Mumbai Noir

13

The air hung thick with desperation as Mr. Verma repeated his story for the umpteenth time. "It's the truth, Ragu! Mrs. Kapoor, she's the one behind Ayushi's disappearance. We had an affair, a passionate one, but it ended badly. Ranjan, that spineless coward, is just trying to make his own narrative by throwing me under the bus!"

His words were like a broken record, each repetition chipping away at my already fragile sense of certainty. Was he a desperate man clinging to a fabricated narrative, or was there a sliver of truth buried beneath his frantic pleas?

Frustration gnawed at me. We needed a solid lead, a piece of evidence that could cut through the tangled web of accusations. Mrs. Rao's name popped into my head.  Maybe she could shed some light on Mr. Verma's behavior.

Reaching her apartment, I explained the situation, laying out Mr. Verma's claims bare. Her eyes narrowed in thought.

"Close, yes, they were close," she admitted cautiously. "But there was always this… imbalance. Mr. Verma, he seemed to be the one pushing things. Always a compliment, a lingering touch, a bit too suggestive for comfort."

Her words resonated with Mrs. Kapoor's account. "So, you never saw anything that suggested Mrs. Kapoor was interested?"

"Not in the way Mr. Verma portrays it," she said, shaking her head. "It felt more like him trying to… well, flirt his way in."

A spark of clarity flickered. Mrs. Rao's observations offered a different perspective, one that aligned more with Mrs. Kapoor's version of events. It was a crucial detail, a crack in Mr. Verma's elaborate facade.

Armed with this new information, Patil and I returned to grill Mr. Verma. We bombarded him with questions, inconsistencies in his story glaring under the harsh light of scrutiny. Finally, cornered and desperate, he cracked.

His confession, however, wasn't the bombshell we'd hoped for. He stuck to his story of an affair with Mrs. Kapoor, his claims laced with a bitterness that reeked of something more than heartbreak. We didn't we get why he said that he would say something new when he repeated the same old story.

The frustration was palpable. We needed more. A nudge in the right direction came from Mr. Verma's neighbor.

"Long time single, that one," he chuckled, gesturing towards Mr. Verma's apartment. "But you see strange things sometimes. Fancy women's clothes coming and going, some of them… well, not exactly appropriate for everyday wear at public place."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean there was once undergarments found in his bedroom of a women and as I told you he was single, I found a lot of inappropriate women clothes in his wardrobe once,"

His words sent a shiver down my spine.  We secured a warrant and raided Mr. Verma's apartment. The scene that greeted us confirmed the neighbor's suspicions.

Clothes, a mix of casual wear and lingerie, hung in a closet, some in pristine condition, others… not. The air hung heavy with a cloying perfume, the same scent that lingered faintly on Mrs. Kapoor from our last encounter.

"What is all this?" I demanded, my voice tight with a mix of disgust and a chilling realization.

Mr. Verma, cornered with undeniable evidence, began to unravel. He broke down, tears streaming down his face.

"They were hers," he stammered, his voice thick with a strange mix of fear and longing. "Mrs. Kapoor, she… she gave them to me."

Patil's booming voice filled the room. "Undergarments, Mr. Verma? Why would Mrs. Kapoor give you her undergarments?"

Mr. Verma whimpered, his facade completely shattered. "I… I stole them. Just a few, a way to feel close to her, let me tell you others were given by her,"

We didn't buy that statement..

His confession painted a disturbing picture. A man obsessed, fixated on a woman who clearly didn't reciprocate his feelings.  Was this the motive behind Ayushi's disappearance? Was he the one who took her? What if that person wasn't Raj but this man itself, it could be. We needed Raj confession to all of this now.

"Where is Ayushi?" I roared, anger boiling over.

Mr. Verma looked away, his lips sealed in a tight line.

Then he said again "I don't know about her daughter,"

He didn't have the proper answer, but the image of the stolen clothes, the inappropriate nature of some, sent a cold jolt through me.  A horrifying possibility started to take root.

Leaving Mr. Verma's apartment, the weight of the situation pressed down heavily. We had a suspect, yes, but the bigger question remained: where was Ayushi? Was she alive? And if so, what horrors had Mr. Verma subjected her to?

This man seemed a monster to us at that time.