Chapter 8: The Chase of Shadows

The dim glow of the television flickered across Pranav and Thameem’s faces as they watched the grainy CCTV footage from the toll gate. It felt like they were searching for a needle in a haystack. The footage was from the toll gate, nearly a kilometer from the sand road where Anjali’s body had been discovered. Vehicles of all types passed by—cars, motorbikes, buses—thousands of possibilities to comb through, but none that seemed to lead them closer to the truth.

They sat in silence, their eyes glued to the screen, pausing, rewinding, and fast-forwarding. The minutes ticked by, and fatigue threatened to set in. Then something caught their attention.

“Wait, pause there!” Pranav said, leaning in, his voice suddenly sharp with interest.

On the screen was a familiar yellow vehicle—a bus from Great Minds International School, the same school Anjali attended. Pranav’s brows furrowed. This wasn’t just a casual pass-through. The bus had crossed the toll four times between 5 PM and 6 PM.

“Thameem, look at this. The school bus should only pass through the toll gate twice—once when it drops off the kids and once when it leaves. But it’s gone through four times. Why?” Pranav asked, his voice carrying an edge of suspicion.

Thameem was quick to respond, “That is odd. Maybe there’s something wrong with the bus route or a mistake in the footage. But it’s worth looking into.”

Pranav got up, grabbed a marker, and wrote on the whiteboard: Great Minds School Bus – 4 toll crossings.

For the next hour, they continued to scan the footage, but nothing else out of the ordinary appeared. Pranav looked at his watch; it was nearing 7 PM. The shadows of the evening deepened, and the air in the room felt thick with unanswered questions.

“Do you think the bus driver or teachers are still at the school?” Pranav asked, his mind racing ahead.

“It’s worth checking,” Thameem replied, already standing up.

They hurried to the jeep and made their way to Great Minds International School, a sprawling complex that loomed like a fortress. It looked more like a shopping mall than a place of learning, with towering structures and expansive grounds.

As they pulled up, the school’s security guard met them at the gate, his face weary from the long day. Without hesitation, he led them to the principal’s office. Principal Sheetal, a petite woman with sharp eyes, was gathering her things, clearly eager to leave for the day.

“Good evening, officers,” she greeted them, glancing at her watch, her voice betraying a hint of impatience. “I was just about to leave. How can I help you?”

Pranav wasted no time, diving straight into his questions about Anjali. Principal Sheetal’s responses were mostly routine, echoing what Anjali’s mother had told them earlier—that she was a bright, intelligent girl who never caused trouble.

Pranav listened carefully but kept pushing, his instincts telling him there was more. Finally, he asked, “Which bus route did she take to get home, and who was her driver?”

The principal, her brow furrowing slightly, pulled out a student register. She flipped through the pages and stopped, raising her eyebrows.

“Well, this is strange,” she murmured. “She was recently transferred from Route 4 to a personal vehicle. Her parents made the change after a complaint.”

“A complaint?” Thameem leaned in, curious.

“Yes,” Principal Sheetal replied, her voice lowering. “It seems there was an issue between Anjali and her bus driver, Ravi. Anjali used to tease him because of his limp. Apparently, she would mimic the way he walked.”

“A limp?” Pranav repeated, his tone sharpening, but he kept his thoughts guarded.

“Yes, Ravi has an issue with his leg. He wears insoles and has a slight limp when he walks,” the principal explained. “Anjali imitated him in front of the other children, and it caused some discomfort. After that, her parents switched her to personal transportation.”

Thameem raised an eyebrow. “Was Ravi driving normally? Any complaints about his driving?”

“No, nothing like that,” the principal replied. “In fact, his route was always the most punctual. He’s a reliable driver, despite his condition.”

“Where can we find him?” Pranav asked, masking the growing tension inside him.

The principal shrugged slightly. “I’m not sure where he lives, but the security guard might know.”

They thanked her and left the office, hurrying back to the security post. The guard confirmed that Ravi had been on leave since the day before. He added that, curiously, Ravi had left the school bus at midnight, which was completely out of character.

Pranav’s thoughts raced. Midnight? What was Ravi doing at the school at that hour?

With the guard’s help, they quickly tracked down Ravi’s address and headed toward his house. The streets narrowed as they drove into a congested neighborhood, forcing them to park the jeep at the end of a lane. The rest of the way, they proceeded on foot.

The night was settling in, the sky dim and foreboding, clouds heavy with the promise of more rain. The smell of wet earth clung to the air as they approached Ravi’s house, a modest structure tucked into a narrow alley. The dim light from a nearby streetlamp cast long, eerie shadows on the ground.

Thameem knocked on the door. No response. He knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing. Finally, after the third knock, the door creaked open. A middle-aged woman stood in the doorway, tying her hair up in a bun, her eyes filled with apprehension.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“Police,” Thameem replied, flashing his badge. “We need to speak to Ravi.”

The woman turned and called into the house, “Ravi! The police are here to see you!”

But there was no sound of footsteps approaching. Instead, Pranav caught a glimpse of movement at the back of the house. Ravi, sensing danger, had bolted for the back door, trying to flee.

Without missing a beat, Pranav signaled to Thameem to cut him off, and the chase was on. Ravi’s limp slowed him down, and within minutes, Pranav had caught up with him, tackling him to the ground. Ravi struggled, but it was no use. He was cuffed and dragged back to the police jeep, panting and pale with fear.

Back at the station, Ravi was thrown into a dimly lit cell. A single flickering bulb cast long shadows across his bruised body. His wrists were tied, and his face was contorted with pain from the beatings he had already received. He kept repeating the same phrase, over and over, like a mantra: “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!”

Thameem, his patience frayed, stormed into the cell, ready to use more force. Pranav stood outside, watching the scene unfold, his face impassive. He could feel the weight of the room pressing down on him, the air thick with tension.

Inside the cell, Thameem administered another round of harsh interrogations. After what seemed like hours, Ravi’s resolve broke under the pressure.

“I did it!” Ravi finally screamed, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. “I did it! Please, no more!”

Thameem, drenched in sweat, stepped out of the cell, his expression one of grim satisfaction. “He’s confessed, sir. It’s over.”

But Pranav didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Something was wrong, gnawing at the back of his mind. Ravi’s confession seemed too easy, too forced. He wasn’t convinced.

Thameem, noticing Pranav’s silence, asked, “Shall I inform Anjali’s parents?”

Pranav didn’t answer right away. His mind was elsewhere, the pieces of the puzzle still scattered. Finally, he nodded.

As Thameem pulled out his phone to call Mr. Vargees, Pranav’s own phone rang. The sound startled him, pulling him back to the present. He let it ring until the last moment, then picked it up.

“Inspector Pranav,” he said, his voice heavy.

“Sir, this is Sub-Inspector Premkumar from Thiruvanmiyur Police Station. We’ve found a body in Garbage Dump… it looks like a young girl. The description matches the case you’re investigating. You need to come down here.”

Pranav’s blood went cold. His grip tightened around the phone.

“Another body?” he asked, barely managing to keep his voice steady.

“Yes, sir,” Premkumar confirmed. “It looks like the work of the same killer.”

Thameem, having just finished his call with Anjali’s parents, turned to Pranav, confused. “Sir, what’s wrong?”

Pranav’s voice was low, his eyes dark with realization. “Tell Anjali’s parents not to come.”

“Why?” Thameem asked, his heart racing.

Pranav looked at him, his expression grim. “Because the real killer is still out there.”

The night stretched ahead of them, darker than ever before.