"Any progress, sir?"

Bagchi took notice of the boy. The one who was always running around Masterji. Giving him a light smile, he shook his head for a 'no'. Two weeks, it had been two weeks since the investigation had started. And the sub-inspector could not help but notice how the culprit had left no evidence, none at all. Not even a solid fingerprint.

Yes, they had received the forensic report the other day. Fingerprints were detected and analyzed. But the culprit was smart. Tampered fingerprints could not be considered by them. Or one could say that the hands were protected. Glove prints they were. That was for sure.

But due to the delay in filing the FIR, dirt and dust collected on those prints made it difficult to conclude anything. And the autopsy had clearly shown that it was an unnatural death. He could not push away the case as it could cost him his promotion.

In short, he was having a difficult time. A very difficult one.

Soon he would have to start with the interrogations. And only those could lead him to some clues, he concluded. But before that, he would've to get a fair idea about the locality. Now, who could accompany him as a tour guide?

His eyes drifted to the tight-lipped boy.

Perfect.

"Your name ... 'Veer' ... wasn't it?"

He nodded.

"Come on, let's head out for some time, eh?"

Gripping his shoulders tight as if he would run away, Bagchi led him outside, asking his assistants to take care of the work. Strolling through the corridors, he got what he wanted. Information. And Veer tried to push in a good word about Devi wherever possible.

Just when he was speaking about the old lady occupying the flat, he noticed that he did not have Bagchi's attention. The latter's eyes were fixed to a particular door. A blue rusty one. A door which demanded no attention, yet brought the most. Curious, he stared at Veer expectantly, the unsaid question hanging in the air.

"That ... that is where ... Ismail Ansari lives."

"And what does he do?"

"We don't know. The only thing we know is that he is secretive and very dangerous."

The answer was acknowledged by Bagchi. He had been expecting the very same answer, for the man was too mysterious, arousing suspicions in everyone's minds. And he knew that interrogating him would be a tough job, a criminal would never accept easily the wrongs he had done.

Letting out a sigh, the duo walked to the roadside tea stall.

"Sir, Devi didi was a very nice person. The most loving human you could come across. She was th—"

His mouth clamped shut as his companion's Nokia rang while he stared at it in awe. That luxury was launched in the country just last year. Then how did the sub-inspector manage to own one? He was accustomed to the nearby PCO booth. And never had he seen that gadget. So distracted was he, that he failed to pay heed to the conversation taking place or even the range of expressions crossing the face.

"Yes sir?"

Hesitation.

"Yes sir ..."

Agitation.

"Yes sir."

Frustration.

And who could blame him? It was the matter of his promotion for God's sake! And his senior had generously given him till the end of this month to find out the culprit of this case. Which happened to be in two weeks. Great, just great!

"Listen Veer. Who do you suspect could have killed your Devi didi? I mean, you might be having some idea right? Who do you think is capable of something like that?"

The goofy boy realized the depth of the question. Was there any human who was capable of killing? Anyone he knew?

Yes.

Yes. There was.

One.

Just one person.

Releasing a shaky breath, he gave out the name. A silent whisper it was. And if it were not for Bagchi's sharp ears, he could not have caught it. It was inaudible. Almost.

"Ismail Ansari. The name is dangerous and so is he. The only one in the entire colony who had despised Devi."

Everything made so much more sense to him. The bastard might have been the only person on the whole floor that morning. Since everyone else had gone for work. But then shouldn't his fingerprints have been caught?

Knowing that without proof he can't declare someone as the culprit, Bagchi decided that enough was enough. Interrogations. Those were his only key to success. And he would red-handedly catch that idiot Ansari by hook or crook. He couldn't let down the whole locality. Nor could he let go of his promotion.

While just a few steps away, the old red phone glared at the impatient customer. He was just a public booth telephone, not that foreigner Pokia-Tokia or something.

'You will pay for all your deeds,' he mused with vengeance as the funny bearded man, once again, slammed him against the wall. Not a good sign at all, not a good sign; the city mumbled, her shaking with disappointment.