Chapter 4: The Silent Clue

The rain continued its unrelenting assault on Chennai, the streets now slick with water reflecting the city’s dim streetlights. Inside the police station, the atmosphere was tense. The dull hum of the fluorescent lights above cast a pale glow on the evidence board, now marked with photographs of the two severed hands. Pranav and Thameem sat side by side, deep in thought, the weight of the case heavy on their shoulders.

Pranav leaned back in his chair, staring at the two riddles on the board. His mind replayed the events of the day—how they’d found the second hand and how similar it was to the first. The connection, though unclear, was there, just beneath the surface. The hands, the riddles—both were deliberate. And both were leading them somewhere.

Thameem, always eager, broke the silence. “Sir, here are the list of people aged between 30-40 gone missing in the past 3-4 days" he continued "we’ve got two severed hands, two riddles… but what’s the killer’s motive? What’s the connection?”

Pranav’s gaze shifted from the riddle on the board to the list Thameem gave on the missing people, his voice calm but firm. “The killer isn’t just leaving us clues, Thameem. He’s sending a message. But it’s not just a game—there’s something deeper here.”

Thameem frowned. “But what’s with the hands, sir? Why hands?”

Pranav didn’t answer immediately. His eyes moved back to the forensics report, as if searching for something he might have missed earlier. Both hands had been severed while the victims were still alive. The decay suggested they had been left out for some time before being delivered. But there was more—something subtle in the details. The way the cuts were made, the precision.

“They’re not just random,” Pranav muttered, almost to himself. “These hands… they belong to men who worked with them. Laborers, maybe. Men who did something with their hands.”

Thameem looked at Pranav, waiting for him to continue.

Pranav stood up, moving toward a city map on the wall. “We’re looking at industrial workers. Men who relied on their hands for a living. The killer is sending us a message tied to that.”

Thameem’s eyes widened as he connected the dots. “Factories… That makes sense, sir. There are several factories in the outskirts of Chennai. It could be related to the victims’ jobs.”

Pranav nodded, running his finger over the industrial areas of the city. “Exactly. We need to focus on factories that have had recent issues—shutdowns, accidents, layoffs—anything that could have created enemies or caused unrest.”

Together, they spent the next few hours combing through missing persons reports, narrowing down the search. The city’s industrial belt was vast, but they knew they were getting closer. The factory angle had to be the key.

As they worked, Pranav’s phone buzzed. It was the second forensic report. He opened it immediately, scanning through the lines. The results were exactly the same as the first—both hands had been severed with precision, likely with a surgical tool, and both belonged to men between 30 and 40 years old. The time of death was consistent with the findings of the first hand.

But there was something else that caught Pranav’s attention—something subtle, but important. Both hands had small, almost indistinguishable marks on them. The forensic report didn’t highlight them as significant, but Pranav’s sharp eye caught it: faint scarring on the palms, as though from repeated use of heavy tools.

Pranav stared at the photographs of the hands, piecing it together. “These men… they weren’t just factory workers. They were skilled laborers—men who worked with tools, with precision.”

Thameem looked at Pranav curiously. “How do you know that, sir?”

“Look here,” Pranav pointed to the photo. “These faint scars on the palms. It’s the kind of marking you’d see from handling machinery or heavy tools. It’s repetitive, a sign that they worked with their hands for years.”

Thameem leaned closer, his brow furrowed. “So they’re not just random laborers. They’re specialized workers.”

Pranav nodded, the pieces slowly falling into place. “That narrows it down further. Factories that employed skilled laborers. Something happened to these men—a connection to the factory, and to whoever is doing this.”

They resumed their search, eliminating the more generic factories and focusing on those that employed specialized workers. Finally, they came across an old textile factory, Patel Textiles, which had been shut down a few years ago after a major accident. Several workers had been injured, and the factory had quietly closed its doors amidst rumors of negligence and unsafe working conditions.

Pranav’s pulse quickened as he pulled up the records. “This could be it. Patel Textiles had an accident involving several workers. The factory closed, and the workers scattered.”

Thameem nodded. “And if some of those workers are now missing…”

Pranav didn’t need to hear more. He grabbed his jacket. “Let’s go.”

The drive to Patel Textiles was a grim one. The rain had only intensified, the windshield wipers struggling to keep pace. The old factory loomed in the distance, its rusted gates and decaying exterior a testament to its abandonment.

Pranav and Thameem stepped out of the car, the cold rain immediately soaking their jackets. The factory was eerily quiet, the only sound the steady beat of the rain against the crumbling roof.

“This place is a ghost town,” Thameem muttered, shivering slightly. “Hard to believe people once worked here.”

Pranav said nothing, his eyes scanning the desolate building. The factory had once been a hub of activity, but now it was a shell of its former self. As they moved inside, the stench of rust and decay filled the air, the machinery long since abandoned.

They moved carefully through the building, Pranav leading the way. The inside of the factory was as decrepit as the outside—rusted machinery, broken windows, and debris scattered across the floor. It felt like stepping into a forgotten past.

“Sir, over here,” Thameem called from the far side of the room. He was standing near an old bulletin board, covered in faded papers and notices from years ago.

Pranav joined him, his eyes scanning the board. Among the faded papers were time sheets, notices of factory shutdowns, and employee records. And there it was—Balan’s name. He had been one of the workers during the time of the accident.

Pranav’s heart raced. “Balan… He’s one of the missing persons.”

Thameem frowned. “Sir, that means…”

“The victims are connected to this factory. The hands, the riddles—it’s all linked to this place.”

Pranav’s mind raced. The killer wasn’t just targeting random people. He was choosing his victims for a reason. They were all tied to Patel Textiles. The factory accident. The cover-up. The workers who had suffered.

Pranav’s phone buzzed again—it was another message from the forensic team. The second hand showed the same signs as the first. The markings on the palms, the precise cuts.

It all made sense now. The killer was reenacting something from the past, something tied to this factory. And the riddle was leading them to the next clue.

Pranav stared at the faded bulletin board, his mind piecing together the final details. The riddle wasn’t just a taunt. It was a message about what had been lost—lives ruined by the factory. And now, the killer was exacting his revenge, one hand at a time.

But why now? Why these victims? And what would the next riddle reveal?

Pranav’s thoughts were interrupted by Thameem’s voice. “Sir, do you think we’ll find the next victim before it’s too late?”

Pranav clenched his jaw. “We have to, Thameem. We’re running out of time.”

As they stepped out of the factory and back into the pouring rain, Pranav couldn’t shake the feeling that the killer was always one step ahead. But this time, they had something—something that could lead them closer.

The hands, the factory, the riddles—they were all part of a twisted game. And Pranav knew they were getting closer to the truth.

But with each clue they uncovered, the stakes grew higher. And the killer was far from finished.