Chapter 9: Bitter Aftertaste

It had been nearly an hour since Thameem dropped Pranav at the station. The cold silence of the night wrapped itself around the office like a shroud, broken only by the occasional hum of the pedestal fan above his desk. Pranav sat alone, hunched over a sea of photos and case files spread in a chaotic but deliberate mess. His eyes hadn’t moved in minutes — fixed on the image of Lakshmi’s serene, lifeless face.

The door creaked. An office boy stepped in hesitantly, holding a steaming cup of coffee.

“Sir… your coffee,” he said softly.

Pranav blinked, nodded slowly, and accepted it without a word.

As the door clicked shut again, Pranav took his first sip — bitter, just the way he liked it. The warmth cut through his exhaustion, but his mind refused to rest. Something gnawed at him. He absentmindedly flipped through the fact file with his free hand. Another sip. Another page. Then—

A jolt.

His hand froze mid-air.

The memory crashed into him: Lakshmi had insisted Raghavan drink coffee on the day of the murder. She had even made it herself, if he recalled correctly.

Why?

He flipped rapidly to the toxicology report.

Blood Alcohol Content: Positive.

Pranav’s brows furrowed. That didn’t make sense. Raghavan didn’t strike him as the type. In fact… hadn’t Lakshmi’s mother said he was completely clean? No smoking. No drinking. Nothing. A man with no vices.

He immediately dialed Inspector Lingeshwaran.

“Sir?” Lingeshwar’s voice came after a few rings.

“Lingesh, on the day of the murder — when you arrested Raghavan — did he appear drunk?”

There was a pause. “Actually… no, sir. That was the strange part. No smell. No signs of drunkenness. He was calm. Disoriented, yes, but not slurring or stumbling. Still, just to be safe, we ran an alcohol test. He came out positive. That confirmed it for us.”

Pranav leaned back in his chair. “And remind me — who called the station that day?”

Lingesh cleared his throat. “It was Raghavan, sir. He called us himself. He said… ‘I think I’ve done something horrible.’ At the time, we thought the guilt got to him. Drunk and remorseful. But it did seem odd.”

“Hmm…” Pranav murmured. “Thanks, Lingesh. I’ll call you again if I need more.”

He cut the call and immediately rang Thameem.

“Thameem, can you confirm with Lakshmi’s mother again — was Raghavan ever known to drink?”

“Give me two minutes, sir.”

One minute and thirty seconds later, Thameem called back.

“No, sir. Her words were exact — ‘Raghavan never drank. Not even once in his life.’”

Pranav’s heartbeat quickened.

If Raghavan didn’t drink, why was alcohol in his system?

And more importantly, why was Lakshmi so insistent that he drink that specific cup of coffee?

Could the alcohol have been mixed in it?

Another thread pulled loose.

He reached for the crime scene photos again. Lakshmi’s body. Pale. Cold. Peaceful. No bruises. No wounds. No signs of prolonged abuse.

But Subashini and her mother had both said she was growing weak — physically and mentally. That she was covered in bruises. That they saw it.

Were they lying? Or had the violence stopped a year ago?

If Lakshmi was trying to escape, wouldn’t she have fought back?

Pranav flipped to the background section — the two withdrawn domestic violence complaints. One filed by Lakshmi. One by her sister. Both withdrawn a day later.

He dialed Lingesh again.

“Sorry to disturb again, Lingesh. Those two DV cases — were they looked into thoroughly?”

“Not really, sir. One was filed by her sister, and the other by Lakshmi herself. Both were pulled back within 24 hours. At that time, it wasn’t uncommon. The pressure of family reputation, perhaps. So we didn’t pursue further.”

Pranav slowly stood up. The chair creaked behind him.

His fingers trembled slightly.

A man with no drinking habits suddenly found with alcohol in his system. A wife who insisted on serving coffee just before her death. A history of abuse that left no visible marks on the corpse. A husband who called the police on himself — if he was indeed guilty, why would he?

Nothing made sense. Not anymore.

He sat down again, burying his face in his palms.

“What if this entire narrative was fed to us?”

Was Lakshmi truly the victim everyone believed she was? Or was there more to the silence that lived within that home?

Without wasting another second, he picked up the phone.

“Thameem,” he said, his voice low but sharp, “I need you at the office. Now.”

Thameem didn’t ask why. He just said, “On my way, sir.”

Outside, the city was fast asleep. But inside that dimly lit office, the night was just beginning to whisper its darkest truths.