CID Bureau – The Same Night – 11:30 PM
The board now resembled a completed novel—twisted and tragic. Four chapters. Four victims. Four messages. But only now, did the final puzzle piece fall into place.
Nelakhant Swami stood before the team, calm but intense.
Swami: "His writing style, vocabulary, and literary references—these aren't random. They match exactly with someone who once published essays on justice and urban decay in an academic journal… under the name Dr. Eshan Verma."
Purvi typed rapidly. "Pulling it up… yes. Dr. Eshan Verma. Former literature professor at St. Xavier's. Resigned in 2011 after… whoa."
Daya: "What?"
Purvi: "After a scandal involving the orphanage scam."
Swami nodded. "He was the whistleblower. He exposed the corruption behind the Dharmachakra Shelter Project… but no action was taken. He was discredited, humiliated, and forced to resign."
Abhijeet: "So… he turned into this?"
Swami: "He turned into what society made him: a man obsessed with justice… and performance. If the system wouldn't listen, he would force it to."
ACP Pradyuman: "Do we have a current address?"
Purvi: "No known residence. But—look at this. He used to live in Malad. His journal articles always signed off with one line: 'Where the ink dries, I begin again.' That's the name of a printing press that shut down five years ago… also in Malad."
Swami's eyes narrowed. "That's our stage."
---
Malad – Verma Printing Press – 12:45 AM
A dense fog clung to the alleyways. The building was falling apart, but the faded sign still read "Verma Printing Co." The team approached cautiously.
Daya (checking his gun): "You think he's waiting for us?"
Swami (softly): "No. He's inviting us."
They entered slowly. Inside, the air smelled of ink and paper. Dozens of books were scattered around—literature classics, criminal psychology, court verdicts.
At the center of the room sat an old typewriter. Next to it, a chair.
And on the chair sat a man in a black turtleneck, graying beard, calm eyes.
Dr. Eshan Verma.
He didn't resist. Didn't flinch. Just looked at Swami and smiled.
Eshan: "I was wondering how long it would take you."
Swami: "You wanted us to follow your story. You wrote every chapter with intention. Every victim carefully chosen."
Eshan: "Not victims, Inspector. Characters. Each one played a role in revealing what this city hides. Komal. Neeti. Ritika. Vikrant. They were pieces of a larger truth. I didn't kill to silence. I killed to speak."
Daya (angrily): "You played god. You used their lives for your personal revenge."
Eshan: "No, Inspector Daya. I am the consequence. Society forgot them. Buried them. I simply refused to let silence win."
Abhijeet: "And what now? Another dramatic ending?"
Eshan stood slowly and raised his wrists. "No ending. Just a final chapter… where I am caught."
Swami stepped forward.
Swami: "You think you've won. That your message has power. But what matters is truth—not how it's told, but how it heals. You created fear. But justice will not be written in blood."
Eshan looked Swami in the eyes for the first time with something close to… respect.
Eshan: "You're different. They sent a poet to catch a poet."
Swami calmly cuffed him.
Swami: "No. They sent CID."
---
CID Bureau – 3:00 AM
Verma was in custody. His confession was complete—every detail of the murders, the clues, the locations, the messages. He had no intention of escaping. He wanted only an audience.
As the team finally sat to catch their breath, ACP Pradyuman looked at Swami.
ACP Pradyuman: "You handled this case like it was a chess match."
Swami (quietly): "It was never about outsmarting him. It was about understanding why he did it—and stopping him before he believed the world was a stage for more tragedy."
Purvi: "He's brilliant… in a terrifying way."
Swami: "So was the fire that burned Rome. Brilliance without ethics is just destruction in disguise."
Abhijeet leaned back, arms crossed.
Abhijeet: "You know, Swami… if this was a novel, I'd say the best character walked in just three chapters ago."
Swami looked up and gave a rare, real smile.
Swami: "Let's hope this novel has fewer sequels."
Daya (grinning): "Not a chance. This is Mumbai. Crime writes new stories every day."
The team chuckled softly. The case was closed. But the city wasn't done yet.
Somewhere in the shadows of Mumbai, another story was already beginning.
To be continued…
(Next case begins: "Chapter 1 – The Man Who Died Twice")