"Namaste, Buaji," greeted Khushi as she stepped into the small but cozy single-story home. Taking a deep breath, she commented, "That smells delicious."
"Namaste," answered the lively older lady from the kitchen. "Dinner is almost ready, hurry and go change."
Khushi grinned before complying. She had really lucked out in terms of living conditions. Initially, she'd planned on living in a hostel. But one of the professors in her law school in Mumbai knew of a mechanic in Delhi. He'd contacted the mechanic, who verily happily informed the professor of a family in his very neighborhood that were interested in finding a paying guest.
So for half the price of a hostel room, Khushi was able to rent a warm, safe, dry room and was fed twice a day to boot. On top of that, Buaji, despite being brash, had a way of taking care of Khushi that reminded her of days when Garima was still alive. Then there was Payal, Buaji's niece that lived with her.
Khushi hadn't had many friends in life, but Payal had fast become one. The two had much in common. Like Khushi, Payal was an orphan, having lost her mother at birth and her father four years prior to a heart attack. Both the young women were self-made, working to pay for their educations and focusing on their careers afterwards.
Currently, Payal worked as a designer for a small boutique in the bustling marketplace. However, given her talent and innovative designs, Khushi was sure that demand for her work would grow higher.
Dinner, as usual, was a boisterous affair. The three ladies conversed loudly over the clatter of dishes, discussing the events of their day, politics and neighborhood gossip. Afterwards, Khushi and Payal helped Buaji clean the kitchen and then they took a short walk before retiring to their respective bedrooms.
Khushi treasured these few hours of the day the most; it was the closest thing to family time that she'd ever had. While Garima had done her best to care for Khushi and provide her with all the necessities of life, the grieving woman could give her little in terms of emotional stability or happiness. Khushi had spent most of her childhood watching Garima blaming herself for the events of the past, constantly trying to atone for sins that she didn't have the courage to ask forgiveness for.
The environment of Buaji's house was a welcome change.
Usually, at this time, Khushi would either read something or go through another case file. Today, she took out the copies of the marriage certificates. Pulling out her laptop, she started by googling Ajay Varma and Ramya Malhotra. Of all the couples, they'd been married first, about six years ago. After a quarter of an hour of searching, she gave up on trying to find anything useful on the man. Most of the Ajay Varmas that she found did not appear to be married, and if they were, then not to a Ramya Malhotra. She was a little bit more lucky with Ramya Malhotra, who had a public facebook account. On it, she proudly proclaimed her relationship status as married and had written a rather nauseating post describing her love to her darling Ajay. Strangely, there were no pictures of the husband whose praises she was singing.
Digging through the girl's facebook, Khushi saw that she'd come from a well-to-do middle class family from Kolkata. She seemed rather happy, and her most recent post announced her pregnancy of three months. Khushi was shocked to see that had been a little over five years ago. Why hadn't she updated since then?
Khushi got her answer when she checked the comments Ramya received on the post--messages from friends and family, expressing grief for the loss of Ramya and her unborn child. There was no indication of what was the cause of death. So Khushi logged onto an archive of nationwide newspapers that she had access to through her law school. Honing in on Kolkata around the time when she estimated Ramya's death to be, Khushi discovered several things: Ramya had been murdered--the newspaper stated that it was a robbery gone wrong. Her house had been broken into and Ramya had been both beaten over the head and stabbed multiple times. Given the excessive violence, Khushi felt it sounded more like a crime of passion, committed by someone who personally knew the victim.
As Khushi saved the article, she found her eyelids getting heavy. It was getting late--further investigation would have to wait until the morning.
******
7 A.M the next morning found Khushi still in bed, typing away furiously at her laptop. She'd decided that this was all the information to be found on Ramya for now. Later, she'd get in touch with her contact at the police to confirm if there had been a case filed for Ramya's murder and what had resulted from it.
Right now, she wanted to focus on the next set of couple--Rudra Devan and Laasya Kohli, married four and a half years ago. Her google search had proven to be fruitless. Neither Rudra Devan nor Laasya Kohli had any forms of public social media. The marriage certificate indicated that the ceremony took place in Agra, so she was now digging through the Agra database to see if she could find any announcement in the newspaper. There was nothing on that date, but with a jolt, Khushi discovered that six months after the marriage, there was an article detailing the murder of Laasya Kohli. What chilled her to the bone was that the article described her death as a robbery gone wrong, with the thieves killing the poor girl by beating her over the head and stabbing her multiple times. There was no mention of her husband.
Next, Khushi searched for Kabir Singh and Pooja Acharya, of Chennai, married three years and some months ago. Again, neither of the two had any sort of social media footprint, but Khushi found an article written eight months after the wedding date, declaring that Pooja had been found dead after a robbery had gone wrong. With a sort of horrific expectation, Khushi read the article confirming what she already knew--that Pooja had been beaten before being stabbed multiple times.
Just as Khushi saved the article, there was a bang on the door. "Wake up, Khushi," called Payal from the other side. "Buaji wants us for breakfast."
Breakfast? Khushi hadn't even dressed yet. "Give me 10 minutes," she called, grabbing a towel and running for the shower.
*******
As per usual, Khushi arrived at her office several minutes before their 9 A.M. start time. Settling in, she pulled out her files. While the mysterious marriage certificates were still on her mind, she still needed to tend to her clients. For an hour, she made important calls, before leaving to meet with a client and then returning to her office for another meeting with a senior lawyer about a case he wanted to give her. When she finally took her lunch hour at one, she dashed outside to grab a warm bun and some tea from a street vendor and then returned to her office.
Closing her door carefully to prevent the risk of being overheard, she dialed Lavanya's phone number. She was Khushi's roommate when she was in law school, and though the two girls had never been close, they tolerated each other enough that Khushi felt that she could call in a favor.
"Officer Lavanya Kashyap speaking," she said in a monotone when she answered.
"Lavanya, it's Khushi. I need a favor."
This was always how it was between them. No small talk, no hi, how are you. Just straight to the point.
"Talk," commanded Lavanya.
"I need to know about the cases filed for the murder of these four women," said Khushi, before rattling off the four names. While Khushi hadn't confirmed the murder of the last of them, she was pretty sure that her death would have followed the same pattern.
"I'll email you the information by tonight," was the only response Khushi got before the phone clicked off.
With that taken care of, Khushi took a big bite into her bread before starting the search for Naitee Devi of Mumbai, married to Aditya Mehta two years ago. No social media presence but there was an article declaring her death seven months after her marriage in the same pattern as the other three.
So with the exception of the first girl, none of the other girls were ever active on social media. There was no facebook account, no instagram, no evidence of their friends or family. Did Anjali Ji fit the same pattern? A quick google search confirmed it. She had no social media and an interview to a business magazine from about a month ago had no mention of a husband or any other personal details.
Leaning back in her chair, Khushi closed her eyes for a moment. Four girls--all married to a mysterious man for less than a year before dying the exact same deaths. No mention of the man at the time of death, no picture. All the girls lived in different cities. Khushi had no pictures so she couldn't confirm if they had a physical profile that attracted their murderer.
Khushi theorized that all four of their husbands were the same man, who married the girls for whatever reason, then murdered them. Which would mean that the man in the fifth marriage certificate, married four months ago, was also the same person. Which would mean that his fifth victim would be...Khushi's eyes shot open.
Not on her watch. Khushi needed to confirm her theories, and fast.
******
For once, Khushi's mind was not on her job. Her eyes kept on drifting to her phone, willing the clock to go faster. 4:58. 4:59. 5:00.
There was a flurry of activity in the building as the other lawyers started heading out. Khushi nearly jumped out of her skin when Shyam poked his head into her office. "Another late night, Khushi Ji?" he asked with a sleazy smile.
"Not today, Mr. Jha," answered Khushi. She always tried to be as formal as possible with him to discourage his unwanted advances but nothing seemed to get through his thick skull. She quickly packed her laptop and files into her bag.
"Perhaps I can give you a ride?"
"No thank you," she said airily, before breezing past him. He started to say something but she acted as if she didn't hear.
She'd never liked him but now that she suspected him of being a serial killer, her distrust in him had increased ten-fold.
Neither Buaji or Payal were home when Khushi got to the little house. That was good. The more privacy Khushi had for this call, the better. Before that, however, Khushi opened her email account, so that she'd get the information that she'd requested from Lavanya as soon as possible.
The phone rang for an impossibly long time and when it was finally answered, Khushi had to take a fortifying breath before she started speaking. "Namaste, Mr. Malhotra. My name is Khushi Gupta and I'm a lawyer from Delhi. Is this a good time to talk?"
"Namaste," answered the man gruffly. "Yes, but what about?"
"Mr. Malhotra, I understand this is an extremely sensitive topic but please know that I would never bring it up if other lives were not on the line. Sir, I need to speak to you about your daughter, Ramya."
The silence that followed was permeated with grief. Finally, he spoke again, "Why? It's been so many years. We've tried so hard to move on, but every time we do, something happens to remind us. Why is it so?"
"Because sir, you have no closure. Tell me, do you really believe that Ramya died in a robbery? I'm sorry to bring it up like this, but until you can understand why this tragedy happened, you won't be able to move on. I want to help you find the answers, Mr. Malhotra. I want Ramya to receive the justice she deserves. I want her criminal to be held accountable for her death and that of her unborn child.
"Can you help me do that, Mr. Malhotra?"
Khushi held her breath until the man finally said, "But why do you want to do that? Do you want me to hire you as a lawyer?"
"No, Mr. Malhotra. I want nothing from you but a few answers, and a promise that you won't mention this to anyone else just yet. The reason I'm doing this, Mr. Malhotra, is because I have reason to believe that your daughter's death was not an isolated incident. She was the victim of a serial killer, and I'm currently on the trail of that killer. But to capture him, I need information."
"Ask what you want. I won't tell anyone."
"Thank you, Mr. Malhotra. Can you start by telling me a little bit about yourself?"
"I don't...why do you need to know about me?"
"I just want to have an understanding of Ramya's background, sir. I'd like to compare her to other victims to see if there's a certain profile--"
"How many others?"
"I don't know, sir. I'm still trying to get an exact number," lied Khushi. She felt guilty for hiding facts from this man, but she felt it was better to be vague. Already, she was unsure about telling the man her real name, but another part of her felt that she owed him that much for picking at his old wounds.
"I'm a white collar worker. I've worked honestly as a government official until retirement."
There was an undertone in his voice, a sort of reluctant guilt that indicated he hadn't been as honest as he wanted Khushi to believe. That, coupled with the fact that Ramya's facebook pics pointed to a lifestyle that could never be afforded by the daughter of an honest official, led Khushi to believe that he must have had a lot of uppar ki kamai.
To confirm, Khushi asked what his wife did.
"She's a housewife," answered the man, much more smoothly.
"Can you tell me about Ramya's marriage? Were the couple happy?"
"Oh yes, they were very happy. Ajay was the best son-in-law that anyone could ask for. He doted on Ramya and he was always so well-mannered with me and my wife."
"Was it a love marriage?"
"No, of course not. My Ramya wasn't like that." Here Khushi had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Even in modern times, many Indian parents felt that their daughter actually knowing and liking their significant other before marriage was an insult to their honor. "The relationship was arranged by a marriage bureau. The boy fulfilled all our requirements--a decent education, good family background, a steady job--"
"What did he do?" interrupted Khushi.
"He was a lawyer," answered the father with a hint of annoyance.
"Sorry, Mr. Malhotra. Please continue."
"The match was perfect in all regards. But I'm not a close-minded man, Madame Lawyer. I encouraged Ramya to speak with Ajay before we said yes. She was very happy with him. Sometimes I think..." he trailed off.
"Please tell me," prompted Khushi.
"I think that if this was all the life written for Ramya, then I'm grateful that she at least got that time with Ajay."
"She was happy with him, then?"
"Oh yes. They were both so happy with each other. When she discovered that she was with child, her happiness knew no bounds. That was the last time I saw her, you know, when she came over to announce the news. She was so excited! We were planning on throwing a big party when Ajay came back home."
Khushi tilted her head aside in confusion. "He wasn't home?"
"No, he had a conference to attend out of town. We asked Ramya to stay until he returned, but she didn't know when he'd be back so she wanted to be at home as much as possible so she could see him the moment he got back."
"How did you find out about what happened to Ramya, sir? Did the police inform you or did they inform Mr. Varma first?"
"Neither. I informed them," he choked out with a strangled gasp.
She gave him a moment to gather himself.
"Mr. Malhotra, I am truly sorry that I have to make you relive this loss. But I swear that this will bring us closer to your daughter's killer. Can you tell me what you meant by that last statement?"
"Ajay called a few days later. He said he'd been calling Ramya for a while but there had been no response so he was wondering if we knew where she was.
"At that moment, I knew in my heart that something terrible must have happened to my daughter. I rushed over to her house. The door was locked but I had duplicate keys.
"It was so quiet, Wakeel Saiba. No house with my Ramya had ever been quiet before that day. She was always chattering, always running around, always so full of life."
Khushi blinked back her own tears as he began sobbing. After a few minutes, he was able to continue. "When I got to her room, there was blood everywhere. She was there...tied to the bed. I couldn't even see her face because there was so much blood on it. I ran to her and begged her to open her eyes but it was too late.
"She was long gone."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Malhotra. I can't even begin to imagine the pain you must have gone through."
"It's alright. My only consolation is that my Ramya is in a better place now, safe from the beasts of this world."
"Can I ask you a few more questions?"
"I have already told you the most difficult things, Wakeel Saiba. Every other answer will be easy for me now."
There was a ding on the computer as Lavanya's email came through. Khushi closed the lid before continuing her conversation with the bereaved father.
"You said Mr. Varma was a lawyer. Perhaps he had some enemies?"
"No, not at all. Ajay worked for a small firm, mostly dealing with minor neighborhood disputes, pensions and the sort. Anyway, he was so sincere, so charming that he couldn't possibly get on anyone's bad side."
"I see. Could you tell me the name of the law firm that Mr. Varma worked for?"
"I'm afraid I don't remember. I don't even think it exists now."
"Are you still in contact with Mr. Varma?"
"No, after the tragedy, he sold the house and left the city. I think it was too painful for him to stay here. But why are you so interested in him?"
"I wanted to see if I could follow-up with him; maybe he could provide more information that could be critical to reopening the investigation."
"I'm sorry; I know nothing of where he is now."
"Don't worry, Mr. Malhotra. I'll track him down eventually. Do you have a picture of him by any chance?"
He chuckled, "Oh no. Ajay was extremely camera shy. It was a common argument between him and my daughter--she always wanted to take pictures and he would avoid the camera like the plague."
Khushi frowned. A picture would have been helpful in proving or disproving her theory that Shyam and this Ajay person were one and the same. Never mind. She'd just have to keep going until she figured it out. To Mr. Malhotra she said, "Thank you so much for speaking with me. I promise that this case will be followed up until completion."
"If that is the case, beta," he replied, "then I will always be grateful to you."
"Take care, Mr. Malhotra," murmured Khushi before clicking the phone off.
She glanced at the notes she'd scribbled. Like Shyam, this Ajay was a lawyer and worked for a small law firm. But a few similarities were not enough to indicate that both men were the same person, let alone implicate him/them in the murders.
Perhaps Lavanya's information would provide more evidence.
Khushi's hair stood on end as she scrolled through the investigation files that her former roommate had sent her. In concordance with the newspaper articles, the police reports stated that the women had been beaten with a heavy object of some sort before being stabbed. However, it was the additional details that really chilled Khushi's bones.
The police believed that the object used was a bat, and the killer always struck the head of the victim first but never hard enough to kill. This was based on the coroner's reports that while the injuries to the head were traumatic, they were not immediately fatal. All the victims were found gagged and tied to their beds and crime scene specialists hypothesized that the killer did this after the initial strike to the head, when the victim would be dazed or unconscious and would find it difficult to resist.
After that came the stabbings. Each time, seven strikes; one just above the right breast, the other over the left, one in between the bottom of the rib cage, one to the left of that, and two above the thighs, parallel to the ones above the breast.
Why this specific pattern? Was it some sort of message; a signature of sorts?
What irritated Khushi was that none of the reports ever mentioned any of the previous ones. Granted, all the crimes had happened in different cities but were inter-city police communications so bad that no one was able to connect the dots? Even more odd was that only two cases, Ramya's and Pooja's, had any further investigation after the preliminary investigation. Nevertheless, all the cases were eventually put down to burglaries gone wrong after jewelry and cash was discovered missing in each of the homes.
Her next step, then, would be to investigate Pooja. It had been reported by a neighbor, who'd been contacted by Kabir, Pooja's husband. Kabir was out of town at the time and had been unable to contact her, so he'd called that neighbor to check on her. The poor neighbor had been quite horrified, to say the least, when she discovered Pooja's body and she'd immediately called the police.
The case file had not even indicated the neighbor's name. Kabir had been questioned and his out-of-town alibi was deemed solid. Police had declared the case to be a burglary, and had all but closed the case until the victim's sister requested a follow-up. She suspected her own father of being involved, the motivation being his anger and sense of honor since Kabir and Pooja eloped when he wouldn't approve of the match.
But when they found no evidence against the father, police ruled him out as a suspect and the case was officially closed.
The sister's name and contact information was included. Khushi was about to dial but then noticed it was already eight. It wasn't that late, but it might be better, Khushi thought, to discuss such topics in the light of day.
****
By 8 AM the next morning, Khushi had decided that she liked Deeksha Laghari, nee Acharya because she was quick, efficient and appeared to have more common sense than all of Chennai's police department combined. When Khushi had called an hour earlier, it had been answered almost immediately, "Laghari household, Deeksha speaking. How can I help you?"
"Namaste, Mrs. Laghari. My name is Khushi Kumari Gupta and I am a lawyer from Delhi. I'd like to speak to you about an extremely important case."
"I assume that must be the case, Ms. Gupta, if you are calling this early in the morning and all the way from Delhi. Please, continue."
"I've recently stumbled upon the case of your sister, Pooja Singh, and I'd like to have the investigation reopened but I need to have some more solid proof before I take this to court."
"How do I know you're telling me the truth?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Look, Ms--what was your name again?"
"Gupta. Khushi Kumari Gupta."
"Ms. Gupta, how do I know you're not working for my father?"
"Why would I be working for your father?"
"I don't know, but if you are, you can go ahead and tell him that I dropped the case years ago. I've left justice up to Baghwan."
"I'm not working for your father, Ma'am. I told you already, I'm a lawyer interested in reopening your sister's case. If your father is a suspect, then I'm sure that's the last thing he would want."
"Why? Why do you want to reopen the case?"
"Because I've detected a pattern. I believe that your sister's case was not an isolated incident. There were others who died in eerily similar circumstances. If I can figure out the common factor for all of those cases, then I may be able to identify both the murderer and the motive."
"Others?"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Lashkari. I can't give you more details on this case--the investigation has not been officially reopened yet and until then, I'd like to keep as much of this under wraps as I can."
Khushi could practically sense the woman's doubt in the silence that followed. At last, she spoke again, "I don't know if I can trust you or not. But I do know that this is the first time that anyone else seems to understand that this couldn't possibly be just a robbery. I promised myself that I wouldn't pursue this case anymore, that I would leave it up to Bagwan but...what if Bagwan sent you to me?
"All I know is that I can't let this opportunity pass by me. I need to know the truth. Tell me, Wakeel Saiba, what it is you need from me."
Khushi felt as if her shoulders had been weighed down by the hope that she'd just given this woman. Help me Devi Meyan. Don't let me disappoint her.
"Please start by telling me why you don't think this was a robbery, Mrs. Lashkari."
"First because it was so violent. My sister's death was horrific; the police said that she'd been tortured and that when they found her, her body was unrecognizable. Why would a robber go through all the trouble of putting her through that much pain? Surely they would just shoot her and carry on, right? No, this was definitely personal.
"Second, the police gave me a list of some things that were stolen: some of the jewelry, some of cash. Why wouldn't the thief take more? No, everything points to a murder and cover-up."
Khushi smiled grimly as she listened Mrs. Lashkari's reasoning. Why couldn't the police connect the same dots as this woman? She understood that they were overwhelmed with cases and were stretched thin in terms of resources and manpower, but surely anyone with an iota of common sense could sense that something was fishy here.
Khushi shifted conversation topics then and questioned Mrs. Lashkari about Pooja. What kind of girl was she? How did she meet her husband? Had Mrs. Lashkari ever met him? What was he like? Did he keep in contact after Pooja's death? And most importantly, did Mrs. Lashkari have any pictures of her or him?
Pooja was very shy and introverted. She'd bumped into Kabir at a Mandhar and he'd pursued her relentlessly until she'd given in. Mrs. Lashkari had met him, once. She hadn't particularly liked him--she thought he was a little snide and his smile seemed fake. But Pooja was completely infatuated with him and so she'd supported her sister when she'd brought him up to their parents. Their father, however, refused without even meeting Kabir because he believed that a love marriage would besmirch their family honor. Pooja ran away from home a few weeks later. Their father promptly disowned her and Mrs. Lashkari herself was quickly married off lest she pull the same stunt.
After that, Mrs. Lashkari had no contact with or news of Pooja until a local newspaper reported her death. Horrified, she'd spoken to her father only to realize that the hard-hearted man has no sympathy with his estranged daughter's plight. It was just penance, he'd said, for her disobedience.
This was when Mrs. Lashkari started wondering if foul play was afoot. She'd contacted the police to get more details on Pooja's death and what she'd heard convinced her that this was definitely a personal attack. She'd tried reaching out to Kabir, but he'd seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth. After much consideration, she decided to press charges on behalf of her sister against their father.
It all came to naught. The police could find no evidence to implicate him. All Mrs. Lashkari had succeeded in doing was to deeply offend him and she was disowned as well.
She had no pictures of Kabir as he was extremely camera-shy but she had some of Pooja. She noted down Khushi's email address so that she could send them to her.
Khushi said her goodbyes with a promise of following up as soon as she could.
She mulled through the details that she had as she dressed up for work. There was nothing to implicate anyone in either case. She had to come at this from another angle.
****
Khushi couldn't believe that she was doing this. But desperate times called for desperate measures and Khushi needed to figure out Shyam before he endangered Anjali Ji.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she walked to the slightly ajar door. The man she was here to see was sitting back on his chair, feet up on his desk as he chatted with someone on the phone.
When she knocked, he looked up. His eyes widened in surprise and glee and he quickly straightened up. "Uh, Rani Saiba, I'll call you back," he said before quickly ending the call.
Straightening up, he smiled smarmily at Khushi. "Khushi ji! What a lovely surprise. Please come in."
Khushi smiled back as pleasantly as she could, ignoring the nausea that suddenly threatened to come out as she remembered Pooja's shy smiling face peering out from an old photograph.
She should've just come back later to snoop after he'd left. But that would be hours from now and every minute wasted was increasing the danger Anjali Ji was in.
"I needed some help with this case, Mr. Jha and I was wondering if you could help me out?"
"Of course, of course. You know I'm always available for you Khushi Ji."
She took a seat and handed him the file. As he skimmed through it, she looked around. She'd only been his office twice: the first time when she'd joined the firm and the second when she'd snuck in and gone through his cabinets. This time, she was focusing on his walls.
Most lawyers proudly hung their diplomas on their walls, displaying their qualifications for their clients, future clients and fellow lawyers. But Shyam's walls were devoid of any such adornments.
Khushi turned her attention back to the man, only to find that his eyes were pinned on her. "What are you looking for, Khushi Ji?"
"I was wondering where you went to school, Mr. Jha," she answered truthfully. It was a common enough question, perfectly reasonable for colleagues to ask.
"Oh nothing big and fancy like you, Khushi Ji. It was a just a small college. Comparing it to Mumbai Law School would be like comparing the vendor on the street to air-conditioned shops in big malls."
Khushi leaned forward, placing her elbow on his desk and cupping her chin with the palm of her hand. "Sometimes, the best of treasures are found on those vendor carts."
Shyam scoffed in feigned modesty even as his cheeks puffed with pride. "Oh, I'm no treasure, Khushi Ji."
"Oh, but you're too far too humble to realize that yourself, Mr. Jha. Really, it's up to those who lay their eyes upon you to decide exactly what you are." Careful, she berated herself mentally as she let the veiled insult slip through.
"Is that so?" He dropped all pretenses of flipping through the file and mimicked Khushi's position. His sudden proximity made Khushi want to slam back against the chair, but she only laughed flirtatiously. "Why don't you come out to lunch with me today, Khushi Ji, and you can tell me all about how you view me?"
Khushi pouted. "Lunch? But that's so far away. Why don't we just talk now?"
"Uh-uh, Khushi Ji; I still have some work to do. Now why don't you go back to your office like a good little girl and wait for me to come get you for lunch, hmmm?" The smile that accompanied his words was the equivalent of a condescending pat on the cheek.
Do not smash his face, Khushi. That will be counter-productive. Obediently, Khushi took her file and left his office. She didn't say a word as she was afraid of what would come out if she opened her mouth.
Her answers would have to wait until lunch. The queasy feeling in her stomach couldn't be ignored any longer so she gave herself a minute to analyze it. She was disgusted, yes, by the prospect of spending time with Shyam. But it went deeper than that. Everything in her believed he was the murderer of those four girls and that Anjali was next on his list. His lack of morality, his brutality, the rage that was so well hidden beneath his friendly smile terrified Khushi. And every minute that went by brought Anjali Ji closer to that fate.
She leaned back against her office door, remembering the day that Anjali Ji had walked into their dingy little hospital room and gave Garima the gift of death.
Khushi straightened, a sudden electrical energy buzzing through her. Khushi Kumari Gupta would not live the life of her parents or of Garima. She would fulfill all her debts. She would save Anjali's life and no longer owe her anything.
Glossary:
Wakeel Saiba: Madame Lawyer
Uppar ki kamai: bribes or other less legal forms of income
Author's Note:
This chapter was dedicated to Mayu_Irani for being the very first person to comment on my story. Thank you.
Payal and Buaji have been briefly introduced, but they'll have much bigger roles to play in this story later on.
Khushi's got her detective hat on.
What do you guys think of this chapter? I'm a little concerned that it might be boring because there's a lot of detail but I do think it's important.
Next update will be on October 6, iA.
As always, thanks for reading.