Pen is... Mightier?

Chapter One: A Press Conference and A Punch in the Face

-“Officer, are you saying all 10 murders in the last year are connected?”

-“Yes.”

-“but most of them were taken to court and the murderers are in jail. They were not related at all! Those are closed cases now.”

-“I am certain that we threw the wrong guy in the cell. These murders are done by a serial killer. That person seeks revenge and umm… He/She/They had it with the last murder I believe.”

-“So there is more story to the death of Business tycoon’s wife Smt. Purna Devi? What did she do to receive the said serial killer’s wrath? Have you identified the killer?”

-“No but she…”

I was pushed away from the microphone by my boss, the SP. It was the prime of my police career and I took a bet - held a conference with media to shade some newly found info on 10 seemingly unrelated murders. I didn’t run it by the SP and he turned off my mic, turned towards the media filled chaotic room and apologized on my behalf for speaking such “nonsense”. I tried to argue with him in a low voice which was welcomed with a punch on my nose and after that I woke up in my shabby bed.

  It is a sorry excuse of an apartment where I reside but the soaking walls and almost falling over ceiling helps me think. My flatmates are various small animals and their squeaking doesn’t disturb my sleep anymore; moreover, it helps me solve cases in my dreams! I could get a better bungalow in a prestigious neighbourhood but I stuck with this flat and thus I am not married. 

  After checking my emails from an enraged former close friend and current boss, I find out that I have been suspended for “awhile” and won’t get back my batch and gun without further notice. That is devastating but seems fair enough. My hypothesis of the existence of a serial killer and letting the media know was not approved by him. Actually, I never mentioned it to him either. This case I was handling, I believed it to be the 10th murder and involved a high society lady and a heavy weight person. We worked under immense pressure to find out a “murderer” and the axe fell upon a poor housemaid. But later in my beloved reeking apartment,

I saw a dream. It was last night. A connection between those brutal murders. All victims were female, young and of importance; all hailed from Kolkata. Each murder shook the nation and was brutal. Each murder was 'solved' speedily by government orders and 'murderers' were unimportant and mostly put into jail with 'circumstantial evidence', backed by half-baked 'testimonies'. I woke up and it was nearly dawn. The street dogs were saying their prayers with the morning Ajaan. 

“Something isn’t right, Didi!” I said to myself in a random voice while turning on the computer. I sniffed up all the information I could find on the ten murders. My dream was correct, these did have a recurring pattern and, in each death, victim’s hands were disfigured with something. Sometimes, the hands went under cars, sometimes those were burned off, melted with acid and most of the cases were chopped off to smaller pieces. I started studying each victim and when I just reached the 10th, I noticed another connection – all these ladies were exceptionally beautiful and appealing. “Is it a misogynist’s work, didi?’ I asked to myself but that thought was quickly debated with another voice from me, “but didi, why frame male and poor people too, if you’re a misogynist, intelligent and mass murderer?”

I made green tea and poured it in my Cactus plant – my pet. Then I made some strawberry slushie and went for a run around the Rabindra Sarovar. While passing many attractive female joggers, I thought, “are you the next one?” I sat down to drink coffee and have breakfast in a posh café – I had lots of money left as nothing was spent on my apartment and clothes anyway. Through the window, I heard some commotion. I looked out to see a teenager was breaking up with her boyfriend. Well, that’s normal, who cares! I had my breakfast, jogged back to my apartment, put on my uniform and left to work. In the noon, I found something shocking while doing the filework of my case – in my head, it was the 10th and last murder. Without a second thought, I called a press conference and the day ended with a punch.