STIFLED
CHAPTER EIGHT
Runal closed the door behind Sanika and her cop friend. Samar had been in civil clothes but he had his weapon tucked into his waistband. Legal or not, he wished he had one too.
With a deep sigh, he rubbed his palm over his face. Damn! Talk about life turning upside down in the blink of an eye. Just the previous night he had mocked his wife for overreacting. He had been at dinner with colleagues -- Zara among them, her perfume lingering on his sleeve like an accusation he hadn't yet been confronted with -- when Shruti's message had arrived. My friend Mira is dead. We're on our way to Sahyadri Hospital now. I don't know when I'll be home. He had read it three times. The first time, the words didn't register. The second time, they registered but he rejected them. The third time, something cold and heavy settled in his stomach and didn't leave. He had excused himself from the table without finishing his beer, driven home at twice the speed limit, and waited in the dark apartment for his wife to return.
She had come home at midnight, supported by Sanika on one side and the cop on the other. Her face was swollen from crying, her eyes vacant, her body moving with the mechanical stiffness of someone operating on autopilot. She hadn't looked at him. Hadn't acknowledged his presence. Had walked past him to the bedroom and closed the door, and the soft click of that latch was the loudest sound he had ever heard.
He had stood in the hallway for ten minutes, his hand raised to knock, before lowering it and going to the guest room instead. He didn't sleep. He lay on the narrow bed and stared at the ceiling and thought about Mira -- a woman he had never particularly liked, whose laugh he had found too loud and whose influence on his wife he had resented -- and felt a grief that surprised him with its intensity. Not grief for Mira herself, he was honest enough to admit, but grief for his wife's pain. For the world that had just become darker and more dangerous. For the stark, terrifying realization that the people you love can be taken from you between one heartbeat and the next.
When he thought about her curt message that she was going to see her dead friend, it was like he'd been hit in the solar plexus.
His glance fell on Shruti. She was sitting on the couch with her feet tucked in under her and head resting on her arm, staring into space, her gaze vacant. The ravages of grief had left her pale but she was dry-eyed. Like there were no more tears left in her. Someone out there was trying to kill her? Because of that stupid video? It was too bizarre to contemplate. Things like that happened in movies. Not in real life. Did they? Sure, the video had made him angry, but as Shruti had rightly said, it was already forgotten. Not by everyone, apparently.
He made his way into the kitchen and heated up the food. The maid had cooked some misal pav that morning. He heated it in the microwave and transferred it into two bowls and carried them into the hall. He wasn't any hungrier than she was, but they needed to eat. If what Samar said was true... he shook his head, not wanting to contemplate the scenario. They would think and make decisions tomorrow morning. Not when she was in pieces, ravaged by grief.
"I'm not hungry," she said, looking at the bowls in his hands.
"You need the energy, buddy. Eat at least a few spoons. Please." He kept his voice low and soothing and suppressed a relieved sigh when she took the bowl and started eating quietly. Reluctantly.
True that he'd never liked her friends, but he wasn't a complete bastard. He knew she loved them to pieces and that had been one of his main gripes. He had been jealous of the time she gave to her friends. Mira and Sanika had taken the place that had once been exclusively his. She smiled with them, laughed with them, went out with them, and shared her thoughts and secrets with them. It was as if once he became her husband, he was no longer her best friend.
Yeah, right. You expected her to give you something that you yourself were not giving her. Time.
But now she had lost one of her friends and she looked... broken. For her, it was like losing a close family member. It would be a while before she recovered.
And while she recovered, he could use that time to rebuild their relationship. He didn't know how they had lost touch with each other. No. He knew. He had not been ready to compromise on his work or the time he spent with his friends but expected her to do it for him. He had wanted her to work but work around his schedule so that his life remained unchanged. Undisturbed. He left her alone to balance both her professional and personal lives and on the occasions when her professional life took precedence, he resented it. And her.
The innocent flirting at work with Zara had started to seem more important. Or maybe it had not been so innocent. Once he had started comparing everything Shruti did and said to Zara, who never nagged and always went out of her way to accommodate him, it had stopped being innocent. Shruti was his wife, for God's sake! She had the right and the freedom to nag him and push him, to demand his time. He had ignored her demands and pleas until she finally stopped. Until she gave up. And resented her some more because she gave up.
And he knew what finally made her give up. It was the day his mom had asked about kids. His mom was a traditional woman who wouldn't understand a guy needing time. She would nag and hound him. So in his attempt to wheedle out of that, he had kept mum, not realising that she would start on the blame game.
He had loved Shruti since he was nineteen years old. How had he lost sight of that -- of what they had together? Why had it taken the terror of realising that a killer was behind Shruti and her friends for him to realise that there would be no life for him without her?
He wanted to make it up to her. But would she let him? For the past few days, ever since she'd asked about Zara, Shruti had pulled away from him. Did she really believe he had been unfaithful to her? He had tried to imagine how he would feel if she had flirted with one of her colleagues. If she went out on not-so-professional lunches. The food he'd been trying to swallow stuck in his throat.
"You didn't have to leave your work. I would've managed," she said in a voice that had turned raspy from all the crying.
"I wanted to be with you. I'm sorry I snapped the first time you called. I'm sorry."
"For what?" she asked, making her way into the kitchen to deposit her half-eaten bowl.
"For everything. For not being responsible. For not supporting you. I love you, Shruti, and I can't live without you." He wanted to hold her. As if sensing that, she took a step back.
"What about your girlfriend?" She couldn't even dredge up her anger or pain as she asked the question. She was numb.
"I know you don't believe me, but I swear I didn't... I was never..." He rubbed his hands over his face. "I flirted a little but nothing more than that. Not ever. It... It didn't feel right. I knew what I was doing was wrong but I let my ego get the better of me. But I never crossed any lines, Ritu. Not once."
It had been so long since he'd called her by that name. He was the only one who'd ever called her Ritu. She was Preet to her parents and Shratz to Sanika and Mira. Only Sanika now. Her eyes teared up again at the thought of Mira.
"I can't think right now, Runal. I'm just... I can't think."
"I just wanted you to know the truth." He paused. "Can I sleep with you, Ritu?"
"You want to have sex." It was a tired statement.
"No." He controlled his wince at her assumption that he would want to have sex at a time like this. "I mean sleep with you in my arms. In our bed. I want to hold you."
Shruti couldn't deny him that. Truth be told, she wanted to be held by him. She got her blanket from the guestroom and curled up into his waiting arms.
"How is Sanika?" Salim asked the moment Samar stepped into what could only be termed as their den at the police headquarters.
"As well as can be expected. Prisma is closed today in mourning so I dropped her off at Shruti's place."
"Is that wise? If everything we've discussed last night is true, the guy might take it as a chance to off both women in one shot."
"Shruti's husband has taken off from work. He'll be their shadow until we make a proper plan. Did you talk to the big guy?" Samar asked, perching on the edge of Salim's table. They referred to the commissioner as the big guy. Not because he was their boss. The guy was really big. He had a big face, broad body, and a tummy that made it impossible for the man to see his big feet. He was also a man who had the ability to see the bigger picture and didn't hesitate to bend the rules if it meant catching the criminal. That was what mattered to Samar.
Salim had come to Sanika's house the previous night and Samar had updated everything that he knew while Sanika slept in the next room. And since technically this one was Salim's case, he left it to his friend to keep the big guy in the loop.
"Yup. Since the threat comes under speculation, he thinks we should keep it close to the chest and treat it like a single-incident murder case."
"I got that when I read the news." Samar nodded. There had been no mention of anything other than the fact that the girl was an IT employee and police were investigating. "Have you tried calling Karan Malhotra?"
Salim got up from his seat with a grin. "I did one better. He's inside," he said, thumping towards the interrogation room. "Thought I'd let him sweat it out a little."
"Hope it worked." Samar fell into step beside his friend. They had various methods to break a suspect. Depending on the evidence, the methods changed. Less evidence, they started out mild and tightened the screws figuratively as well as literally as the clues piled up.
They entered the ten-by-four interrogation room where Karan was restlessly pacing. Salim took a chair while Samar opted to stand ominously in front of Karan until the guy went and sat facing Salim.
"So, Mr Karan Malhotra, you were at the airport this morning. Going somewhere?"
"No. My plane had just landed. I was on my way to my apartment. What's this about? What did I do?" Karan's bewildered gaze swung between both the cops.
"I don't know. You tell us. What did you do?" Samar asked almost casually.
Karan tried to smile but it was awkward and nervous. "I jumped the signal a couple of times last week. Is that what this is about?"
"Do we look like traffic police to you?"
"Then... I'm sorry. What's this about?"
"Do you know a girl named Mira Patil?"
Karan frowned. "Of course I know her. She is my girlfriend. Why?"
"You consider her your girlfriend even after she broke up with you. Possessive, huh?" Samar said, circling around Karan like an eagle ready to plunge and grab the snake by its neck.
"Well, yes, she did but..." He sighed. "Yes, I know Mira, we have been lovers for the better part of a year now, she lives in an apartment opposite to mine but she spent more time in my apartment than hers." His wary gaze shifted to Salim as he reluctantly added, "Until she broke off things with me. You need to tell me what this is about. Why are you asking about Mira?"
"Where were you on Sunday night?" Salim counter-questioned.
"I had been to Lucknow along with my sister and her family. They had come from the US last week and my parents had planned a family gathering over the weekend. Sunday night. So I attended that and got back this morning."
Salim darted a quick glance at Samar. They would verify it of course, but if what he said was true, then there was no way he would've killed Mira. Unless he flew in on Sunday evening, offed her, and flew back to Lucknow again to attend the party. Again, that could be easily verified.
"Why did she break off with you?" Samar asked when Salim left the room to do just that.
Karan exhaled in a soft grunt. "Because I was an ass. I was a selfish bastard and hurt her with my stupid behaviour. But after she left, I... I missed her. I wanted her back in my life. I was with my family but everything felt wrong without her. I told my mom about her... I sent her messages begging her to... why are you asking me these questions? Please, could one of you explain?" He pleaded.
Samar pulled up another chair and sat. Salim came back into the room a few minutes later and gave a subtle nod.
"Mira was attacked on Sunday night at her home," he told Karan as gently as he could.
"Mira was attacked? Where is she now? Which hospital? Is she OK?" Karan fired the questions as he shoved the chair back and got up.
Looking at him, Samar realised the news was going to hit him pretty hard. But he deserved to know. "I'm sorry, Mr Malhotra. Mira didn't survive the attack."
"Didn't survive?" Shock flared in his eyes and he staggered back. "She... she's dead?"
Salim nodded. "I'm sorry."
Karan stood stunned for a long moment, then slowly began to collapse until he was down on his knees. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. Giving the broken man a few minutes of privacy, both of them walked out of the room.
"There goes our most probable suspect," Salim muttered.
"Mira spoke to Sanika that night." Samar said, thinking aloud. "She was attacked the same night, probably minutes after the call. No sign of forced entry. She knew the killer. Felt secure enough to open the door to him despite the threatening calls. And the attack had been personal. Clumsy but characterised by rage and hatred. The killer knew her contact details."
"And you're surprised? Do you have an Instagram account?" Salim asked derisively. "Wow, what a way to start a day," he tried to emulate an enthusiastic speaker. "Sitting in my balcony, watching sunrise with my new coffee mug. Hey, hubby got me this new dress, how do you like it guys? OK, off to Phoenix Marketcity for shopping and movies. I'm no longer part of a couple. Status changed to single." Samar couldn't hold back his grin. "Their whole life stories and routines are posted out there. One just needs to know how and where to look. That's it."
"When are we going to get the postmortem report?"
"I've put a rush on it. Will let you know."
Sanika winced as her phone rang again. Checking the caller ID, she threw it aside with a groan. People from Prisma had been calling either one of them on and off all morning. They stopped answering after the first few but didn't have the luxury of silencing or shutting off their phones. What if Samar or his friend tried to call? What if Mira's parents wanted to speak?
Sanika had called them from Shruti's house. They were staying with Mira's cousin who had cut her trip short after getting the news. They were in shock, hardly able to form a coherent sentence, their thoughts and words circling around two questions. What happened and why did it happen.
Her fauji dada had called in the morning to make sure she was fine and it had taken everything in her to act and speak normal when her parents had called.
"You slept last night?" Shruti asked, settling herself beside Sanika on the couch with her tea cup. Runal was working from home that day and was in the study, but he was the one to open the door whenever the doorbell had rung. Once it had been the maid and second had been the car-wash guy.
"Yeah, I didn't think I would. Had a killing headache by the time I reached home. Samar wanted me to move in with him but I refused."
"He doesn't seem like a guy to take no for an answer. What did he do?"
"Oh, he took it alright." At Shruti's raised-eyebrow look, Sanika admitted the rest of it. "He moved in with me instead." Both of them grinned a little. But their humour felt incomplete without their third partner.
"He stretched out on the couch while I slept in the downstairs guest bedroom. I suggested he take up another room. He gave me that cop look. I was too tired to even feel the weirdness of it all so took a painkiller for the headache. I remember closing my eyes and the next thing I know it was morning and he was looming across the doorway, prodding me to wake up."
Sanika sipped the last of her tea before shifting the topic. "Things seem to be changing for you too."
Shruti's smile was rueful. "Yeah, guess a psycho killer wanting me dead tends to rearrange priorities real fast. I didn't expect to sleep the night either but..." she shrugged. "I needed to be held and he did that. Just wish the circumstances were different. I mean, it could easily have been me," she bit her trembling lip and breathed deeply until she could get her voice working. "I think that scared him. You think we should've told her parents about the video?" she asked suddenly.
Sanika shook her head. "We don't know it for sure, right? I mean, the thought that she was killed because of a video that we made sounds insane, doesn't it? What kind of a nutjob would kill someone just because of a video? Who does that?"
"So we wait for Samar to tell us if the murder and those calls are related?"
"That would be wiser, I think."
That night, when Samar dropped Sanika back home on his bike, she noticed a car parked on the far side of the road. A car that she didn't recognise as belonging to any of the neighbours. The windows were tinted dark. She couldn't see inside.
She didn't think much of it. Lots of people parked on their street.
Samar noticed it too. He noticed it the way cops notice things -- automatically, instinctively, the way a surgeon notices a limp or a musician notices a flat note. He filed it away and made a mental note to check it in the morning.
Inside, one pair of eyes watched through the tinted glass. Hands gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled fury. There she was. With her cop boyfriend. Walking into the house together. Laughing, probably. Living, definitely.
No one can protect the two. No one. They would have to die. Just like Mira. They would have to die.
Fists banged on the steering wheel in frustration. A police jeep stopped right behind the bike and a couple of cops got down and saluted the guy before taking up positions discreetly near the house.
No. No. No.
But patience. Patience was key. The first one had been practice. The next ones would be art.
End of Chapter Eight.
© 2025 Atharva Inamdar. Licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0. Free to read and share with attribution.