To Where It All Began ✔

10. SOUND OF DEATH... AGAIN

The National Forensic Science Laboratory stood as a fortress of precision and scientific inquiry, its halls filled with the faint hum of high-tech machinery and the sharp tang of chemical solvents. The atmosphere was meticulous and intense—a place where every detail mattered, and every action contributed to piecing together the hidden stories behind cold evidence. Inside, the hum of analysis and soft murmurs created a strange, solemn symphony, one that only those accustomed to its intensity could endure.

A heavy-set man in his mid-forties, his build solid and his expression stoic, strode purposefully through the corridors. His steps were brisk and authoritative, echoing along the polished floor as he made his way to the Head of the NFSL team. He found him in one of the laboratories, leaning over a meticulously organized workspace filled with various samples and detailed anatomical models.

"Any new findings regarding the Ambodi case?" Deshmukh's voice was gravelly, his tone bordering on demanding as he addressed the man. His eyes, sharp and observant, scanned the lab with practised intensity.

The Head of the NFSL team, a lean man with keen eyes, looked up and gave a quick nod. "Deshmukh sir! Yes, there's new data to go over. Please, follow me," he replied, his voice betraying a touch of enthusiasm. Together, they walked to a sterile room reserved for high-priority cases, the room's stark, clinical lighting casting a pale glow on the skeleton lying carefully on the examination table.

The Head of the team directed Deshmukh's attention to the skull, pointing specifically to a faint but visible fracture on the left side of the frontal bone. "Sir, look closely at this two-centimetre linear fracture," he said, tracing it with his gloved finger. "This was caused by blunt force trauma. He likely struck his head against something hard, but this wasn't the cause of death. It's minor, not nearly severe enough to be fatal."

Deshmukh peered closer, his trained eye scanning the fracture carefully. "So, he survived this injury... What, then, caused his death?"

Without hesitation, the NFSL Head gestured toward the skeleton's ribs, pointing to an unmistakable puncture. "This bullet," he said, indicating the embedded projectile lodged in the fourth rib. "It's a 9X19mm Parabellum round. Judging from its position and the way it fractured the rib bone, the shot came from the front, aimed directly at the heart, and fired from a distance of about one meter."

Deshmukh grunted, his mind already putting together the scenario. "So, he got into a struggle with the assailant... and the attacker shot him at close range to make sure he didn't survive."

The NFSL Head nodded, his voice measured. "Exactly. The shot was intentional and precise, targeting the heart to ensure death."

Deshmukh's face tightened as he considered the implications of such a close-range execution. "Did you recover anything from the victim's belongings that might give us an ID?" he asked, his tone scrutinizing, every word measured.

The forensic expert sighed, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, no. His watch is a common brand that was widely available twenty-five years ago. The clothes are equally generic—no unique markings or identifiers. We did extract a DNA sample and cross-checked it against our database of missing persons, but we found no matches."

Deshmukh frowned, frustration flickering in his eyes. "Nothing? Not even an ID match?"

The forensic head hesitated. "We're working on reconstructing his face using forensic facial reconstruction and superimposition techniques, but... after twenty-five years, it's a challenging task. Even with expert help, reconstructing an exact likeness is difficult, if not impossible. We'll do our best, but there's only so much that time-ravaged bone can tell us."

Just as Deshmukh began to respond, his phone buzzed, shattering the silence of the sterile room. He held up a finger, signalling the forensic expert to pause as he checked the call. Recognizing the number, he swiftly left the room, stepping into the quiet corridor to take the call.