“The milk and breakfast I set out for you this morning have gone cold—for the third time this week. What do you think is going to change by neglecting your health like this? Did you forget the leave was meant for you to recover, not to drown yourself in work again?”
“Are you even listening to me, Maya?” my mother shouted, her voice sharp with frustration, as she swapped the untouched breakfast plate for a bowl of lunch. The clatter it made as she set it down was loud enough to echo her disappointment. Only then, I lifted my eyes from the screen and glanced at the lunch bowl.
It has been three weeks since our department has lost Mr. Vikrant. A senior CID officer with deep- rooted expertise over two and a half decade was found dead which authorities claim was a suicide, shortly after becoming a suspect in a high-profile investigation.
Ever since that day, my mind wasn’t in the right place, I just couldn’t concentrate. The department then granted recovery leave to everyone who was part of the investigation.
I could clearly not move on from that, after losing the person who mentored me from day one. Everyone around urged me to rest and stop dwelling on the matter, but my mind remained restless. I firmly believed that the death was unjustified.
While my heart insisted it was my duty to seek the truth and uphold justice, my mind recognized that the challenge exceeded my capacity. Junior assistants like us do not get to know the full picture of the case, we only perform the tasks and submit report on whatever our senior assigns. Fortunately I know my peers who assisted in crime scene management, evidence gathering and surveillance, I hope to gather the necessary details from them.
The ghee glistening on top of the sambar rice tempted me to pick up the bowl. Holding it in one hand, I slowly gulped down a spoonful, the warmth spreading through me. I could barely recognize the names of the vegetables I was swallowing—I was reviewing my messages while holding my phone. “Hey, I’m collating the surveillance and forensic details of the case, will share asap”. Harika has responded, “I've shared all the evidences gathered in the case and the forensic details with you” Prem has also replied, but the message I sent to Vinoth is still unread. They are my peers who worked on the case in different functions.
Once the last bite was gone, I buried myself into the case files. There is a portal in the department where closed cases gets filed for study and reference, but they take a months’ time at least to collate the details and upload it. I am desperately in need of the final report to solve this.
The evidence needs to back up every claim in the final report. If they don’t line up, then our job is to trace back through the data and figure out exactly where the process broke down. Vinoth is acquainted with an employee in the record room where this task is carried out. So, I reached out to him to see if he could get a draft version of the report.
The alarm buzzed. My hand fumbled across the desk before I realized I wasn’t in bed, but slouched over the laptop desk.
“Hey Maya, what’s going on? Why are you digging into that closed case again? You should get some rest. I know it’s hard to let go, but it’s the only option you have," my senior officer Ajay had texted. More disturbing than his words was this question that echoed in my mind—how did Ajay even know I was revisiting the case? Still reeling from confusion, my eyes shifted to the next message, this one was from Vinoth: “Come to Glow Café tomorrow at 10 AM.”
I glanced at the clock. 9:00 AM.
I rushed to the wardrobe, grabbed a pair of flat jeans and the first kurthi I could find, then dashed into the shower.
I got to the café by 10 — Vinoth had arrived before me.
We deliberately avoided any discussion about the case. Without a word, Vinoth passed me the draft version of the final report, He had risked a lot sneaking it out from the record room. I took the report, and we departed immediately.
I parked my car in the driveway and headed toward the door. My mom had left for my aunt’s house yesterday evening and still hadn’t returned. As I climbed the staircase, I noticed the flower pot shattered on the steps — something was definitely off.
Ever since I got the report in my hands, I’d been dying to dive into it, but the moment I stepped inside my home, my mind went completely blank. Unusual signs greeted me everywhere. Whoever had been here after I left had left a mark.
Then I saw it — a bold red message taped right next to my desk:
“Back off from the case, to save your life.”
A cold gulp caught in my throat. What was happening? And why was I being warned like this?
Confusion and fear swirled inside me, making it hard to think clearly. Suddenly, I heard footsteps creaking on the stairs. My heart pounded as I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, my only defense.
Then, a knock came at the door. Panic hit me—I realized I hadn’t locked it. After a few more knocks, a voice broke through the silence, loud and urgent:
“Maya, where are you?”
I looked up, frozen with fear. Standing there was Ajay.
Ajay was shocked beyond me seeing knife in my hands, then we both sat down and I narrated him all the unusual things that happened.
"I received a link related to this case from your email yesterday. It had no subject or message and seemed randomly tagged to me—but what concerned me was the fact that you're still involved in the case and actively working on it," Ajay said. "Sleepy brain sent a link by mistake—my bad!" I told. “I'm telling you this only because I care. Cases like this come with serious risks." he continued to say.
I didn’t argue. I simply nodded in acknowledgment to whatever he said, until he left.
Today is Friday, and I have just three days left to return to work—the deadline I set for myself to prove to my Department Chief and the entire team that Vikrant Sir was not a coward who took his own life, but a victim who was unjustly murdered.
Some melancholy music played in my mind as I walked over to my desk and immediately opened the draft report. Just then, I received a call from Prem. The first thing he asked was, “Maya, did you get any hints from the report?”
“Not yet,” I replied, since I hadn’t even gone through it properly.
“Call me as soon as you find anything suspicious,” he said, then hung up without another word.
I opened the report with a sense of tension tightening my chest. The last page of report said Vikrant sir had shot on his head by himself and it had the images of him holding the gun in left hand after his death. The moment I read those lines, it hit me hard, Vikrant sir is left a hander but I know and heard from him that for shooting, he is only stable with the right hand, it’s definitely someone who knew Vikrant sir is left hander but not close enough to know he uses his right hand to shoot, I can take his records from training days to prove it.
My mind swirled with questions. Who staged this suicide so convincingly? Whoever it was, they had to know Vikrant Sir—at least well enough to get some of the details right. But not all.
And then another thought hit me like a jolt: Who's trying to scare me off this case? The threats, the strange incidents… they all started after one thing—after I accidentally sent that email to Ajay. He didn’t flinch when I told him what all had happened. No shock, just that same unreadable expression.
I remembered the canvass interview conducted after the suicide—every department member had been questioned in the days following the incident. The calls were all recorded and stored.
I opened the folder Harika had shared and navigated to Ajay’s interview. He claimed he returned home that very morning and had been out of town on vacation with his family on the day of the incident.
That didn’t sit right. I recalled seeing Ajay’s wife’s instagram stories around that time. I pulled up her highlights and found the last photo of them landing at the airport—posted on Sunday.
If that was true, Ajay must have been here on Monday, the day of the incident. It was clear—he’d manipulated the facts during the interview
After everything I’d been through, connecting the dots brought a sense of internal relief. I knew I couldn’t afford to delay any longer—I had to devise a plan that would lead Ajay to confess on his own. Without wasting time, I packed all my files and reports and headed straight to Harika’s place. She lives in a PG with solid security and surveillance systems, where I can be safe until I solve this case.
Prem had called me twice to check on the progress, but I didn’t answer. I wanted to keep everything confidential until the pieces fell into place. I told Harika I was feeling lonely and just needed to stay with her for the weekend.
That night, I went through the report and evidence again and again, scrutinizing every word to ensure it aligned with the facts. The evidence clearly ruled out suicide, contrary to the official narrative. The manipulated interview only pointed to Ajay as a suspect—but that wasn’t enough. I needed something stronger, something irrefutable, to prove who was truly responsible.
As I sat there, lost in thought with a blank expression, I was careful not to let Harika sense that something was off. I had too many decisions to make, too many threads to tie together. Suddenly, she walked to the door, opened it, and stood waiting. Moments later, the courier arrived. She signed for the package and returned calmly.
Curious, I asked how she knew the courier would arrive at that exact moment. She replied, “Everyone here can access the live feed from the security cameras at the front gate. I saw a man in uniform approaching and guessed it was for me.”
That hit me like a jolt.
I immediately thought of the supermarket opposite my house. If their cameras had captured anything, I might be able to identify who came to my home after I left. I knew the staff well, so I managed to get access to the footage.
I had left my house at 9:40 AM. I reviewed all vehicle activity between 9:40 and noon, skipping those clearly there for groceries. But one red car stood out—it parked opposite my house around 10:15. Though the footage didn’t reveal the driver’s face clearly, I saw a man step out and return with just a water bottle at 10:50. The last three digits of the license plate were visible.
I need to confirm whether the car belonged to Ajay. Since this was an unofficial investigation, I couldn’t rely on formal channels for help. But I had one potential lead—his wife’s Instagram. Six months ago, she had posted a photo of the car gifted to himi with the caption: “To the best hubby in the world.” My instincts were right—the plate numbers matched.
I could wait no longer to have the crime confessed by him. I was chill and terribly frightened, yet I was sure of giving in anything to solve this.
I had gathered all my courage to arrange a meeting with him in a public place. Until he arrived and sat across from me at the coffee shop, I kept questioning whether I had made the right decision. I had only sent him a short message saying, “We need to talk.”
The moment our eyes met and we sat down, I asked bluntly, “Did you come to my house before I reached home yesterday?” His expression changed instantly—like the moment he had feared had finally arrived. He lowered his head and stayed silent.
I didn’t wait. I began my series of questions and showed him the CCTV footage I had collected. That’s when he finally spoke.
“Yes, I came to your house,” he admitted, “but I’m not involved in the crime.”
I pressed further, asking about his whereabouts on the day of the incident.
He confidently claimed he was on vacation. But when I showed him a post from his wife landing the day before the incident, his confidence shattered. His face visibly turned pale with fear.
“I think it’s time I tell you the truth,” he said, voice trembling. “The evidence you’ve found only points to me because it’s been manipulated. The person who gave you all this—it’s someone you trust. I was once in your position. When I uncovered the truth, I received threats. That’s why I backed away. I came to your house to scare you, hoping you'd stop digging. But you didn’t. You’re persistent, and my conscience won’t let me stay silent anymore.”
He handed me a pen drive.
“Once you see this, you’ll start connecting the real dots.”
I left the café shaken and confused. Was this all just an elaborate attempt to shift blame?
But everything became clear the moment I opened the pen drive.
It was Prem.
He was the one behind it all.
Now I understood why he kept asking for updates on the case—as if it was the air he needed to breathe.
Prem’s father is an influential businessman involved in high profile money laundering cases, he had joined CID only to assist his dad. Ajay and Vikrant sir came to know about all of these, He tried to threaten both, Ajay gave in, Vikrant sir wasn’t afraid, so he killed him. He gave me all manipulated evidence so that I will go clueless and not find out anything but I was mistakenly thinking it was Ajay, If not for the mistaken link I sent, I couldn’t have solved this.
I had always thought Prem was just another junior officer. The truth is unbelievable. His father is a powerful businessman entangled in various money laundering cases. He got into CID only to protect his dad’s secrets. When Ajay and Vikrant sir uncovered the truth, Prem tried to threaten them. Ajay gave in, but Vikrant sir stood his ground. So Prem killed him.
He carefully gave me all manipulated evidence, hoping I’d never uncover the truth. I was misled into thinking, Ajay was behind this crime. Ironically, it was a link I sent by mistake that brought the truth to light. That accident led me to the truth Prem tried so hard to bury.
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