Chapter 3: Fractured Echoes

Pranav stood before the Commissioner, files tucked under his arm and eyes heavy from lack of sleep.

“She kept him alive,” he said quietly. “For seventeen years, that one memory… or the loss of it… has caged him tighter than the iron bars around him.”

The Commissioner didn’t respond immediately. He leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands under his chin.

“I don’t know if you’ll find anything,” he murmured. “But if there’s the slightest truth in Raghavan’s innocence… I owe it to him. And I trust your instincts more than anything.”

Pranav gave a slow nod. “We’ll find it, sir. Or we’ll find the truth.”

⸻

Back at the Cold Case Unit’s temporary office — an old records room that now buzzed with pinned photos, charts, and voice notes on loop — Pranav quickly assigned the next set of tasks.

“Murali,” he said, turning to the young officer who had just finished organizing the files, “I need you to dig deep into their past. Raghavan and Lakshmi. School, college, workplace, family, friends, neighbors — anyone still alive, anyone who remembers them. We’re not chasing gossip. We’re reconstructing lives.”

Murali nodded and was gone in a flash, his laptop already open by the time he hit his desk.

Pranav then turned to Mitra.

“We’ll need to understand the decline. Not just behavior but mental state. If he’s been repeating the same phrase for years, there’s trauma trapped inside. See if we can get a psychiatric evaluation. Someone who knows how to crack layers. Someone officially permitted by the prison board.”

“I already made the request this morning,” Mitra said, lifting her eyes from her notepad. “Dr. Adharsh Krishnan. Government psychiatrist. Confirmed for tomorrow noon. It’ll be a series of sessions.”

Pranav gave her a rare nod of approval.

Hours passed as files were opened, scanned, sorted. Murali eventually returned, breathing heavier than usual. He placed a neatly written summary on the table and began explaining.

“Raghavan’s parents — both passed away during the trial period. A heart attack and a stroke within the same year. He had a few friends during college, but no active contact. No social records or digital footprint post-2006. Most numbers are dead or inactive. Only person who knew him after college is… well…” He looked up at the Commissioner.

“Me,” the Commissioner said, finishing the sentence. His voice was low, as if weighed by guilt.

Murali continued, “Now, Lakshmi’s family — it’s different. Her mother is still alive. Elderly. Lives in Mylapore. There’s also her younger sister, Subhashini. She moved to the US shortly after Lakshmi’s death. Married a neurologist there. We found a LinkedIn profile, a few pictures online. They were close… or at least used to be.”

Pranav looked at Thameem. “We’ll visit the mother.”

“When?” Thameem asked.

“Now.”

⸻

By early evening, the fading sunlight turned the walls of Mylapore into a golden canvas. Pranav and Thameem pulled up outside a modest two-storey home, quiet and age-worn. A brass nameplate still bore Lakshmi’s father’s name, slightly rusted and hanging crooked.

The front yard was eerily silent. A cracked swing creaked as the wind nudged it.

Inside, they could see faint shadows moving. Someone was home.

Pranav took a deep breath. “We don’t tell her what we know. We listen first.”

Thameem nodded as he pressed the calling bell.

Just as the door handle clicked from inside, miles away at Puzhal jail, another scene was beginning to unfold.

In the medical wing, Mitra sat quietly across from a man in white prison clothes — hunched, hair thinned, gaze flickering like a candle in wind. Between them sat a man in a grey coat, with a government ID pinned to his chest pocket.

“Raghavan,” said the psychiatrist softly. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

The air in both rooms — one in Mylapore and the other in Puzhal — held the same tension. A thread being pulled. A lock being tested.

And somewhere beneath it all, the truth stirred.