Chapter 3: Beneath the Surface

The air inside the SUV was still, the hum of the engine filling the silence as Pranav sat in the passenger seat, lost in thought. Murali drove while Mitra and Thameem sat behind, reviewing notes.

“Alright,” Pranav said, breaking the silence. “Tell me what you’ve all found.”

Murali went first. “The apartment’s CCTV system covers most entry and exit points, but two cameras—one near Block C’s rear exit and another at the basement level—weren’t working that night. Maintenance logs show both went offline three days before the incident.”

Pranav raised an eyebrow. “And they weren’t fixed afterward?”

“No, sir,” Murali replied. “Just marked as ‘pending approval’ and left untouched.”

Thameem added, “Also, the two night guards who were supposed to be on duty that night—Subramani and Irfan—they both went on leave the following day and never returned. Resigned within three months of each other. One moved to Coimbatore, the other to Hyderabad.”

“Suspicious,” Pranav muttered.

Mitra leaned forward, a map of the apartment complex on her tablet. “There’s something else, sir. The building has multiple access points. The main gate, side pedestrian entrance, and a rear service exit — the last one connects to an alley and isn’t covered by any camera.

Anyone could’ve come or gone without being noticed.”

Pranav nodded slowly. He was piecing the puzzle silently. Then he turned to Thameem.

“Give the phone to Ravi at the forensic lab. Tell him we need that locked folder extracted immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pranav dialed Ravi as Thameem stepped out of the vehicle.

“Ravi,” he said, “Thameem will be there in fifteen minutes. There’s a phone with a locked biometric folder. I want everything decrypted, and I need it fast. No one else sees the data except you and me.”

“Understood, sir,” came the calm reply.

Thameem got into a separate car and drove off. Pranav leaned back. His mind was racing, but his voice was steady.

Mitra turned to him. “What’s next?”

“We meet the man who closed this case,” Pranav said.

---

Inspector Johnson lived in a quiet suburb, a modest independent house with overgrown bushes and a squeaky iron gate. A retired officer, he answered the door in a loose white vest and lungi, chewing betel leaves, clearly unbothered by the presence of three uniformed officials.

“Ah, the cold case team,” Johnson grinned. “Still wasting time on ghosts, are you?”

Pranav didn’t respond to the jab. They sat in the drawing room, cluttered with old police memorabilia, faded photographs, and the faint scent of camphor.

“We’re here about Ananya Iyer,” Pranav said.

Johnson leaned back in his chair. “Ah yes, poor girl. Suicide. Classic student case. Pressure from exams, no job, no future. She cracked.”

Pranav’s eyes narrowed. “She had a job offer in Bangalore. Her mother showed us the appointment letter. She was packing the same day.”

Johnson laughed. “Mothers never know what’s going on in their children’s lives. She probably hid the stress. Trust me, sir, we’ve seen hundreds of these. Open-and-shut.”

“And the security guards who quit? The faulty CCTVs? The unmarked entries?”

Johnson shrugged. “Buildings have issues. People come and go. Don’t read too much into it. Some stories don’t have twists. She died. Sad, but that’s that.”

Pranav sat silently, his questions met with apathy and dismissive waves. It was clear Johnson had made up his mind the day Ananya’s body was found.

Outside, as they stepped out onto the porch, the sun was dipping, casting long shadows.

Murali was the first to speak. “Sir, what now?”

Pranav let out a dry sigh. “Irresponsible,” he said. “Totally irresponsible.”

Murali looked puzzled. “But if we know she got the job, was doing well, then how could this have been so easily dismissed? Why’d they close it like that?”

Pranav placed a hand on Murali’s shoulder and gave a faint smile.

“You see, Murali, senior officers have this... issue. Years of pressure — political, departmental, social — it burns out their curiosity. They start to see what’s convenient, not what’s real. They look for reasons to close cases, not solve them.”

Mitra nodded, understanding the weight behind those words.

“But there’s always someone else,” Pranav continued. “Someone junior. Lower down the ranks. Not yet burnt. A constable, for instance. The kind who sees something... but keeps quiet, fearing his superior’s glare.”

He turned toward the car.

“Come. Let’s meet Vinod — the constable assigned to the scene back then.”

They walked in silence, each step echoing louder than the last. The sun disappeared behind clouds as the wind picked up — an eerie stillness creeping into the air.

Just as Murali opened the car door, Mitra’s phone buzzed. A message from Ravi.

"Sir, you need to see this. I’ve extracted the folder."

Mitra read it and looked up at Pranav.

“There’s something in that folder.”

Pranav didn’t say a word. But his silence now felt heavier. Intentional.

Some truths had just begun to surface.