The Night Everything Began to Fall Apart | crime story, Detective John Rains, Case of a Detective, book excerpt, crime novel, police investigation

How “Case of a Detective” Was Created

The story about the detective came about completely by chance. As a big fan of crime and thriller novels written by Agatha Christie, Michael Connelly, Jo Nesbø, and Caroline Graham – whose books inspired the series Midsomer Murders, which I regularly watch – one evening I came up with the idea of a detective whose private life is falling apart. At the time, he didn’t even have a name. I challenged myself to write my own crime story.

Through research, I tried to understand what makes a good crime story, how detectives think, how a police station operates, and what a real investigation looks like. After three years of writing, a story emerged filled with complex characters, people who are not only trying to solve murders, but also their own personal struggles.

In the end, I had three parts:

• Behind the Badge

• Murder in the Woods

• Forest Trail

However, for the story to work better, I had to make a difficult decision. The Behind the Badge section was removed. Parts of that story were turned into short flashbacks. But it never completely disappeared.

This blog is the place where those cut and forgotten parts will finally see the light of day and where you will meet Detective John Rains.

What happens in this part of the story?

In this part of the story, we follow Detective John Rains at the end of an exhausting day. After a failed investigation into the murder of a park ranger in a national park, the case ends up among the unsolved, leaving behind a sense of frustration and defeat.

As the city sinks into the bustle of the evening, John looks for a break - not only from work, but from his own life, which is slowly falling apart. His steps lead him to a bar known among police officers, a place where problems are briefly forgotten, but never truly disappear.

It is there that the night begins – the night that will change everything.

Excerpt from the book

At the bar, sitting alone, was Detective John Raines. He was in his late forties, but the weight of the years seemed to rest on his shoulders more heavily than it should. His eyes were vacant, fixed on a single point on the counter, while his hand unconsciously gripped a glass of whiskey. He had known Joe for years; words between them weren’t necessary. The glass filled and emptied in silence, as the laughter and chatter of the younger officers echoed in the background.

But the detective was somewhere else. His thoughts wandered between the café and home, between the present and the day when things began to fall apart. His glass was empty, yet his hand still rested on its rim, as if it gave him a reason not to stand up. He was putting off going home, aware that another identical argument awaited him there – one without a beginning and without an end. An argument filled with accusations, disappointment, and bitterness. Lately, those had been the only conversations taking place in the house.

The detective heard the younger officers raise a toast, celebrating a successfully solved case. For a brief moment, he felt a twinge of envy. Their carefree spirit, enthusiasm, and energy reminded him of a time when he had been the same – when he believed he could change the world. Now, it felt like he was barely managing to keep his own life from falling apart.

One of the younger officers from the laughing group walked over to the bar beside Detective John Raines. He had come to order another beer, but his attention was caught by the sight of the detective – hunched over his glass of whiskey, lost in thought. The young man recognized the face he had often seen around the police station – John Raines, the man about whom stories were told.

“Hello! Are you Detective John Raines?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. The detective didn’t notice him at first. The sounds of the bar seemed muffled, distant. When the young man repeated the question, John lifted his head, his gaze clouded by alcohol and worry. “You’re working on the murdered park ranger case, right?”

John flinched slightly. “Not anymore,” he replied, a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “That case officially landed on the cold case pile today. Can’t you tell I’m celebrating?”

“That’s not exactly something to celebrate,” the young man said, confused by his tone.

“Of course it’s not!” John sighed, glancing into his empty glass. “I hate unsolved cases. But what can I do? Not enough evidence, not enough witnesses... Nothing to take us any further.” He looked up at him. “And who are you?”

“Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Michael Kidd. We work at the same station.” His tone carried a disarming friendliness.

John gave him a mildly indifferent look. “Don’t recall seeing you before.”

“You work upstairs, in the detective division. I’m on patrol. We met once at the gym,” Michael replied, leaning casually against the bar. That didn’t mean much to John. “My partner is George Cooper. You might know him.”

“Cooper?” John’s eyes came to life for a moment. “Yeah, we know each other from the academy. We graduated the same year. We used to run into each other a lot, but once I became a detective, our paths split. Shame – he never wanted to become a detective. He’s a good cop. Loves the street, the people, the patrol. Learn from him – you’ve got plenty to learn there. Tell him I said hi when you see him.”

“I will,” Michael replied, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he ran his hand over the back of a barstool and leaned slightly toward John. “Mind if I join you? I think you could use some company tonight.”

“What about your friends?” John asked, turning his head to glance at the younger officers.

“I’ve spent enough time with them,” Michael said, lowering his voice. “Besides, you’re a legend. I want to become a detective one day, and I could learn a lot from you.”

John nodded with a faint smile. “Alright, kid. I’m always up for talking about cases.” Michael sat down beside him, and they ordered another round. The conversation began, gradually shifting toward the case of the murdered park ranger. “The park ranger was found dead in the woods near a popular hiking trail,” John began. “The body was discovered by one of his colleagues during a routine patrol. The killer was precise. One shot to the head. We searched everything – the crime scene, his paperwork, his car, bank accounts, contacts. We questioned everyone he knew…” As John spoke, Michael listened intently, absorbing every word like a student who didn’t want to miss a single detail. It was clear that the detective enjoyed the chance to analyze the case, even in this informal setting. His voice was deep and steady, his eyes lively as he recounted each step of the investigation.

The group of younger officers continued their celebration, toasting and laughing. They were so loud that the entire bar, if only for a moment, turned to look at them. Even John swiveled slightly in his chair, though he had barely paid them any attention until then. Joe, the bartender behind the counter, watched the scene with a sigh, silently bracing himself for the sound of breaking glass or overturned tables.

“Hey, Michael! Come over here and listen to this!” one of the officers shouted, gesturing toward the group. But Michael simply waved him off and kept talking with John, who now raised an eyebrow and gave him a curious look.

“What’s going on over there?” John asked, his tone halfway between curious and indifferent.

“My patrol buddies,” Michael replied with a grin, tapping his fingers lightly on the edge of the bar. “They had a run-in today with a guy wanted for several counts of domestic violence. After a brief struggle, he gave up and was taken in without incident. That’s why they’re celebrating.”

John smiled, but his smile was more melancholic than joyful. “Reminds me of my early days on the force. Days like those are rare. Always worth celebrating,” he said quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. “You should go back to your friends,” he added after a moment of silence, glancing at Michael, who was still smiling and looking toward the noisy group.

“No,” Michael said firmly, placing a hand on John’s back and giving it a light pat. “You’re the one who needs a friend tonight.” John looked up in surprise, and their eyes met. There was something both resolute and gentle in Michael’s gaze – something that made John, if only for a moment, forget his troubles. “I’d rather keep you company,” Michael continued, leaning lightly against the bar. “And I’d like to hear another one of your stories. Yours are far more interesting – and educational.”

John nodded slowly, more to himself than to Michael. “Your story about your colleagues reminded me of a similar case from my early days,” he said softly, as if speaking to his own past. “My superior and I responded to a call about an assault. The victim had been brutally attacked with a hammer. The suspect had barricaded himself in a neighbor’s house, refusing to come out. We offered him every chance to surrender peacefully, but after several hours of failed negotiations, we had to break in by force.”

Michael listened closely, his eyes narrowing in focus, as if trying to absorb every word. “Did the victim survive?” he asked, his voice carrying genuine concern.

“She did,” John replied, though there was no satisfaction in his tone. “But barely. The maniac destroyed her life. Nearly killed her.” His hands tightened around the glass. “Did she deserve that? No,” he said sharply, before downing the rest of his whiskey in one motion. “That’s why we do this job, Michael. We’re the ones responsible for keeping the community safe, for protecting people who can’t protect themselves from lunatics. We don’t always get there on time. But we must do better. Crime just keeps rising every year.”

Sensing the tension in John’s words, Michael placed a hand on his shoulder – the light touch but comforting. “That’s why I want to talk to you,” he said, his voice calm and serious. “I want to learn from the best.” John turned his head toward him, his gaze meeting Michael’s piercing eyes. There was admiration in them – almost tangible – and for a brief moment, it disarmed him. “How about we order another round?” Michael suggested with a warm smile. “You can tell me about another case. I’m sure you’ve got plenty.” John sighed, but this time he smiled – faintly, yet sincerely. He nodded, and Michael raised his hand to order more drinks. “Next rounds on me,” he said cheerfully as the glasses arrived.

“You know,” John said after taking a sip, “I don’t know what’s motivating you to sit here with an old, cynical detective like me… but thanks.”

Michael simply shook his head, smiling. “No motivation needed, detective. It’s enough that you’re here.”

This is just the beginning of a night that will not be forgotten.

In the following parts, I will reveal how this story unfolds and what truly lies behind Detective John Rains.