Chapter 7 – A Shadow in the Letters
The old wooden door creaked open slowly, revealing a man in his late sixties, dressed in a simple white vest and dhoti. His eyes, though wrinkled and weary, still held the piercing sharpness of a man who had seen too much. Pranav extended his hand politely.
“Inspector Lingeshwaran, I’m Pranav from the Cold Case Unit. I believe the Commissioner informed you?”
Lingeshwaran nodded. “Yes, yes. Come in, officers.”
The team entered the modest quarters, the walls lined with faded commendation certificates and a shelf filled with case files and dusty police journals. A ceiling fan rotated slowly above, doing little to chase away the stale humidity. The atmosphere itself felt frozen in time — as if the echoes of old cases still lingered.
They sat down, and Pranav wasted no time. “Sir, we are reopening the Raghavan case. The Commissioner was close to the family and wants us to verify every angle. I’d like to know your thoughts. Anything that still haunts you?”
Lingeshwaran chuckled dryly. “Haunts me? No, sir. That case was open and shut. No mystery in it. No shadow to chase. It was clear — Raghavan murdered his wife.”
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “There was no sign of forced entry, the Ganesh idol was the murder weapon — heavy, blunt force trauma to the skull. Raghavan’s fingerprints were all over it. He was the only person in the house. And then…”
He opened a drawer from the nearby cabinet and pulled out a faded copy of a letter — almost crumbling at the edges.
“This. Lakshmi’s handwriting. A letter addressed to her sister, dated a few weeks before her death. She wrote, ‘If something happens to me, know that Raghavan is the reason.’”
Pranav narrowed his eyes. “That could’ve been a passing statement. A cry for help, maybe. Was it validated?”
“Yes,” Lingeshwaran nodded. “Her sister confirmed she’d been writing such letters for nearly a year. Her mother too. Said the domestic abuse had become a pattern. Slaps. Screams. Late night arguments. We traced it through neighbors, even a couple of old police complaints withdrawn. So when it happened, we connected the dots.”
Pranav leaned back, processing it. “Thank you for your time, sir. You did what you had to do.”
The team stepped out into the fading evening light. The sun dipped below the skyline of Chennai, casting long shadows on the pavement. The air felt heavier than usual.
Thameem exhaled. “Sir… I still feel something’s off. He was too confident in his conclusion.”
Pranav shook his head slowly. “No, Thameem. He did his job. Back then, with limited forensic tools, with just paper trails and gut instincts, he went the extra mile. He even verified the letter. That’s more than what many would’ve done.”
Murali spoke up. “Then where are we headed next, sir?”
“To the last name on the investigation chain,” Pranav said, eyes narrowing with renewed purpose. “Lakshmi’s sister — Subhashini. She was the one who confirmed the letters. Her statement sealed the case. If there’s a thread to pull, it’s with her.”
Thameem pulled out his phone and dialed the number Lakshmi’s mother had provided earlier. After a brief conversation in Tamil, he turned to Pranav.
“Sir, she just landed yesterday from the US. Came to take her mother back. They’re home now. I’ve told them we’ll be there in an hour.”
“Good,” Pranav said, already turning toward the car. “Let’s hear what she remembers. Or more importantly… what she might’ve forgotten to tell.”
As the car sped through the bustling Chennai traffic, sirens briefly wailed to make way. The team sat in silence, each one lost in thoughts.
Was it really as open-and-shut as it seemed?
Or had they only just begun to scratch the surface of a truth that refused to stay buried?