Beneath the Surface

Chapter 18: Camouflage

The air in the police station was thick with tension, as Akilesh and his team studied the crime board, which was littered with photos, notes, and the timelines of each of the previous murders. Every murder had followed a dark and distinct pattern: the victims would vanish, only to resurface three to four days later, their lives taken in the cruelest manner. The killer would watch his victims suffer, offering no food, no water-only his silent, twisted presence as they weakened from starvation before he took their lives.

But this murder was different. The girl next to Raju's home had been killed swiftly, without the twisted ritual the killer usually observed. There had been no prolonged suffering, no starvation. It had all happened quickly, almost urgently, like a panicked attempt. The question burned in Akilesh's mind: had the killer broken his pattern? Or was there someone else at work here?

His team exchanged glances, unsure, as one officer voiced their suspicions, "Sir, this murder doesn't match the others. We might be dealing with a copycat."

Akilesh considered the possibility but shook his head, unwilling to jump to conclusions. "It could be someone else, but if it's the same killer, he must've had a reason for breaking his own rules," he said, his voice tense with frustration. "I need to know if there's anything unusual from that night-anything that might explain this break in the pattern."

He thought for a moment, and an idea struck him. He turned to one of his junior officers. "Call the night patrol officer of that area. Ask if they noticed anyone unusual on the streets late that night."

The officer dialed the patrol unit, repeating Akilesh's question. On the other end, the officer paused, thinking hard before replying, "There was nothing at first that seemed off. It's a quiet area, not much movement after dark. But... wait. There was one man, actually. I remember it now-a strange sight, someone with a slight limp, wandering around. We thought he was just another beggar, maybe drunk. He's often seen in different neighborhoods, but we never looked too closely. He seemed harmless."

Akilesh's eyes narrowed as he listened. "Did he do anything suspicious?"

The officer hesitated, "Not that I recall, sir, but he had this eerie, restless energy about him. A short man, with a limp, almost as if he was searching for something. He's usually seen alone, and the other night was no exception."

Akilesh made a mental note and thanked the patrol officer. A crippled man with a limp. It wasn't much, but it was a lead. He'd heard rumors of someone like that lingering around the city's edges-people often dismissed him as mentally unwell, no one paying him much attention. But now, with a broken pattern in front of him, Akilesh couldn't afford to overlook anything.

Meanwhile, across the city, Raju had his own lines of investigation. Restless and driven by a fierce resolve, he moved from street to street, speaking to anyone who might have seen or heard something. His search brought him to the edges of the neighborhood, where the city's forgotten gathered-street dwellers, those who watched the city from a distance and noticed things that others missed.

He approached a group of beggars by a dimly lit street corner, his voice calm but direct. "I need your help," he said, catching the eye of an older man in the group. "Did any of you see anyone strange around here late at night?"

They exchanged glances, some looking away, uncertain or unwilling to get involved. But when Raju pressed, one of the beggars finally broke the silence. "There was this one man," he began, his voice rough from years on the streets. "A short man, walks with a limp. They say he's not all there in the head, but he's always creeping around at night, watching. No one bothers him, no one knows where he came from."

Another beggar chimed in, "Yes, I've seen him too. He's been around these parts for a while, drifting from place to place. Sometimes he talks to himself, like he's having a conversation with someone only he can see."

As Raju listened, the pieces began to fall into place. The descriptions matched-a man with a limp, wandering the streets at odd hours, seeming out of place but largely ignored by those around him. This was no ordinary bystander; the timing and frequency of his presence were too much to be mere coincidence.

Back at the station, Akilesh was piecing together the same puzzle. When the patrol officer's report matched the beggars' descriptions, he felt a spark of grim understanding. They both had independently come to the same conclusion: this man, the crippled wanderer, was more than a mere background figure. He was hiding in plain sight, moving through the city's shadows, seen by those who existed on the fringes but invisible to everyone else.

In a strange twist of fate, Raju and Akilesh now had the same lead-the limp-footed man, whose erratic behavior and silent presence wove through the fabric of these murders. For Raju, the encounter was deeply personal. This man, whoever he was, was dragging Raju's past back to the surface, using the darkness of his history as a weapon against him. And for Akilesh, the chase had turned into something beyond duty-it was a pursuit for redemption.

As they both looked into the distance, one in a dim alley, the other in his office, they knew this man held the answers to their questions.