“Anymore reports of deaths in the city with rotten eggs and peeled out eye sockets?” Zaltrac asked Janak as he sipped his tea. The cigarette was still in his hand. He was yet to make up his mind if he wanted to smoke or not.
“Not yet, sir.”
The 10 by 12 cubicle reeked of cardamom. Zaltrac preferred his tea with a strong aroma. It should awaken my dead nostrils is what he always told the tea vendor outside his office. He had not slept peacefully in the past 2 days, and pressure from the media had started to pile up.
One of the newspapers read, “Psycho Killer Loose in Bangalore, Police Unable To Track Him Down.”
Another newspaper read, “The Dreaded Times Of Bangalore Psycho”
“Janak, why does anyone become a serial killer according to you?”
“They need closure or attention or primarily they despise a particular section of society.”
“True! His first victim was a Tarot Card reader and the second was an astrologer.”
“He hates the section of the society which predicts the future?” Janak threw in a question to keep the brainstorming moving forward.
“Or he hates people who mislead others into believing nonsensical things. That is how I see it.”
Janak smiled, took the last sip of his tea and walked out of the door. He had an appointment with the Forensic team. Zaltrac lighted his cigarette finally, inhaled a huge chunk of death inside his lungs and let go.
Knife in the eyes!
Far away, the ‘Bangalore Psycho’ woke up from his deep slumber. His mother on the left was numb and the father on the right was still. He had only shut thee, up by poisoning their food. Every morning, he used to wake up and see their blue faces and close the jute bag again. He hugged his mother’s body in the night at times and cried. Sometimes, even he had no clue why he was on this path but this was his destiny. He picked up the knife again and hid it in a small velvet bag that he could keep against his chest. He tied the bag to his chest and tied it up with muslin. He had not washed his clothes from a month so he sniffed everything and wore a shirt which had the least unpleasant smell.
He opened a small notepad from his trousers, and read the next name on the list. The list had to be obeyed!
201, Leeway Abode
J P Nagar 6th Phase
Zaltrac on the other hand was still in his cubicle hoping to hear from Janak and the forensic team. He had finished 3 cigarettes by now. He looked at his phone every now and then to remind himself that his phone was still functional. A man without a family and a social life hardly gets any messages.
The cubicle was filled with smoke and a tinge of cardamom, and Zaltrac was filled with questions he did not have answers to. Janak came in running disturbing Zaltrac’s mental retreat.
“No fingerprints at all. No substantial clue, nothing at all.”
“The Bangalore Psycho is very clever as well, just not an emotional fool.”
28 days ago, in a rural bar somewhere far from his parent’s dead bodies, a man named Avinash was rubbing rum all over his hands. In an instant he let his lighter go crazy on his hands till the flesh was barbecued ever so lightly.
No skin, no fingerprints.
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