Chapter 9: The Thin Line of Truth

Pranav and Thameem hurried off to the crime scene, their jeep racing through the downpour, the windshield wipers working overtime to keep the rain at bay. The relentless rhythm of the rain mirrored the storm of emotions brewing inside Pranav, while Thameem sat beside him, stunned and silent, trying to process the series of events unraveling around them.

As they reached the corner of the desolate street, the jeep skidded to a halt near a pile of garbage, the only sound now was the faint tapping of raindrops on the metal roof. Sub-Inspector Premkumar stood waiting under a dimly lit streetlamp, a grim smile crossing his face as he greeted them.

“Hi, sir. Hi, Thameem. Wrong time to meet again,” Premkumar said, attempting a weak joke, but it fell flat in the eerie stillness of the night.

Pranav’s gaze shifted to the deserted stretch ahead, under-construction villas lining one side and the sprawling emptiness of a barely populated neighborhood on the other. “Where’s Inspector Vaibhav?” Pranav asked, his tone sharp.

“Sir, he’s on leave. His wife went into labor in Trichy, and he’s on his way back after the news. I’ve been in touch with him, though,” Premkumar replied as they approached the crime scene.

Pranav nodded and quickened his pace, the tension palpable as they neared the lifeless form draped under a thin plastic sheet. The rain had finally ceased, leaving behind a damp, oppressive silence that hung over the scene. The body lay near the garbage dump, under the dim streetlight’s glow, casting long shadows around it.

As Pranav bent down to inspect the body, Premkumar stepped forward, cautioning him, “Sir, technically, this is under our jurisdiction. If you get directly involved, we both could face issues. Inspector Vaibhav isn’t here to authorize anything yet. I called you because I thought this might tie into your ongoing investigation.”

Pranav shot him a steely look but stopped in his tracks. “Will you at least provide the forensic report once it’s completed? I’ll get the necessary approvals from Assistant Commissioner Ravichandran if there’s a connection.”

Premkumar nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. I’ll make sure of that, after coordinating with Vaibhav and Ravichandran.”

Pranav crouched, ignoring the dampness seeping through his trousers, his eyes scanning the body. It was the same. The left foot severed five inches above the ankle, bruises across the torso, and a chain wound tightly around the neck. His stomach churned. This wasn’t just a murder—it was the second in a series, a pattern emerging from the chaos.

He motioned Premkumar closer. “Look at this. The same method, the same brutality. I’ll handle the paperwork for the jurisdiction, but I need all the forensic reports, evidence, and any documents you can gather, as soon as possible.”

Premkumar nodded again, and Pranav straightened up, already dialing Assistant Commissioner Ravichandran’s number to expedite the approvals. Meanwhile, Thameem stood beside him, dazed and anxious. As Pranav hung up, Thameem blurted out, “Sir, what’s happening? I don’t understand. Where do we even start now? Who do we interrogate? I’m…lost.”

Pranav sighed, sensing Thameem’s overwhelmed state. “You’re not alone, Thameem. Even I don’t know where this will lead. We’ll have to wait for the reports before moving forward. For now, let’s return to the station and interrogate Ravi.”

The drive back to the station was somber. When they arrived, the air was thick with tension. Ravi was barely conscious, slumped in the holding cell, his face battered and his breathing labored from the severe beating he’d endured earlier. Pranav’s face darkened with disappointment as he took in the sight. This was no interrogation—it was brutality.

“Mani, get us some tea and biscuits,” Pranav ordered, while asking Thameem to bring Ravi into his office for questioning. Thameem assisted the limping man into a chair, while Pranav sat across from him, his eyes sharp with intent.

“Ravi,” Pranav began, cutting straight to the point, “I’m beginning to believe you didn’t kill Anjali. But we don’t have enough evidence to prove your innocence either. You confessed earlier, but I don’t think you told us the truth. Why did you say you did it?”

Mani interrupted briefly, placing the tea and biscuits on the table. Pranav gestured for Ravi to help himself. Slowly, with a trembling hand, Ravi sipped his tea, wincing with every movement from his swollen face.

“Sir… I swear… I didn’t kill her. I ran because I was scared. Not because I’m guilty of murder. I… I’ll explain everything.”

“Then talk,” Thameem urged, his voice edged with frustration.

Ravi took a deep breath. “Sir, I’m involved in something illegal, but it has nothing to do with murder. I work with a mechanic shop about 10 kilometers from the toll gate. The van I drive for the school? We swap out parts. Brand new parts from the van are replaced with old ones, and the new parts are sold on the black market. The day Anjali disappeared, the shop got raided. I was supposed to drop the kids and then return to the shop after the raid. I got caught up in that mess, which is why I crossed the toll multiple times that day.”

“And you ran when we came for you because…?” Thameem asked.

“Because I thought the police were after me for the illegal parts trade. That’s why I panicked,” Ravi admitted, pausing briefly before continuing, his tone turning somber. “Look, sir, I’ve been teased my whole life because of my disability. People like me… we get made fun of all the time. Some take it lightly, some take it to heart. That day, when Anjali humiliated me in front of everyone on the bus, I was angry, yes… but I’m someone who tries to take it on the lighter side. I didn’t hold a grudge. I let it go. She was just a kid, after all.”

Pranav and Thameem listened intently as Ravi’s confession hung in the air. “Anjali was a good girl,” Ravi continued, his voice faltering. “I didn’t hurt her. I never would. That day I ran… it was because of my involvement in the parts business, not her murder.”

Pranav absorbed the explanation, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. He glanced at Thameem, who seemed equally unsettled.

“Alright, Ravi. You can leave for now, but you are not off the hook. Stay within reach—we’ll call you when needed,” Pranav warned, dismissing the man.

As Ravi limped out of the station, Pranav turned to Thameem. “This is a classic case of confirmation bias, Thameem. We forced a narrative onto Ravi that didn’t fit. We let our assumptions guide the interrogation. Never do that again. We need solid facts, not hunches.”

Thameem nodded, chastised. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Pranav waved off the apology, already deep in thought. The case had become more convoluted, and now, with Ravi’s involvement seemingly unrelated, they were back at square one.

The morning wore on, and just before 6 AM, Premkumar entered Pranav’s office, clutching a file of forensic reports. “Sir, here’s everything we have so far. Inspector Vaibhav will be here by 9 AM, but I thought you’d want this immediately.”

Pranav flipped through the reports—same foot injury, same bruises, same chain. It was a chilling echo of Anjali’s case. His eyes caught on a detail.

“Prem, did you recover any personal items from the victim? A chain, perhaps?” Pranav asked, recalling something from the first murder.

“Yes, sir. We found it hours after I called you. It’s with the forensic team for blood matching. Here’s a picture of it.” Premkumar handed Pranav his phone, displaying a photograph.

Pranav’s eyes widened. He passed the phone to Thameem, who gasped. “Sir… this is…”

“Yes, the same chain that Mr. Vargees had gifted to the orphans.”

Thameem’s heart sank. Pranav stood, urgency filling his movements. “We need to head to the church, now.”

With Premkumar in tow, they left the station, racing against the dark mystery looming larger by the minute.