The train rattled as it sped through the night, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks filling the first-class compartment with a lulling sound. Outside, the landscape had melted into the velvet blackness of midnight, broken only by fleeting flashes of light from distant stations. Inside the well-upholstered compartment, the dim golden lamps cast warm halos, illuminating the faces of the passengers seated in tense silence.
Inspector Arjun Mitra, sharp and observant, sat back in his corner seat. He was traveling on the overnight express from Kolkata to Darjeeling, summoned to investigate a case in the hills. A low mist clung to the train windows, and despite the steady pace, something felt ominous. His trained instincts told him something was not quite right.
There were only five other passengers in the compartment, but each seemed wrapped in their own mystery.
At the far end sat Mr. Roy Chowdhury, a stout, well-dressed businessman with a gold watch chain that glinted every time he shifted in his seat. He seemed impatient, frequently checking his watch, his eyes darting towards the door as if expecting someone—or something.
Next to him, wrapped in a luxurious cashmere shawl, was Mrs. Sen, a widow from a wealthy family. She wore too much perfume, a thick floral scent that overpowered the compartment, and occasionally dappled her handkerchief across her brow. Her eyes, dark and calculating, flickered between passengers, as though assessing them with interest.
Opposite Arjun was a young couple, Rishi and Rupa Ghosh, who appeared to be newlyweds. Rishi was tall, lean, and had a calm demeanor, but Rupa seemed agitated, clutching a small silver locket around her neck nervously. Arjun’s keen eye caught her hands trembling when Rishi leaned over to whisper something in her ear. The couple had barely spoken since the train left the station.
The last passenger was an older gentleman, Professor Bakshi, a retired academic with a fascination for ancient texts. His wiry hair and spectacles gave him an air of absentmindedness, but Arjun had seen him casting sharp, intelligent glances at the others. He sat hunched over a thick, dusty book, murmuring occasionally to himself, as if lost in thought.
Suddenly, the lights in the compartment flickered, and the train shuddered, jolting everyone. For a moment, darkness enveloped the compartment, before the dim lights returned. Mrs. Sen gave a startled yelp.
"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, clutching at her shawl. "Is this train falling apart?"
"Just a power surge, madam," Arjun said calmly, though his eyes darted to the door of the compartment. He could sense a shift in the air. He noticed Rupa’s grip on her locket tightening even further, and Mr. Roy Chowdhury was muttering something under his breath.
Moments later, a loud knock echoed through the corridor. The door to the compartment swung open, and the conductor stepped in, looking visibly rattled.
"I’m terribly sorry to disturb you all," the conductor stammered, "but…there’s been an incident in the second-class compartment."
"What sort of incident?" Mr. Roy Chowdhury demanded sharply.
"A passenger...he’s been found dead," the conductor said, wringing his hands. "Murdered."
A collective gasp went through the compartment. The air felt heavier now, thick with tension.
"Where exactly?" Arjun asked, standing up. His sharp eyes narrowed, and his voice was cool, professional.
"Just two compartments down, sir," the conductor replied, his voice barely a whisper. "The door was locked from the inside…no one could have entered or left."
"A locked-room murder," Arjun muttered under his breath. "Very interesting."
"I suppose this means we’ll be delayed," Mrs. Sen said, fanning herself with her handkerchief. "How terribly inconvenient."
"Who was the victim?" Rishi asked, his voice steady but with a hint of curiosity.
"A man by the name of Mr. Gupta," the conductor replied. "A trader from Siliguri. No family onboard."
"Have the authorities been alerted?" Professor Bakshi asked, adjusting his spectacles.
"Yes, but they won’t reach us until the train stops at the next station. That’s three hours away," the conductor said, glancing nervously at Arjun. "Until then, sir, perhaps you could help us."
Inspector Mitra nodded. "I’ll take a look."
He stepped into the corridor, the other passengers trailing behind him, drawn by a mix of morbid curiosity and fear. As they approached the crime scene, the narrow corridor seemed to close in around them, the air colder, more stifling.
The door to the second-class compartment was still locked, just as the conductor had said. Arjun instructed the conductor to unlock it. Inside, the small, dimly lit compartment reeked of stale smoke and perfume. On the floor lay Mr. Gupta, sprawled on his back, eyes wide open, frozen in a look of terror. A deep wound marred his throat, and a pool of blood had congealed beneath him
"It looks like he’s been dead for at least an hour," Arjun murmured, crouching beside the body. "Whoever did this was careful."
"How did they get in and out without unlocking the door?" Mrs. Sen asked, peering over his shoulder.
"That’s the question," Arjun replied, scanning the room for clues. His sharp eyes fell on a crumpled piece of paper beside the body, partially hidden under a seat. He picked it up, unfolding it carefully. It was a train ticket—a first-class ticket.
"Interesting," he said, standing up. "This ticket belongs to one of you."
The group exchanged glances, the tension rising.
"It’s not mine," Rupa said quickly, her voice trembling.
"I’m certain I didn’t drop it," Professor Bakshi added, looking flustered.
Arjun stared at each of them, his mind racing. One of them was lying, but who? He scanned the room again, his eyes falling on the compartment window. It was slightly ajar—a small detail, but significant.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. It was the conductor again, looking pale and panicked.
"Inspector," he whispered. "We’ve found something else. Another passenger is missing."
Arjun’s eyes narrowed. "Who?"
"A woman," the conductor said. "She boarded at the last station...but she’s vanished."
The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. Arjun knew now that this wasn’t just a simple murder. It was a web of deceit, a plan intricately woven with layers of misdirection.
"Everyone, return to the first-class compartment," Arjun said, his voice steady. "No one is to leave until I have answers."
As the group filed back, their faces drawn and tense, Arjun lingered behind, staring at the body of Mr. Gupta. His mind churned through the possibilities, unraveling the web. The missing woman, the locked door, the first-class ticket—each clue was a piece of a much larger plot.
The truth, Arjun realized, was far more twisted than any of them could imagine.
Arjun’s mind was racing. The intricacy of the crime felt as though it belonged more to a chessboard than to the cold, dim compartment of a train. The players were all around him, but their motives, moves, and connections were still unclear. One wrong assumption, and the truth could slip through his fingers.
Back in the first-class compartment, tension thickened the air like a heavy fog. Mr. Roy Chowdhury wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief, glancing nervously at the others. Mrs. Sen sat stiffly, her fingers fussing with her shawl, while Rupa clung to Rishi’s arm, her knuckles pale. Professor Bakshi, meanwhile, leaned against the wall, quietly observing the others through his thick spectacles.
Arjun stood before them, calm yet calculating.
“Now that we’re all back, let’s make things clear. A man is dead. And one of you holds the key to this mystery,” Arjun said, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “We’ve all seen the locked room, and the missing passenger raises more questions. But this isn’t as unsolvable as it seems.”
He began pacing slowly, his mind running through the details.
“Let’s start with what we know,” he said. “Mr. Gupta was murdered, his throat slit, but the door was locked from the inside. That suggests one of two things: either the killer had a key, or they managed to exit the compartment in a way that doesn’t involve the door.”
Rishi frowned. “But how could anyone leave the room without using the door? It’s impossible.”
“Not impossible,” Arjun said, stopping near the window. “Improbable, perhaps, but not impossible. The window was slightly open. The killer could have escaped that way and re-entered the train through another compartment window.”
Mrs. Sen gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “That sounds like something out of a novel!”
“It’s a possibility,” Arjun acknowledged. “But there’s more. There’s the matter of this first-class ticket found near Mr. Gupta’s body.” He held up the crumpled ticket. “This ticket wasn’t his—it belongs to one of you.”
All eyes darted to the ticket in Arjun’s hand, tension escalating. Mrs. Sen fidgeted, while Mr. Roy Chowdhury avoided eye contact, suddenly interested in his shoes. Rupa’s hand trembled again, and Professor Bakshi tilted his head slightly, as though lost in thought.
“I suggest each of you search your belongings,” Arjun said, watching them carefully. “I believe someone is missing their ticket.”
No one moved at first. Then, slowly, Mrs. Sen opened her handbag, pulling out her leather wallet. Mr. Roy Chowdhury fumbled in his pocket, fishing out a ticket that appeared intact. The others followed, with Professor Bakshi and the Ghosh couple showing their tickets, untouched and in place.
“Everyone seems to have their ticket,” Rishi said. “So, where did this one come from?”
Arjun studied their faces. He had expected this, and the answer lay in the smallest of gestures. His eyes rested on Rupa, who had been acting strangely since the beginning. She hadn’t looked directly at him once, and her hand remained tightly gripped around the silver locket.
“Rupa,” Arjun said softly, “may I ask about your locket? You’ve been clutching it since the moment we boarded the train.”
Rupa flinched, her eyes widening. “My locket?” she stammered. “It’s just a keepsake…”
Arjun stepped closer. “Could I see it, please?”
Her hesitation was telling. Rupa slowly removed the locket from around her neck and handed it over. It was a simple silver pendant, but Arjun felt its weight in his hand, heavier than it appeared. He unscrewed the back of the locket and found a folded piece of paper inside.
Carefully, he unfolded it to reveal… another train ticket. A second first-class ticket, identical to the one found near Mr. Gupta’s body.
The room fell into a stunned silence. Rishi stared at his wife, confusion etched across his face. “Rupa, what is this?”
“I—I can explain!” she cried, her voice cracking. “It’s not what you think!”
“Then explain it,” Arjun said quietly. “Because right now, it looks very suspicious.”
Rupa’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t kill him! I swear! I didn’t even know Mr. Gupta!”
“Then how do you have this ticket?” Rishi demanded, standing up. “And why were you acting so strange? What are you hiding?”
“It’s not like that!” Rupa sobbed. “I was scared! I didn’t want anyone to know… I—”
“Enough,” Arjun interrupted. “Tell us the truth. What happened?”
Rupa took a deep breath, her hands shaking. “I—I met someone at the station before we boarded the train. A woman. She looked… desperate. She told me she was being followed, that someone was after her. She gave me this locket and begged me to keep it safe. She said if anything happened to her, I should show it to the police.”
“A woman?” Arjun asked, his mind racing. “The same woman who’s now missing?”
Rupa nodded frantically. “Yes, I think so. I didn’t know what to do! When the conductor said someone had been killed, I thought… I thought they’d come for me next.”
Arjun processed this new information. The missing woman, the ticket hidden in the locket—it was beginning to make sense.
“This woman,” he said slowly, “did she tell you her name?”
“No,” Rupa whispered. “She didn’t.”
Arjun turned to the group. “There’s more to this than meets the eye. The missing woman, the locked room, the tickets—it’s all connected. But we need to find her before we can understand what’s really going on.
“Do you think she’s the killer?” Professor Bakshi asked, his voice thoughtful.
“Not necessarily,” Arjun replied. “But she holds the key to this puzzle.”
The compartment door slid open again, and the conductor appeared, his face pale. “Inspector Mitra, we’ve found something else. A woman’s handbag—left in the third-class compartment.”
“Bring it here,” Arjun said.
The conductor handed over the bag, a small, elegant purse. Arjun opened it carefully, pulling out a wallet, a few cosmetics, and—most importantly—a letter. The letter was hastily written, its ink smudged, but the message was clear:
**"If you’re reading this, I’m already dead. The man following me is Mr. Roy Chowdhury. He wants the money I took. He’ll stop at nothing to silence me."**
All eyes turned to Mr. Roy Chowdhury, who had gone deathly pale.
Arjun’s voice was ice-cold. “Care to explain yourself, Mr. Roy Chowdhury?”
Mr. Roy Chowdhury’s face drained of color, his once confident demeanor crumbling under the weight of the accusation. His hands trembled slightly, but he quickly composed himself, leaning back in his seat with forced calm.
“This is absurd!” he barked, attempting a weak laugh. “I’ve never met this woman in my life. Inspector, you can’t seriously believe this letter!”
Arjun studied him closely. The man’s deflection was expected, but his subtle body language—fidgeting fingers, tight jaw—betrayed his growing anxiety.
“Why would a woman accuse you of something so specific if you’re not involved?” Arjun asked, his tone firm but even. “This letter was written in fear, and from what I’ve seen, fear usually comes from truth.”
Roy Chowdhury’s eyes flickered nervously towards the letter, then back to Arjun. “This is a mistake,” he insisted, his voice cracking. “Someone’s trying to frame me. Maybe this woman, whoever she is, is the killer, and now she’s trying to put the blame on me!”
Before Arjun could respond, Professor Bakshi, who had been quietly observing, interjected. “It’s an interesting theory, Mr. Chowdhury. But the evidence, thus far, seems rather damning. I wonder, if you’re truly innocent, why do you look so rattled?”
“Rattled?” Roy Chowdhury scoffed, but his bravado was slipping. “Anyone would be rattled after such an accusation! Inspector, you don’t seriously think I have anything to do with this, do you?”
Arjun crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. “The woman named you specifically, and this locket connects to the ticket found near Mr. Gupta’s body. Everything points to a deeper conspiracy, and you’re at the center of it. But here’s the real question—what’s the connection between you and Mr. Gupta?”
Roy Chowdhury’s jaw tightened visibly. He opened his mouth to deny it, but Arjun’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the momentary hesitation.
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he finally spat out. “I didn’t even know the man!”
Arjun took a step forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper, which somehow made it more menacing. “Lying won’t help you, Mr. Chowdhury. You see, I’ve been a detective long enough to know when someone’s caught in a lie. You did know Mr. Gupta. The question is: how?”
For a brief moment, silence filled the compartment. Everyone’s eyes were on Roy Chowdhury, who was now visibly sweating despite the cool evening air. The tension in the compartment was suffocating, the weight of suspicion hanging heavy.
Finally, Mr. Roy Chowdhury exhaled sharply, wiping his forehead with a shaky hand. “Fine,” he muttered, barely audible. “I knew him. But I had nothing to do with his death.”
“Then explain,” Arjun said, his voice steely.
Roy Chowdhury stared down at his hands, seemingly weighing his options. After a long pause, he began.
“Mr. Gupta and I were involved in… business dealings,” he admitted, his voice strained. “He was supposed to deliver something for me. A shipment of goods from the border. Expensive goods. But he disappeared, vanished with the shipment and the money. I was tracking him down, and I finally found him on this train. That’s the only reason I’m here.”
Arjun raised an eyebrow. “You were tracking him down? Sounds more like you were hunting him.”
Roy Chowdhury shook his head. “I just wanted to talk to him, to get my money back. I had no intention of harming him, Inspector. He double-crossed me, and I was angry, yes, but I swear, I didn’t kill him.”
“And the missing woman? What’s your connection to her?” Arjun pressed.
“I don’t know who she is!” Roy Chowdhury exclaimed, his eyes wide with frustration. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
Arjun frowned. The man was lying about some things, but there was a ring of truth in his confusion about the woman. He shifted gears, considering another angle.
“This woman said you were following her,” Arjun said slowly. “But you claim you don’t know her. Is it possible she was connected to Mr. Gupta in some way?”
Roy Chowdhury seemed to consider this for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Maybe,” he said finally. “I don’t know. Gupta had a lot of shady contacts. If she was involved with him, it’s possible she was tangled up in whatever business he was doing. But I swear, I had nothing to do with her.”
Arjun wasn’t entirely convinced, but something in the way Roy Chowdhury spoke suggested he wasn’t the mastermind behind the murder. There was still a missing piece—a critical link between the woman, Mr. Gupta, and the other passengers on the train.
Arjun turned to Rupa, who was sitting quietly beside her husband, her face pale. “Rupa, you said this woman gave you the locket and seemed scared. Did she mention anyone else? Anything that could help us understand why she was in danger?”
Rupa shook her head slowly, her eyes filled with fear. “No, she didn’t say much. She was in a hurry, looking over her shoulder constantly, like she thought someone was following her. She only told me to keep the locket safe, that it had something important inside.”
Arjun stared at the locket, weighing its significance. The locket contained the ticket, but what was its true purpose? Was it merely a clue, or something more—a decoy, perhaps?
Suddenly, Professor Bakshi spoke up, his voice calm but penetrating. “Inspector Mitra, may I ask—have we considered the possibility that the woman may not be missing, but rather, in hiding?”
“Hiding?” Arjun repeated, turning to him.
Professor Bakshi nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. Given the nature of this case, the locked room, the mysterious disappearance—perhaps she is not merely a victim or witness, but someone deeply involved in this plot. She could be trying to escape, knowing that others are after her.”
Arjun mulled over the suggestion. It was plausible. The woman could have orchestrated her own disappearance to mislead those pursuing her. But what role did she play in the murder?
Just as Arjun was about to respond, the train jolted again, the lights flickering for a moment. A tense silence fell over the compartment.
Then, from the direction of the second-class compartment, a loud, metallic clank echoed down the corridor, followed by a series of rapid footsteps.
Arjun’s eyes sharpened. “Stay here,” he ordered, moving swiftly towards the door. He motioned for the conductor to follow him as he headed toward the sound.
As they approached the second-class compartment, the door was slightly ajar, the lock broken. Inside, a figure in dark clothing was crouched over Mr. Gupta’s body, frantically searching through the man’s coat pockets.
“Stop!” Arjun shouted.
The figure froze, then bolted for the window. In one swift motion, Arjun lunged forward, grabbing the intruder by the arm. They struggled briefly, but Arjun’s grip was strong, and with a final effort, he pulled the figure to the floor.
The intruder looked up, their face revealed in the dim light. It was the missing woman—her face smeared with grime, eyes wild with panic.
“Let me go!” she hissed, trying to break free.
“Not a chance,” Arjun said, tightening his hold. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The woman’s frantic movements slowed, her energy drained as she slumped back against the wall. “It’s over, isn’t it?” she whispered, her voice hollow.
“Yes,” Arjun replied. “It’s over. Now, start talking.”
The woman slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, her wide eyes darting between Arjun and the open window she had tried to flee through. The conductor stepped back nervously, glancing down the corridor, but Arjun kept his grip firm on the woman’s arm.
“You’ve got no more options,” Arjun said, his voice calm but unyielding. “You were caught in the act. So, start from the beginning. What’s your name? And how are you involved in all this?”
The woman closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering the courage to speak. When she opened them again, they were filled with defeat. “My name is Meera… Meera Das,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t kill Mr. Gupta. I swear, I didn’t.”
“Then why were you rummaging through his pockets?” Arjun asked, his eyes narrowing. “And why did you disappear after he was murdered?”
“I was looking for something,” Meera muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Something important… something he stole from me.”
Arjun’s instincts sharpened. “What did he steal? And how do you know Mr. Gupta?”
Meera hesitated, her eyes clouded with shame. “I used to work for him. I was… I was part of his smuggling ring. We trafficked goods—illegal items—across the border. But I was just a small part of it. Gupta was the one in charge, making the big deals with people like Mr. Roy Chowdhury.”
“Go on,” Arjun urged, his suspicions now crystallizing.
“Gupta promised me a share of the money for the last shipment,” Meera continued, her voice gaining strength. “But when the deal went wrong, he ran. He took the money, leaving me and the others behind to take the fall. I tried to run, to get away from all of it, but he tracked me down. I thought I could steal back what was mine, but when I boarded the train and saw him in the first-class compartment…” She shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I knew I’d never get away. I panicked.”
“You panicked,” Arjun repeated, his tone flat. “So, you disappeared and left a trail of suspicion behind. What about the letter accusing Roy Chowdhury of following you? Was that a lie to throw us off?”
Meera shook her head violently. “No! He *was* following me. I didn’t know it at first, but I saw him, in the shadows, keeping an eye on me at the station. I thought he wanted the money too. That’s why I gave the locket to that woman, Rupa. I needed someone to hold on to it, just in case…”
“In case you were killed?” Arjun finished for her.
Meera nodded, tears now streaming down her face. “I was terrified. I knew Roy Chowdhury had a temper, and if he knew I had anything to do with Gupta’s money, he’d come after me too.”
Arjun took a step back, absorbing Meera’s confession. The pieces were finally coming together. Roy Chowdhury had been tracking Gupta for the money he was owed, but Meera had been running, caught between the two men and trying to recover what was rightfully hers. But there was still the matter of the murder itself.
“Meera,” Arjun said carefully, “what happened in that compartment? You were the last person to see Gupta alive.”
Meera shook her head, trembling. “I didn’t kill him! When I found him, he was already dead! I saw the blood, the—” She choked on her words. “I was horrified. I thought someone had come for him, and I didn’t want to be next, so I ran. I hid in the third-class compartment, hoping no one would find me.”
Arjun studied her face closely. He had seen many liars in his time, but Meera’s fear seemed genuine. Still, fear alone didn’t absolve her.
“What were you looking for in Gupta’s coat?” Arjun asked.
Meera swallowed hard, looking down at the floor. “A key,” she whispered. “He had a key to a locker at the station where the money was kept. I needed it to get what was mine. Without it, I’m ruined.”
Arjun’s mind raced, piecing together the final elements of the case. The key to the locker was the missing link, the one thing that tied everything together. But one question remained unanswered.
“If you didn’t kill Gupta,” Arjun said slowly, “then who did?”
Meera’s eyes widened, and for the first time, true terror flashed across her face. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But whoever it was… they’re still out there.”
At that moment, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor, and Arjun turned to see Rishi Ghosh approaching, his face pale with urgency.
“Inspector Mitra!” Rishi called out. “You need to come quickly—something’s happened in the first-class compartment.”
Arjun’s pulse quickened. Without another word, he motioned for the conductor to keep an eye on Meera and followed Rishi back to the compartment.
As they arrived, the scene that greeted them was chaotic. Mrs. Sen was sobbing hysterically in her seat, while Mr. Roy Chowdhury stood by the window, clutching his head with both hands. Professor Bakshi was bent over something on the floor.
Arjun pushed through the commotion, and his breath caught in his throat. On the floor, lying face down in a pool of blood, was Mr. Roy Chowdhury—his throat slit, in a grotesque mirror of Mr. Gupta’s murder.
The room fell silent as Arjun knelt beside the body, his mind reeling. The killer had struck again, and this time, it had happened under his watch.
He stood up slowly, his eyes scanning the room. “No one leaves this compartment,” he said, his voice as cold and sharp as a blade. “We have a murderer among us.”
Professor Bakshi looked up from the body, his face grim. “It seems, Inspector, that we are all players in a very dangerous game.”
Arjun nodded, his mind working furiously to unravel this deadly web of deceit and betrayal. The killer had been bold enough to strike again, and that meant one thing—the truth was closer than ever.
“Everyone, sit down,” Arjun commanded, his voice low but firm. “I need answers, and I won’t stop until I get them. Two murders, both with the same method. The killer is right here, in this room.”
He looked at each of the passengers in turn. Mrs. Sen was still trembling, her face pale as a ghost. Rupa clung to her husband, her eyes wide with terror. Professor Bakshi remained calm, though his eyes were sharp, calculating. And Meera, who had been brought back into the compartment by the conductor, sat quietly, her expression haunted.
“This wasn’t random,” Arjun continued. “There’s a pattern here, and it revolves around the money, the smuggling, and the betrayal that ties all of you together.”
He turned to Professor Bakshi. “You’ve been unusually quiet, Professor. Tell me, what’s your connection to all of this?”
Bakshi adjusted his spectacles, his expression unchanging. “I have no connection to Gupta or Roy Chowdhury, Inspector. I’m merely an observer in this tragedy.”
“An observer?” Arjun asked, his voice dripping with skepticism. “Or a player?”
The professor gave a small, tight-lipped smile. “I suppose that depends on your perspective.”
Arjun’s eyes narrowed. He had his suspicions about everyone in the room, but there was one thing he was certain of: the killer was feeling the pressure. And when someone like that was cornered, they were bound to make a mistake.
But what mistake would reveal the truth?
As Arjun pondered this, a sudden realization struck him—a crucial detail he had overlooked, one that might just break the case wide open.
Arjun stood still, his eyes narrowing as the realization slowly dawned on him. A mistake had been made—something so subtle, but it unraveled the entire case. He looked around the compartment, his mind racing as he replayed every event from the past few hours.
"Everyone, sit tight," he said calmly, though his heart was pounding with excitement. He could feel the truth lurking just beneath the surface.
He walked over to Mr. Roy Chowdhury’s lifeless body, studying the brutal wound on his neck. The method of the killing was identical to Gupta’s murder—a clean slit, a professional job. The killer knew how to end a life quickly and efficiently. But there was something else. Something the others hadn’t noticed.
Arjun knelt down, examining the floor beneath the body. The blood pattern was wrong. There were droplets leading away from the corpse, small but visible if you knew what to look for. The killer hadn’t been as meticulous this time. He was rushed.
“What are you looking for?” asked Rupa, her voice trembling.
Arjun straightened, brushing off his hands. “A clue,” he said, locking eyes with her. “The killer wasn’t as careful this time.”
Rupa flinched, but said nothing. Her husband, Amit, wrapped a protective arm around her.
Professor Bakshi, observing from his corner, spoke up. “What exactly did you find, Inspector?”
Arjun fixed him with a sharp gaze. “The killer is panicking. When people panic, they make mistakes. And there’s something everyone in this compartment overlooked.”
He paused, allowing the tension to rise.
“Two murders, both executed with precision,” Arjun began, pacing the length of the compartment. “Both victims were connected to each other through their dealings, but not everyone here is telling the whole truth.”
He stopped near Mrs. Sen, who was still sobbing quietly. “Mrs. Sen, earlier you mentioned that you didn’t know Mr. Gupta or Mr. Roy Chowdhury. But that was a lie, wasn’t it?”
Her head snapped up, her tear-streaked face a mixture of fear and confusion. “I… I didn’t lie! I swear I’ve never met them!”
Arjun shook his head. “No. You knew them both, and I suspect you knew them quite well.”
Mrs. Sen shook her head violently, but Arjun pressed on. “Let me remind you of something. When we first discovered Gupta’s body, you were one of the first people to arrive, weren’t you? You claimed to have heard a noise, but when you described the scene to me, you mentioned the blood on his hands.”
She nodded slowly, still bewildered. “Yes, but—”
“But I hadn’t told you about the blood on his hands,” Arjun interrupted, his voice turning cold. “How could you have known that unless you were there, Mrs. Sen? Unless you saw the body before the rest of us?”
Mrs. Sen gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “No, I—I didn’t—”
“Stop lying,” Arjun said, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. “You knew Mr. Gupta and Roy Chowdhury, and you were involved in their business. Smuggling wasn’t just a man’s game. You were in it too, weren’t you?”
The room fell deathly silent as all eyes turned to Mrs. Sen. Her face crumbled, the facade of the grieving widow collapsing as her lips quivered.
“I…” she began, her voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t want it to come to this.”
Arjun’s suspicions were confirmed. Mrs. Sen had been a key player in the smuggling ring, quietly working behind the scenes while Gupta and Roy Chowdhury took the front stage. But now, she was caught in her own web of deceit.
“What happened, Mrs. Sen?” Arjun asked softly. “You were part of their business, but something went wrong. Why did you kill them?”
“I didn’t want to kill them!” she cried, her voice breaking. “But Gupta… he was going to ruin everything! He was greedy, and he wanted more than his share. When I confronted him on the train, he threatened me, said he’d expose me. I—I panicked!”
“And Roy Chowdhury?” Arjun asked, though he already knew the answer.
Mrs. Sen wiped her eyes, her voice trembling. “He was coming after the money too. He found out about Gupta’s betrayal and thought I was part of it. I had no choice. If he got the money, everything I had worked for would be gone.”
The weight of her confession hung heavy in the air, the truth finally emerging. Arjun stood in silence for a moment, letting the reality of the situation sink in.
Mrs. Sen broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. “I didn’t want any of this! I didn’t want to kill anyone! But they left me no choice…”
Arjun nodded slowly. “Smuggling is a dangerous game, Mrs. Sen. And greed always catches up with people.”
As the train continued its journey through the night, the compartment now filled with the heavy knowledge of two murders and a failed criminal enterprise, Arjun signaled to the conductor. “Take her into custody,” he ordered.
As Mrs. Sen was escorted out, still crying, Arjun took a deep breath. The case was solved, but the stench of greed and betrayal lingered, heavy in the air.
Professor Bakshi, still sitting quietly, finally spoke. “You handled that masterfully, Inspector.”
Arjun nodded, his mind already turning to his next move. “The truth always finds a way out, Professor. No matter how deep people try to bury it.”
The train rolled on into the darkness, leaving behind the twisted web of deceit that had unfolded within its walls. For Arjun Mitra, it was just another case, another reminder that in the world of crime, nothing was ever as simple as it seemed.
~Tiasha