The journey from Jodhpur to Jaipur was a five-hour straight shot through the heart of Rajasthan, a drive Neel made in a non-descript, aging silver sedan that blended perfectly with the highway traffic. He drove in silence, the air-conditioning fighting a losing battle against the relentless sun. The landscape shifted gradually, the arid browns of the Marwar region slowly giving way to the greener, more populated plains surrounding the capital.
Neel watched the world go by, but his mind was already in Nahargarh, in a room locked from the inside. A puzzle. Alok was right; it was a game he couldn't resist. He had spent the last year trying to silence the part of him that thrived on such things—the hunter, the analyst, the Ghost. But the call had reawakened it with an unpleasant jolt. It was a hunger he had tried to starve, but it had only been sleeping.
He arrived in Jaipur as the sun began its descent, casting long shadows and bathing the city's iconic buildings in a warm, rosy glow. The Pink City was a jarring contrast to Jodhpur's serene blue. It was a place of noise, of colour, of frantic, teeming life. The streets were a chaotic symphony of honking horns, rumbling auto-rickshaws, and the chatter of a million people. To Neel, it was a city of endless variables, a place where a man could get lost, and a killer could easily hide.
The Jaipur Police Headquarters was a drab, functional building of concrete and glass that seemed out of place amidst the city's historical grandeur. Neel parked, killed the engine, and sat for a moment, observing. He watched the flow of people in and out—harried officers, nervous complainants, swaggering local politicians. He was an outsider here, a phantom stepping into their world, and he knew it would not be a welcome intrusion.
He found Maya Sharma waiting for him in the visitor's area, a sterile room with plastic chairs and peeling government posters. She stood as he entered, her eyes immediately finding his. She had been studying him, he realised, ever since he stepped out of his car. Her gaze was sharp, analytical. She was looking for the legend, the Ghost of the CBI, and was likely disappointed by the quiet, unassuming man in a simple linen shirt who stood before her.
"Mr. Verma?" she asked, her voice steady.
"Yes," he said. There was no handshake, no exchange of pleasantries. They were here for a purpose, not a friendship.
Before they could speak further, a man in a crisp uniform approached them. He was tall, with a thick moustache and a weary, authoritative air. His name tag read 'Vikram Rathod.'
"Neel Verma?" Rathod said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Inspector Alok Prakash called ahead. I'm the lead investigator on this case." His tone was professionally polite but held a clear undercurrent of skepticism. He was the king of this castle, and Neel was a foreign dignitary of questionable repute.
"Inspector," Neel acknowledged with a slight nod.
"My office," Rathod said, gesturing down a busy corridor. "Ms. Sharma, you can wait here."
"No," Maya said, her voice firm. "I'm the one hiring him. I go where he goes. My father is the victim. I have a right to be involved."
Rathod looked as if he was about to argue, but he met Maya's determined gaze and then glanced at Neel's impassive face and seemed to think better of it. He grunted and led them to a small, cluttered office. Case files were stacked high on the desk, and a map of Jaipur covered one wall, dotted with coloured pins.
"So," Rathod began, sinking into his chair. "You're the famous 'Ghost.' Come all the way from Jodhpur to chase our ghosts in Jaipur." There was a faint, mocking edge to his voice.
Neel ignored the jibe. He sat down, his posture relaxed but his attention total. He absorbed every detail of the room, every file, every note pinned to the wall.
"Tell me about the room," Neel said, his voice quiet, cutting through the Inspector's bluster.
Rathod was taken aback by the directness. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "It's exactly what you heard. A sealed box. Dr. Sharma went up there last night to work. The guard at the main entrance saw his car go up, but didn't see him come down. When he didn't return this morning, a search was organized. They found his rooms in the Madhavendra Bhawan suite locked. Had to break the door down. And there he was."
"The bolt," Neel said. "Describe it."
"Standard heavy iron bolt. Slides into a thick iron bracket sunk deep into the doorframe. Solid. No signs of tampering. We had the historical society and our own engineers look at it. It's original to the fort. It cannot be locked or unlocked from the outside. Period."
"And the cause of death?"
"A single, deep puncture wound to the chest. We haven't found the weapon. The M.E. thinks it was something thin and sharp, like a stiletto or an ice pick."
Neel remained silent for a moment, processing. A locked room. A missing weapon. A ghost story for cover. It was a classic, elegant puzzle.
"I need to see the scene," Neel said. It wasn't a request.
Rathod bristled. "The fort is closed to the public. The crime scene is sealed. Forensics is still working."
"Then I'll need a police liaison," Neel stated calmly, his eyes meeting the Inspector's. "Someone who can get me access. Someone who knows the city. Someone who isn't afraid of ghosts."
Rathod stared at him, a muscle twitching in his jaw. The audacity of this man, walking into his office and making demands, was infuriating. But he also had a direct order from his superiors to 'cooperate with the specialist.' And deep down, he knew this case was beyond him. He was a man drowning in an impossible sea, and Neel Verma was either a lifeline or a stone that would drag him down faster.
He picked up his desk phone. "Get me Inspector Riya Singh," he barked into the receiver. "Tell her to report to my office. Now." He slammed the phone down and looked at Neel, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "You want a liaison, Mr. Verma? You've got one. Let's see how you handle her."