But I Shall Tell

Chapter 17 - The First Girl.

2005

Serial Killer Claims New Victim

The book did not fall, neither did Maan. He held the edge of the bench with his fingers - that might slip any second - and leaning with a flashing reflex caught hold of the book with his left hand. Luckily, the bench did not fall either.

"In Cold Blood" was one of the top selling books in crime thriller and every fan of this genre wanted to get their hands on it. Fortunately, there was a book which was now in the grips of the boy sitting on the only bench that did not have any other occupants. Unfortunately, he had to return it after a certain period of time.

"The gods of fortune smiles on you." Came a voice.

The crowd was half full in the City Central Library of Bangalore which was disappointing for its size. It was just across the main street at an intersection, where a number you could see a number of shops. There stood a coffee store, followed by a bakery, right after that was the city's police station.

Maan turned and saw a similar face in the hall. "More often than this," he said. He shifted his position and was fully placed by now.

"Ah! Neighbor. Hello!." The man said, who was holding a book "The Devil in the White City" by "Erik Larson" and leaning against a shelf. He was in all black, black pant, black shirt, black shoes. He definitely needed a hair cut, his black curly hair was touching his eyes.

"Hello," Maan said, and nodded slightly. It was Mr. Gandhi, the famous ex-loony neighbor. Every time you come in contact with him, you get a new news or an updated one and all have one thing in common, Crime.

"I have a copy of that book you're reading,," said Mr. Gandhi. Few people turned towards him and gave a look. A look which says that you are a creep. This happened so often to him. "And I liked the ending."

Did he have to say that?

It was a maze of horrors, the shelves arrangement, like a baby had placed crayons on purpose, but then every library have similar arrangements. Books were arranged in alphabetical order. The walls were painted white to give the room a look of bright. A fan hung meters away from the ceiling that moved slower than a tortoise.

A blind woman tracing the words with her fingertips at a distance, stopping at few lines and then continuing to read the book in her hand.

A young girl with a rabbit tattoo on her writ sitting in the adjacent row, with her head cupped in one hand, elbows propped up on the desk was looking at Maan. "Are you thinking something, Mr. Gandhi?" he said. He was in a green t-shirt with a lantern picture on it, and a black jeans.

"Yeah, I guess you are right." There was something in his eyes which wasn't there before. An appreciation for this boy, maybe? He blinked once and changed his look from wonder to half smile. "There's another girl. She's all cut up." Mr. Gandhi said.

There had already been one murder like that  6 days ago. Now it sounded like a second girl had suffered the same fate.

Maan stared blankly at Mr. Gandhi.

"Is the city ready for a psychopathic serial killer?" Mr. Gandhi said.

Did he enjoy the talk? Was he expecting an answer in yes?

"Are you certain, it's him and not a mix up?" He still had that same blank expression.

"A set of five toes and make that two, two foots, two legs, four slices of the upper body, followed by the fingers, wrists, hands and a complete untouched head from neck above." He sounded pretty much satisfied. He raised his eyebrows in a questioning way, "have I missed anything?" Mr. Gandhi said.

The description matched to the previous case that was in the news papers for the past 3 days all over the city. No one could forget that, especially not the maid who had discovered her owner's lovely daughter in their refrigerator all cut up. She still gets nightmares of that gruesome killing.

"Not a single part," Maan said. He sensed that the other person had a lesser color to his face. "Are you sick. Mr. Gandhi?" He kept the book on the bench.

"I didn't kill them, in case you were wondering." He kept the same posture and spoke in a calm voice, "I know my condition. I know what people talk about me behind my back. 10 years, I had been a prisoner for 10 freaking years in a mental asylum. Do you know how that felt? There was something definitely wrong at the beginning, which by the way wasn't my fault. It was an accident, a near death accident. A drunk man who thought driving was a better option than taking a taxi didn't feel to hit the breaks at a red stop. There I was, crossing in a designated pedestrian crossing area. Do you know what was the worst part about that? Not that I didn't look at the incoming truck with 160 km/h for the 3rd time, but the people who think they are better judge of characters. Kid, I'll tell you this," his eyes were filled with water, "it hurts. It really really hurts." Mr. Gandhi said. He turned around and wiped the tears. He took few seconds looking at the wall in the corner.

Was that really him at the moment? Was he being honest? Was this how it all started?

When finally Mr. Gandhi turned around, "I'm sorry. It hurts I know." Maan sounded apologetic.

"Don't be, kid. The world will not apologize if you fall." His eyes looked swollen. "The tears make me forget," he lifted his chin up and then lowered it a bit, he smiled and asked "What's the name of the first girl?"

"Divya Laghari." Maan said.

There was a puzzled look on the kid's face. 

"A mystery to solve. See you later." said Mr. Gandhi, and moved to the counter with "The Devil in the White City."