By the second night, the case had started to tilt.
The shift was subtle. It didn't call attention to itself, but people adjusted all the same. Conversations grew shorter. Assumptions stopped wandering and began to settle. Evidence had that effect. It drew conclusions inward, slowly and inevitably, until resisting it felt pointless.
Aarav sat at the dining table with files spread in a loose arc before him. The overhead bulb cast a dull yellow light, flattening colors, making everything look older than it was. Outside, the rain had thinned into a soft drizzle, tapping at the windows without insistence. Inside, the house had grown restless. Phones vibrated. Radios murmured. Officers spoke in half-voices, as though the walls had started listening more closely.
Inspector Deshpande stood near the doorway, skimming through a report, his expression set.
"Forensics has tightened the window," he said. "Closer to eleven than midnight."
Aarav did not look up. He turned a page slowly, as if the timing mattered less than the patience.
"That keeps Neha in the house," Deshpande continued. "No visitors. No witnesses."
Aarav's finger traced a line of text before moving on. "She was in the house either way."
Deshpande exhaled. "You know what I mean."
Yes. He did.
The study key lay sealed inside a plastic evidence bag on the table. Small. Ordinary. Heavy with implication. Found on Raghav's desk, close to where his hand had fallen. No fingerprints beyond Raghav's and Neha's. The placement was clean, deliberate. But panic rearranged objects. Grief did too. That argument was already forming.
"Domestic cases don't need to be clever," Deshpande said. "They rely on proximity, not planning."
"And when they are clever?" Aarav asked.
Deshpande's mouth tightened. "Then we don't help them by pretending they're something else."
That was the danger. Aarav felt it settle into his chest. The urge to accept what fit neatly. What explained itself without resistance.
Neha Mehra had motive. Years of being managed instead of married. Financial threads tied too tightly to cut cleanly. A life built around a man who measured value in leverage. The house was hers as much as his. Access was unquestioned. Opportunity constant.
She had also been calm.
Not distant. Not cold. Just composed. Her answers did not wander. Her grief had boundaries. No cracks. No uncontrolled spill.
Aarav opened his notebook and reread what he had written earlier.
Neha. Answers consistent. Emotion contained. No visible shock.
It was easy to misread that. Easy to label control as guilt.
Deshpande stepped closer and held out his phone. "Her call records. Last call at ten forty-five. Outgoing. Didn't connect."
Aarav studied the screen. "Why call that late?"
"Because something happened," Deshpande said. "Or because she was about to do something and hesitated."
Aarav nodded once. "Or because she thought it was already over."
Deshpande frowned. "You're stretching."
"Maybe," Aarav said. "But the stretch points somewhere."
They went upstairs together. The study seal was broken again, briefly, carefully. Officers moved with practiced caution now, aware that this room might soon carry the weight of a conclusion.
Deshpande gestured toward the desk. "Key. Locked door. No forced entry. Clock stopped."
Aarav crouched near the wall, his eyes going straight to the clock. The thin smear in the dust was still there. Untouched.
"Why hasn't anyone brought this up?" he asked quietly.
"Brought what up?" Deshpande replied.
"The clock wasn't just stopped," Aarav said. "It was handled."
Deshpande looked closer. "People touch clocks."
"Not after they stop," Aarav said. "And not once."
He stood, letting the room reclaim its posture of certainty.
Downstairs, Neha was asked to sit with Deshpande again. Aarav remained nearby, not part of the exchange, but not absent either.
"You made a call at ten forty-five," Deshpande said.
Neha nodded. "I tried calling Raghav."
"Why?"
"I wanted to ask him something."
"About?"
She hesitated. "Money."
"You argued earlier," Deshpande said.
"Yes."
"He went upstairs."
"Yes."
"And after that, he was killed."
Neha's eyes filled. They held. "I didn't know that."
"Why didn't you go upstairs when he didn't answer?" Deshpande asked.
"I thought he was angry," she said. "He locked himself in when he didn't want to talk."
"Often?"
"Yes."
Aarav felt something tighten. Not at the answer, but at how well it completed the shape already forming.
Deshpande nodded, satisfied enough. "That will be all."
When Neha was led away, Deshpande turned to Aarav. "It fits."
"Yes," Aarav said. "It fits very well."
Kunal was reviewed next. His anger was unchanged, loud but scattered. His timeline held. Sanjay followed, defensive, noisy, but intact. Their motives existed, but they spilled everywhere, lacking focus.
Maya was questioned last.
"Did Neha seem upset last night?" Deshpande asked.
"Yes," Maya said.
"Angry?"
"Quiet," she replied. "Focused."
Aarav looked up sharply, just for a moment.
"She went upstairs?" Deshpande asked.
"No."
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
"That contradicts her phone records."
Maya's expression did not shift. "I can only tell you what I saw."
After she left, Deshpande let out a breath. "Even her assistant noticed something off."
Aarav did not respond.
Later, the house thinned. Officers rotated out. Radios went silent. The tension softened but did not disappear. Aarav stayed at the dining table long after Deshpande stepped away to make calls.
The easy answer sat in front of him.
It was shaped correctly. It carried motive, opportunity, emotional logic. It would survive scrutiny. It would satisfy the hunger for resolution.
And it unsettled him.
He retrieved the photograph again, turning it over in his hands. Neha's smile was careful. Kunal's looked forced. Raghav's had been practiced for years.
Aarav closed his eyes and rebuilt the room in his head. The quiet before the blow. The moment after. The placement of the key. The stopped clock.
If Neha had done it, there would have been hesitation somewhere. A mistake shaped by emotion. A trace of disorder.
This had been precise.
He opened his notebook and added a line beneath Neha's name.
Too neat.
He stared at it until the words began to blur.
Outside, the rain finally stopped, leaving behind a silence that felt settled rather than forced. The kind that followed decisions.
Aarav closed the notebook without crossing anything out.
The case was settling on Neha Mehra.
He just wasn't convinced it deserved to.