After handing Kunal the forensic reports, I returned to my cabin. My head was pounding with thoughts that refused to settle. Mr. Verma...
What if I said it wasn't an accident? What if I said it was an attempted murder?
Before my thoughts could form a solid line, a sharp knock on the door broke through the silence.
"Vishal sir!"
It was Rhea. Her voice was polite but carried that same hesitant tone that always managed to irritate me.
"Yes?" I asked, my voice clipped with annoyance.
She peeked in, clutching a folder to her chest. "Sir, Tanish went home again..."
I raised an eyebrow, exhaling sharply. "Do I look like his father? Why is every complaint directed at me?"
Her expression softened, a mix of concern and frustration. "Sir, if I go to the DIG, he'll get suspended. And if I go to Mr. KayKay, well... you know how that'll go."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. She wasn't wrong. KayKay's patience was thinner than a thread. "Fine. I'll talk to him later. You can leave."
She hesitated as if wanting to say something else, then nodded and quietly exited. The faint sound of her heels echoed down the corridor before fading into silence.
I turned back to my desk, my eyes falling on the stack of files. The first one was labeled Kashvir.
Kashvir Singh: the rising star who never got to see his debut. He was supposed to act opposite Deepali Verma, one of the most renowned actresses in the industry. The media had been buzzing with excitement before everything came crashing down.
His death wasn't just tragic, it was monstrous. A killer, no-a serial killer-had ended his life in a way no sane person could even imagine. The forensic details had been clear: every cut, every bruise, every act of pain was inflicted while he was still alive.
I ran my hand down the report, reading it again. Nitazen-always the same drug. The dose seemed almost precise, as if the killer used it to control how long the victim stayed alive. What if the Nitazen wasn't meant to kill immediately but to act like a timer? A stopwatch of sorts-giving the killer exactly three minutes to complete his ritual before the victim's body gave in to the poison.
Possible. Clever. Disturbingly clever.
A normal person could survive Nitazen poisoning for about three minutes before full system collapse. So if the killer gave the injection before beginning the torture, it meant everything-the cutting, the binding, the vocal cord incision-all of it was done in under three minutes.
My eyes flicked toward the next file-Mahesh Yadav.
Another ambitious man on the verge of success. A talented photographer whose career was just about to peak. And then-gone. The same brutal method. Same signature.
Both victims were on the brink of fame. Kashvir, the actor. Mahesh, the photographer. Both rising fast. Both stopped mid-flight.
Was it a pattern?
I closed the files, the room suddenly feeling colder. My gut told me it wasn't random. Someone was hunting people who were about to make it big. Someone who wanted to stop them right before they touched success.
I needed to talk to KayKay.
I pushed my chair back, grabbed the files, and stepped out of the cabin. The corridor buzzed faintly with chatter and the hum of air conditioners, but I barely heard it. I was halfway to Kunal's office when I spotted Tanish leaning against a wall, his eyes glued to his phone.
I frowned. The kid was supposed to be on duty.
Walking up silently, I tapped his shoulder. He jumped like he'd been electrocuted and quickly hid his phone behind his back.
"Sir-uh-yes?" he stammered, avoiding eye contact.
"What are you hiding?" I asked, my tone low.
"N-nothing, sir," he muttered, eyes darting like a guilty child.
"Really?" I crossed my arms. "You're either giving me that phone, or I'm going straight to KayKay."
At that, his expression changed. Mentioning KayKay always did the trick-Tanish would rather wrestle a lion than face his temper.
"Sir, wait-look," he said quickly, handing me his phone. "I was scrolling through Reddit when I found this post... You need to see it."
The screen showed a lengthy post under the username 'Kishivaitarna'-someone claiming to be an author. The timestamp read 1:20 PM. I began reading:
Post Title: Balcony Scene
The man stepped onto the balcony. Tristan, the actor, was lying on his bed. He heard the faint sound of someone trying to break in. Startled, he grabbed the knife from the table beside him-fruit peels and apples scattered around.
Before he could react, the masked man struck him hard on the head with a metal rod. Tristan collapsed, unconscious. The intruder dragged him across the floor, leaving streaks of blood, and tied him to a chair. Then, with calculated precision, he made a small incision near Tristan's vocal cords-just enough to silence him.
The man began his "procedure," methodically inflicting pain as if following a ritual. By the time the clock hit 1:30, Tristan was dead. The masked man walked out into the night as if nothing had happened.
-End of post.
I stared at the screen, a chill creeping down my spine. "What the hell..." I muttered. "Isn't this almost exactly how Kashvir was killed?"
Tanish nodded quickly, his voice shaky. "That's what I thought too, sir. But look at the time."
I glanced again at the post timestamp.
Posted two days before the actual murder took place.
I felt my throat tighten. My mind began racing through possibilities, none of which made sense.
How could that be possible?
Was it a coincidence? A twisted prediction? Or was the killer himself posting his crimes before committing them?
If that was true-then we weren't just dealing with a murderer.
We were dealing with a killer who wanted to be seen.