It was the sound of someone shouting. A man screamed, "He has a pistol!" Reacting in slow motion Jill turned as the person lifted the pistol aiming it at the man to Gill's left. The stranger shouted something incomprehensible. Without judgment Jill came between the gun wielding man and his prey with her hands raised, believing that she could speak the man down. Jill saw the trigger being pulled, sensed the shock, and paused, surprised by disbelief then fell on the platform. From a distance, as if through a channel, Jill listened to noise, soft, noisy. Then it was total darkness.

When Jill was just four, she had a terror of subways. The stink and the litter, even the public scared her. In spite of her yelling and howling her mom pulled her into the subway. "I will die, I am really scared," she said. Her mom did not seem to care about her appeals. Finally, Jill overcame her worries, and taking the subway was soon a part of the day, until that fateful day.

Someone said in her ear, "Wait. A few more moments. Do not die."

Gill tried to answer, but she could not gather the power to speak a word. She tried to open her eyes. "She is alive" the man shouted. "Call the ambulance, somebody, quick!"

Jill felt a grin at the curve of her lips. She struggled to stay awake, but it was proving to be a losing fight. Just as she started to weaken she heard a voice say, "Oh dear! That's Jill."

Jill had been employed by the army only a few months more than her buddy Adam. They had lately been allocated to theft inquiry. They had been through a lot recently on their beat, unrests, fights, and even a few busted drug rackets. In all those years Jill had never used her pistol apart from on the practice range. She was a good quality shooter, and had triumphed in a few contests in the army. Her pistol was at all times strapped under her right wing. In case the need arose. She, at times, doubted if she will ever need it.

Trying hard to come out of the sleep once again, Jill's eyes trembled and she saw Adam looking at her, worried.

"A few more minutes, Buddy try to hold on," said Adam in a hushed voice. "You can't leave us like this. What would I say to Brett?"

Jill struggled to reply. With a lot of effort, he puffed, "Tell him...oh." It proved to be a bit too much.

"Don't try too hard, Jill. I know; I'll tell him not to worry. Help will be here soon."

Jill felt her breath drop away like the blood that was leaking from the gunshot injury. She let Adam down, fading there on the platform. Her last thought: Brett would be annoyed that she was not on time again.

------------------The Perfect Murder-----------------

I hear the beeping tone of the monitors, their continuous activity reassuring people sporting the glut of wires and belts that extend out from the honking sentinel besides their couch. I would not be here. But, I am.

The sound of laughter emerges from the adjoining room. A family elated at grandma's recuperation? Possibly. I hope them poor health, as their pleasure is opposite to my suffering. There will be no healing in this room; the stench of urine and antiseptic combine to lend this disinfected nook the stink of near death. The lifeless flowers only add to the drabness of the environs. I strike them away with my fist and they fall to the ground lifeless. I stare at them fallen with wretched floppiness on the ground and give out a sarcastic chuckle. The grunt causes me to choke and I throw up rotting fury. It burns up the back of my gullet and leaves behind the trace of umpteen hangovers.

I have forgotten of how long I have been here, where I don't want to be. He is an erratic personality is old Death. He works to his own will, not mine; nor anyone else's. When your trade is failing people you are your own chief.

I pick up a grape. They're spongy and damp. I feel the warmth in the area. No wonder the fruit and flowers are past their prime. They've only been here for a couple of days, brought by my cousin. She's a nice lady. I persisted her to stay away tonight. I told her to stick to to her exercises, hummed her favourite song. I am not sure she cherished the joke but I am sure she appreciated my effort at putting a courageous face on things.

Using the remote on the couch, I soften the lights in the room as I have a migraine approaching. Tension is my rival. Up in the curve I grab picture of a bright light. It winks at me. Then it winks once more. I wink back, as if to converse. It winks yet again. The light's simple existence makes me envious. The LED's half-life will outlive most living citizens. In its merciless dominance it has all I want; a long life without obstacles. I fling a grape at it; it is no longer my pal.

Without caution, I begin singing a song. It appears completely inapt and I am interrupted by further hilarity from round the corner. They truly are in exuberant mood - old Mr. More must be getting out, or he is taking a bed bath and the care takers have found something all the family can chuckle at.

This idea conveys long removes recollections hurrying back to me. Of the mistreatment, the torment and thrashing dished out at me by my father. 'He's a tyrant,' my mother would clarify, 'He only desires the finest for you', she would plead. If the finest meant black eyes and a dread of the shady, he did well.

My daydream is broken up by a shrilled scream. I glance right away at the screen besides me. Sadly, the stay goes on. I gaze through the glass door to spot where the nurses are hurrying to. Nowhere, that's where. It's Mr. More. His gear is unplugged and his is all set to go. His son, I assume, is helping him to the gate. They grin and appear completely at ease in each other's arms. The morons. I curse them and swear to hate them everlastingly there and then. I know I'll never clutch my father like that.

Thinking about my father yet again, I recollect the psychological mistreatment being much worse than the physical. Black eyes get well. When I told him I was dating a black man he thrashed me in to a coma and I still declined to press charges. We've never spoken ever since. I have spoken to him many times, particularly in the last few weeks ever since he had a heart attack, but for understandable reasons he has never answered.

Outside the room I hear the guests departing. Only the bleeps and my gasps are heard in this restricted space. I know there won't be a nurse around for another few hours. They confirm that the bed is dry and the bleeps are beeping. I sit there immobile, like I have every night for days now and doubt if I have the power to go on. I advise myself to do it. Death will not come unaccompanied. He, no, they, Death and Dad, will ridicule me and my flaws. I need to be tough. What am I waiting for? Is it consent? There is no one to say yes, no one to say no. There is only me and my needle. I am in command. Death can gnaw me. I can do better than he, the hack plying legend. Does he have a monopoly on expirations? No I say. I am taking control; I will be destiny's unkind hand for one night only.