O FBI Investigou Kurt Cobain Morte De Forma Completa?

Murder Inquiry is a crime fiction, whose plot is about Edwin Wolfgang, a rich New York based banker, who gives out loans for which he accepts artworks as collateral, but kills his customers before they are able to pay back the loan. And a FBI agent attached to the New York field office, who's charged with the task of bringing Mr Wolfgang to book. The story is set in three cities, in three different continents, and is full of twists and turns from the killing of Wolfgang's last two victims, up to his eventual arrest.

In the fifth year after my death, Oliver Rypien, leader of the huge smuggling ring that has a notorious reputation domestically and internationally, finally gets arrested by the police. At the public trial court, Oliver can be seen wearing an inmate uniform, though his murderous look is etched on his scarred face. He even has the guts to hum a whimsical tune tauntingly, completely unrepentant. After hearing the prosecutor accusing him of killing 129 victims, Oliver suddenly snorts in laughter. "You're wrong. You're missing one more victim. The police officer named Victor Patton who came from the Customs Enforcement Unit? Yeah, he died at my hands as well." Everyone gasps in shock. A reporter is quick to rebuke Oliver. "Hang on, Victor is a mole working for your organization! After a bounty on him was posted, he had nowhere to run to, so he embezzled over hundreds of millions of dollars' worth of national assets before fleeing overseas! Even now, he's still living his life scotfree abroad!" Oliver shook his head before letting out a cold chuckle. "Victor was a stubborn one. Even though I crippled him, he still managed to kill five of my men. How is it possible for him to be our mole? "After crippling him, I threw him into the concrete foundation of Joy Bridge. If you don't believe me, go ahead and dig through the foundation." Suddenly, Oliver lowers his tone. His smile becomes more malicious. "Speaking of which, we did have a mole who worked with us to kill ten police officers. But now, he's successfully washed his hands off his crimes and became a certain someone's husband. "Why don't you take a guess as to who that brainless, idiotic woman is?" Three minutes later, my ex-wife, Gabriella Campbell, also known as the Chief Commissioner of Police in Gakoli, receives a phone call from the court outside the office of a well-known OBGYN department. "Chief Campbell, please come to the court immediately. The defendant has something crucial to tell you in person."

Namih Chan is a detective. She does not believe in the ghost that will return to earth to demand justice. But since Namih Chan lived in her rented house, her perspective changed. Almost every night, she dreams of a bloody woman. She was begging for justice. It doesn't hold her back anymore. Until she decided to reopen the woman's case when she found out that someone had died in the house she was renting, few years ago. She struggled to trace the woman's origin until she met the family. She was asking for cooperation from the family, but they refused. Until she meets the eldest brother who is also a detective. Joojen Lee, a half blooded korean who used to live in the country. She worked with him. Along with her search for justice is the monthly case of murder of a half filipino women in their city. The woman died the same way as Joana was killed. She concluded that the killer of the woman in their city and Joana's killer had something to do with it. Will they succeed in achieving the justice that Joana demands, in exchange for her silence? Are they ready to find out who is the person behind the murders?

I am the biggest female drug lord in Riverdale, who gets shot in the head during a crackdown operation. As soon as the news breaks, the entire internet celebrates. People even crowdfund to take over a giant screen in the city square to display my obituary photo. They say I filled Riverdale with drugs and single-handedly destroyed countless families. They accuse me of leaking operation routes, causing the deaths of my ex-husband's 13 anti-drug force teammates. Hundreds of thousands sign a petition demanding my ashes be crushed and turned into tiles for public restrooms. To calm the overwhelming public anger, my ex-husband, Tyler Lowell, who is now captain of the anti-drug force, decides to launch a public hearing across the internet to livestream my entire life of alleged crimes. On the day of the trial, people thronged the city square. "A woman like her deserves to be cut up into a thousand pieces! How many families are destroyed because of the drugs she sells?" "I hear she is ruthless. She would even stoop to making a three-year-old do her bidding. She is inhumane!" "She got so many anti-drug officers killed. I want to see her end up in hell!" Tyler presses the start button with a blank expression. The crowd's furious curses come crashing down like waves. It is as if they want to tear me apart and condemn me forever. But in the next second, what appears on the giant screen is me in a uniform, standing under the national flag and taking a solemn oath. In that instant, the entire square falls silent.

When my eyes were gouged out, my mother was shopping with my cousin. When I was forced to drink a bottle of acid and died in agony, she snapped impatiently, “Kara, can’t you be as well-behaved as Wendy? If you’re just going to run away, then don’t bother calling me!” However, when she saw the crime scene, she rushed outside and threw up. As a criminal psychologist specially hired by the River City police, how could she feel sick at the sight of her own daughter’s body?

I quit and dipped. City threw a parade. Only Jenna Blake—my oh-so-gifted junior who claimed she could "see through killers' eyes"—lost it. At her celebration banquet, she went full drama queen: "I owe everything to Kate Mercer. Please, bring her back!" I laughed. Cold. Not happening. Last time around, I was the hotshot detective. But every clue I found? She dropped it first like she read my mind. People started saying I was washed. So I went all in—three months, no sleep, cracked a massive trafficking ring. Led the raid myself. She beat me there. Again. Place was cleaned out. Boom. She's the city's golden girl. I'm the clown with no game. Pressure got ugly. My head snapped. I died chasing the last scumbag. Then—bam. I woke up. Same day. Raid morning. Round two.