Chapter 5: Beneath the Surface

The morning sun did little to warm the chill that had settled inside Pranav. He sat quietly at his desk in the Cold Case Unit, staring at the small folded piece of paper Vinod had handed him the day before.

It wasn’t just any note. It was a message to Ananya. Written in a tight, calculated hand — cold, deliberate, almost mocking.

“You think you’re brave. But you’re not the first to try and stand up. You’re not the first to talk. You’re not the first to fall.”

There was no name. No signature. Just words soaked in menace and finality.

He looked up at his team. “She had reported it,” he said. “But no one acted on it. I want to know where she gave the complaint. Who received it. Why nothing was done.”

Thameem nodded. “I’m on it, sir.”

Pranav turned to Murali. “And this note… it makes one thing clear. Ananya wasn’t the first. There were others. Murali, start pulling up any closed cases that were ruled as suicides. Focus on women, the last five years. Especially those that seem abrupt or unclear.”

“I’ll begin right away.”

As they left the room, the note stayed in Pranav’s pocket — heavier than it should have been.

---

By late afternoon, Thameem returned, urgency in his steps.

“Sir, she gave the complaint at the Adyar police station — ten days before her death.”

“Let’s go,” Pranav said immediately.

---

Adyar Police Station was a maze of paper files, slow-moving fans, and officers too busy to look up. The station in-charge met them with polite indifference.

“We get complaints like that all the time,” he said with a sigh. “Girls saying someone’s following them, making them uncomfortable, watching from a distance. Most don’t even know who’s doing it. It’s hard to act on such vague information.”

“So you just ignored it?” Pranav asked.

“It’s not that simple. We make a note, advise them to be cautious. Unless there’s a name, a threat, or something physical — there’s not much legally we can do.”

Pranav was about to respond when an older man walked over — a thin, bespectacled typewriter clerk, sleeves rolled up, ink-stained fingers twitching nervously.

“Sir… I remember that girl. Ananya.”

Pranav turned to him. “How?”

“I typed her complaint. She came in alone, but she was clearly shaken. Kept glancing over her shoulder. Said someone had been watching her for days — even followed her once near her apartment.”

He paused, then leaned in slightly.

“But that’s not why I remember her, sir. Three months before that… another woman had come in. Said almost the same thing. The way she spoke, the way she looked around, the fear… it was too familiar.”

Pranav’s jaw tightened. “Do you remember her name?”

The man shook his head. “No. But I remember her eyes. She never came back.”

---

Back outside, Pranav stood still for a moment. The wind stirred around them, tossing a few dry leaves across the stone steps of the station.

His phone buzzed.

Murali’s voice crackled on the line. “Sir…”

Pranav tensed. “Yes?”

Murali said slowly, “You were right. There are twenty-four such cases. All closed. All ruled suicides.”

Pranav didn’t reply — he didn’t need to. He knew.

He looked at Mitra and Thameem. “We’re not dealing with a single case. This is deeper.”

He pulled out the note again, read the words one more time.

“You’re not the first to fall.”

He folded it gently and slipped it back into his pocket.

“We need to find the rest,” he said, his voice low. “Before someone else joins the list.”