2
A police jeep stood parked in front of a house in the LIC Colony. Inspector Gurumoorthy was barking orders at his constables.
“Have you checked everything thoroughly?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve scouted the perimeter. There’s nothing outside.”
“Then the trouble must be inside the house,” Gurumoorthy muttered.
“Yes, sir.”
“Try the master key bunch. Get that door open.”
Following the Inspector’s lead, a constable approached the door with a ring of master keys. On the third attempt, the lock clicked open. As the door swung wide, a wave of foul stench rushed out. Gurumoorthy instinctively pressed his handkerchief to his nose.
Stepping inside, his eyes fell upon the sight: the rotting corpse of a man named Arjun.
“The body is in an advanced stage of decomposition. Call the forensic team and tell them we need an on-spot post-mortem,” Gurumoorthy ordered. Sub-Inspector Tennavan, following close behind, nodded in acknowledgment.
“First, we need to find out who the deceased is,” Gurumoorthy said.
“We checked with the neighbors, sir, but no one seems to know anything. They say this house has been locked for a long time. Apparently, the owner moved to Mumbai years ago.”
“What are you saying, Tennavan? How can a murder take place in a house that’s been locked for years? Who is the owner? Get him here.”
“The owner is a doctor, sir. Name’s Nesan. I’ll contact him immediately.”
As they spoke, the forensic team arrived. They greeted the Inspector, who acknowledged them with a curt nod. Dr. Kathiravan led the team for the autopsy.
“Welcome, Doctor. Good morning.”
“Morning, Guru. Who’s the victim?”
“Male. Looks to be about thirty.”
“Alright, let me finish the formalities.”
Dr. Kathiravan began the preparations for the on-spot post-mortem while the photographer captured the body from various angles. Once finished, Kathiravan stepped outside to meet Gurumoorthy.
“Cause of death, Doctor?”
“Internal organ damage and blood loss caused by a sharp weapon plunged into the abdomen. Likely a knife, which was subsequently withdrawn. He was young—somewhere between twenty-five and thirty.”
As the doctor explained, a constable rushed up to the Inspector. “Sir, a girl from the opposite house has some information.”
Gurumoorthy’s face brightened.
“Raghav, where are you? Anjali is looking for you!”
Only Raghav’s muffled voice drifted out from his hiding spot. “Sister, please… just leave me alone!”
“If you don’t come out right now, your punishment will be doubled!” Anjali threatened playfully.
“Please, Sis!”
Anjali spotted Raghav’s head peeking out from under the bed and dragged him out. She laughed, “Caught you! Now, go sit at the dining table.”
Raghav made a face. “How many times do I have to tell you? I hate bitter gourd.”
“You shouldn’t say that. It’s good for your health. You must eat it every Saturday.”
Anjali served him rice and dal along with fried bitter gourd. Raghav squeezed his eyes shut, swallowed the greens, and chased them with a large gulp of water.
Anjali watched him with pure affection. She had been married for four years but had no children yet. Her husband, Sarveswaran, was a building contractor. Raghav, her eighteen-year-old younger brother, was still a baby in her eyes. She loved her husband even more because he never minded Raghav living with them.
Sarveswaran walked out of the room, talking on his phone. He flashed a smile at Anjali and headed toward the backyard garden.
“Sis,” Raghav whispered.
“What is it?”
“Why does Brother-in-law always go to the garden whenever he’s on the phone? Is there some ‘other line’ going on?”
“Shush! Shut your mouth,” Anjali snapped. “Do you have any idea what a good man he is?”
Seeing her genuine anger, Raghav chuckled. “I was just joking, Sis.”
“Don’t even joke like that, Raghav. He is my life.”
As tears welled in Anjali’s eyes, Raghav’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, Sis. I won’t say it again.”
“Good. Now finish your food. Don’t you dare get up until the plate is empty.” Anjali rolled her eyes playfully, and Raghav pretended to be terrified as he continued eating.
“What’s the info?” Gurumoorthy asked the constable.
“A girl living opposite says she saw a young woman at this house last Saturday evening, sir.”
“Very good. Bring her here.”
A few moments later, the girl arrived, looking hesitant.
“Don’t be afraid, Ma’am. Just tell us what you saw,” Gurumoorthy reassured her.
“Yes, sir. Last Saturday evening, I saw a girl here.”
“How old was she?”
“She looked like a college student.”
“Would you be able to identify her if you saw her again?”
The girl hesitated. “It would be difficult, sir.”
Gurumoorthy’s face fell, but Tennavan’s eyes caught something—a CCTV camera mounted on the house opposite.
“Sir, we can catch her,” Tennavan said, hurrying across the street.
He rang the bell, and an elderly woman opened the door. “Who is it?”
“Police. We need your CCTV footage.”
The woman called out, “Divya!”
A young woman stepped out. When she saw Tennavan, a flicker of fear crossed her eyes. “Yes, sir?”
“We need the footage from last Saturday.”
“I’ll get it for you, sir. Come in.”
Divya turned on the computer and pulled up the Saturday files. The view of the crime scene was crystal clear. At exactly 5:00 PM, a girl appeared on screen, walking across the lawn while checking her phone.
“Can you enlarge the face?” Tennavan asked.
As Divya zoomed in on the girl’s face, Tennavan froze. His heart hammered against his ribs. He immediately pulled out his phone and called Inspector Gurumoorthy.
“Sir!”
“Yes, Tennavan, tell me.”
“We have the footage, sir.”
“Excellent. Is the girl in it?”
“She is, sir… but…”
“But what? Speak up!”
“Sir, the girl in this CCTV footage… is the same girl whose dead body we recovered from the Aathupalam bridge three days ago.”
