January 29, 2019 | New Delhi | 11:00 AM
The morning air was thick, not with fog — but with the tension of unanswered questions. Srikanth sat stiff in his chair at the IB headquarters, staring at the fresh forensic report on his desk. The fingerprints on the knife were finally matched.
"Dharmesh Verma," he muttered. "Resident of Uttam Nagar."
Across from him, Mr. Bhattacharya, the IB Commissioner, stood with folded arms. "He was there the night of the murder. His phone's location matches. And now this?" He tapped the file. "Fingerprints. Solid lead."
Srikanth nodded grimly. "Too solid."
Within hours, Dharmesh was picked up by Delhi Police. A gaunt, nervous man in his early 30s, he looked less like a killer and more like someone life had kicked around too many times. His beard was unkempt, eyes baggy, and he couldn't stop shaking.
"Why were you at the railway yard?" Srikanth asked during interrogation.
Dharmesh's voice cracked. "I wasn't trying to kill anyone. I… I went there to die."
"What?"
"I lost everything. Loans. No job. Debtors were threatening to hurt my sister. I thought if I ended it, she'd be safe."
Srikanth looked at him sharply. "So you chose a murder scene for your grand finale?"
"I didn't know it was a murder scene!" Dharmesh pleaded. "I just went to the tracks. But when I stood there… I couldn't do it. I broke down and left."
"Convenient," Ramesh grunted.
But Dharmesh passed the lie detector test. Polygraph experts confirmed it — he was telling the truth. His DNA was on the knife, yes, but the blood didn't match any of the Eye Snatcher's known victims.
"Belonged to an accident case last year," the forensic report clarified. "Dharmesh likely used the knife back then, maybe at his job or elsewhere. It was never cleaned properly."
With heavy reluctance, Srikanth had to let him go. The man walked out of the station dazed, free, but crushed by the weight of the world.
January 30, 2019 | 10:00 AM
Srikanth couldn't sleep the night before. Something gnawed at him. A nagging thread in his memory tugged him back to the old criminology theories he'd read during his early training days.
He scribbled the words on his whiteboard: "Killer returns to the scene. Sometimes… the funeral."
He turned to Ramesh. "We're attending the last rites. Quietly."
The body of the most recent victim — Aniket Joshi, 26, a software engineer — was to be cremated that evening in Karol Bagh. The family expected close friends and colleagues. The public didn't know the Eye Snatcher's signature was involved.
"Think she'll show?" Ramesh asked.
Srikanth's voice was ice. "If she's a true psychopath? She already has."
January 30, 2019 | 6:30 PM | Karol Bagh Crematorium
Dressed in simple kurtas, Srikanth and Ramesh blended into the small crowd. The atmosphere was soaked in grief. Wailing parents, stunned colleagues. Garlanded photos, incense sticks, holy chants. Fire waiting to claim the body.
They watched everyone — every woman in a red saree, every man with silent eyes. But nothing stood out. Srikanth's fingers twitched. He felt her… but couldn't see her.
"I think this was a dead lead," Ramesh whispered.
Srikanth didn't answer.
10:43 PM | Crematorium Grounds (Backside)
Most had left. The fire had turned to embers. Only the night guards and a few family members lingered.
Then Srikanth saw her.
A figure in a red saree stood motionless at the edge of the cremation ground. Face covered. Head bowed. Hands clasped like in prayer. Not moving. Not crying.
"Ramesh…" Srikanth hissed.
She turned — slowly — as if sensing the attention. Their eyes met. Even from a distance, Srikanth felt the chill.
Then a sharp beep! broke the silence. Ramesh's phone.
She ran.
"GO!" Srikanth shouted.
She darted through the back gate. Her movements were trained — fast, silent, agile. She didn't trip. She didn't scream.
They chased.
Through narrow alleys behind the cremation ground, over boundary walls, past terrified street dogs. Then the highway.
Srikanth stopped at the divider, breath heaving.
"RAMESH, STOP!" he screamed.
But Ramesh didn't. He kept running, hand stretched forward.
SCREEEEECH! THUD!
A truck, too fast. Too blind.
Srikanth's world slowed.
Ramesh lay sprawled across the black asphalt, blood pooling like spilled paint. The red saree had vanished into the night.
Paramedics arrived. Police swarmed in. But it was too late.
Srikanth didn't speak. He stood beside the sheet-covered body of his partner, fists clenched. Another funeral was coming. And this time, he wouldn't be watching from the shadows.
The Eye Snatcher had made her boldest move yet. And Srikanth knew — the chase had just begun.