Chapter 3: The Hidden Camera

The second murder hit Pranav hard. Same method, same eerie detail, same lack of clues. The apartment was locked from the inside. No sign of forced entry. No evidence of a struggle. It was as if the killer had vanished into thin air, leaving behind only a victim and a sinister message.

The similarity between Meera and the new victim left Pranav restless. Why were they targeted? What was the connection? And more importantly, what kind of killer leaves no trace?

Pranav returned to Crescent Heights, the luxurious apartment complex that was rapidly turning into the scene of a growing nightmare. His instincts told him there was something they had missed. Something small, but important. He had to return to the victims’ homes.

As he arrived, the sub-inspector approached him, looking troubled. “Sir, I spoke to one of the residents shruti. A month ago, when she had moved in, she hired a cleaning agency to deep-clean the apartment. During the cleaning, the technician found a small, non-functional camera inside her smoke detector.”

Pranav felt a shiver run down his spine. “A camera? Was it working?”

“No, sir. It wasn’t operational. The technician said it looked old, like it had been there for years, long before the new resident moved in. But the fact that it was there at all…”

Pranav nodded. The pieces were starting to come together. Cameras. Monitoring. Someone had been watching the residents of this apartment complex for a long time, possibly even before the new tenants had moved in.

“Find that technician,” Pranav ordered. “We need to know if there were more of these cameras anywhere else in the building.”

Later that day, Pranav arranged a meeting with all the residents of Crescent Heights. The atmosphere was tense as the community gathered in the clubhouse, many of them whispering anxiously among themselves. Pranav stood before them, his voice calm but firm.

“Two murders have taken place in this complex. Both victims were women, both in their twenties, and both killed in their own apartments under nearly identical circumstances. I need your cooperation in solving this case. If any of you have noticed anything unusual—anything at all—I urge you to come forward.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, but no one spoke up. The fear in the room was palpable, especially among the younger women. Pranav could sense their unease as they exchanged glances, some of them clutching their arms as if to ward off the chilling reality of the situation.

Pranav continued, his tone serious. “I also advise all women under thirty to be extra cautious. We will be increasing security in the building, but I urge you to stay vigilant. If you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, report it immediately.”

As the meeting concluded, Pranav felt the weight of the investigation pressing down on him. Time was running out, and with no solid leads, the killer could strike again at any moment.

After the meeting, Pranav and Ashok returned to the crime scenes to take a closer look. Pranav had a nagging feeling that they had overlooked something crucial.

As they combed through the first victim’s apartment, Pranav’s eyes settled on a curious item that he hadn’t paid much attention to earlier—a violin, perched in the corner of the living room. It was an old model, the kind that wasn’t made anymore. The dark wood gleamed under the faint light from the window, and the instrument seemed oddly out of place in the modern apartment.

Pranav’s brow furrowed as he made his way to the second victim’s apartment. Upon entering, his heart skipped a beat. There, in the same corner of the living room, was an identical violin. Same brand, same color, same antique design.

“Something’s off,” Pranav muttered. “Why would both victims have the same violin? This can’t be a coincidence.”

Just as he was inspecting the violin, his phone rang. It was the assistant commissioner, demanding an update on the case. Pranav briefly explained the new developments, including the strange coincidence with the violins.

“Keep me posted,” the assistant commissioner said sternly. “This case is turning into a media circus, and we can’t afford any mistakes.”

As soon as the call ended, Pranav turned to Ashok. “I want the serial number of this violin. Get it to the lab and see if we can trace where it came from.”

The lab results came back faster than expected. Pranav’s team had discovered that the violins were part of a special edition series produced in the 1980s for a country band that had gained local fame. The violins had been handcrafted by a renowned violin company, exclusively for the band members.

The band, however, had a tragic history. After a decade of fame, they disbanded in 1989 following a bitter dispute between the lead players. One of the lead violinists had been found dead, his body decomposing near a riverbank. The other members and their families vanished, their whereabouts unknown.

Pranav felt a knot form in his stomach. The case had a disturbing personal connection. His father, who had once been a celebrated assistant commissioner, had investigated the band’s disbandment and the mysterious disappearance of its members. Pranav’s father had never solved the case, and it had haunted him until his death.

The discovery left Pranav shaken. Was the present-day killer somehow linked to the events of the 1980s? And why were these violins showing up at the murder scenes?

As he pondered these questions, another call came through from Ashok.

“Pranav,” Ashok’s voice was tight with urgency. “We have another body. Same apartment complex. But this time, it’s a man.”