Chapter 1: The Reopened File
The morning sun slanted through the grimy glass windows of the newly designated Cold Case Unit. Dust motes hung lazily in the air, catching the golden light like tiny ghosts of forgotten stories. The room, tucked away in a quiet corner of the Commissioner’s office, still carried the scent of old paper and varnish, as if time itself had settled here and never moved on.
Inspector Pranav stood silently, his hands tucked behind his back, surveying the shelves of case files — brown folders with frayed edges, each one marked by a number and a short, faded description. Murders. Disappearances. Suicides that didn’t sit right. Files that had been shelved for months, years, or even decades — left untouched, unsolved.
Behind him, Mitra was already at work. A small notepad lay beside her as she carefully pulled out each file, glancing through the pages, and placing them into stacks on the floor.
“One for suspected homicide,” she murmured to herself, “one for missing persons… and one for deaths officially ruled accidental but… suspicious.”
Thameem walked in, balancing three steaming cups of tea. “Murali’s on the way. Got caught in traffic at Mount Road,” he said, handing a cup to Pranav and another to Mitra. “How’s the segregation going?”
Mitra didn’t look up. “Almost done. Most of these are from five to ten years ago. A few are recent… one as recent as October.”
Pranav took a slow sip of tea, watching her work. The girl had changed. There was still pain in her eyes, but it was buried beneath focus now. A silent fire, channelled into something bigger than revenge.
“We’ll start with the most recent closed case,” Pranav said. “Anything from late last year?”
Mitra nodded, pulling a file from the ‘Accidental’ pile. She read the label aloud.
“Case #748: Death of Ananya Iyer. November 16th. Officially ruled accidental fall from 6th floor. No witnesses. No CCTV. Case closed due to lack of evidence.”
She looked up at Pranav, her voice lowering. “Sixth floor. No railing damage. The girl was twenty-six. No suicide note.
But her mother kept insisting it wasn’t an accident.”
Pranav walked over and took the file from her hands. He opened it slowly, scanning the brief two-page report, and a single Polaroid clipped to the corner — a photo of a pale body on concrete, limbs twisted unnaturally, the expression on the girl’s face oddly… peaceful.
“Where did this happen?” he asked.
Mitra checked the back of the report. “Sundaram Enclave, Thiruvanmiyur. A residential complex. No CCTV on that part of the building. Apparently, she was last seen alive around 9:15 p.m. Her body was found at 9:30.”
Thameem frowned. “So a fifteen-minute window. No one saw her fall?”
“No one came forward,” Mitra said.
Pranav closed the file and handed it back to her. “Then let’s reopen this one. We visit the building, speak to the family, find out who lived around her. Fifteen minutes is too tight a window for a clean fall without sound or sight. Either she jumped, or someone wanted us to believe she did.”
Mitra placed the file in a fresh folder marked: ACTIVE.
The word looked fresh and angry in black ink.
Just then, Murali entered, slightly breathless, his shirt damp with sweat. “Sorry, sir—bike trouble.”
Pranav didn’t even turn. “You’re just in time. We’re going to Thiruvanmiyur. An accidental death has been pulled back from the grave. Let’s see if the truth stayed buried with the body… or if it’s still breathing somewhere nearby.”
As they filed out of the room, the cold case office fell silent again. Outside, the city buzzed with its usual noise — buses honking, street vendors shouting, the murmur of a thousand lives in motion. But within this team, a different current had begun to stir.
The past had just taken its first breath again.