Shadow Case: Vishal Chronicles

The apartment was tucked away in one of those gated societies that looked peaceful on the surface — clean tiles, trimmed plants, security guards half-asleep — but always carried the scent of things left unsaid.

Shilpa adjusted her scarf as they walked toward the elevator. "You think she knows he's dead?"

"He's not confirmed dead," Vishal said.

"He's been missing for two weeks, left his wallet, phone, and car behind. What would you call it?"

"Bad time management."

Shilpa didn't laugh. Vishal gave her a sidelong glance.

"I'll admit, it's not funny unless we're not him."

The door opened after the second ring. Sonal Rakesh — late thirties, minimal makeup, dark circles, the kind of tired that sleep couldn't fix. She looked at them without surprise.

"You're not police," she said, flatly.

"No," Vishal replied. "Worse. Ex-police."

"And?"

"We're trying to understand what your husband got into."

Sonal didn't step aside, didn't smile. Just stared.

Then finally: "Two minutes."

She let them in.

The living room was sterile. No framed photos, just a half-finished jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table and a neatly folded newspaper beside it.

"I've spoken to the police already," Sonal said, sitting down. "They said they're 'doing their best'."

Shilpa sat on the edge of a chair. Vishal remained standing, quietly observing — the couch, the way she sat, the pills near the kitchen counter.

"You think he left you?" Vishal asked softly.

Sonal snorted. "Rakesh couldn't survive three hours without complaining about what I'd cooked. If he left, he would've at least taken the spice rack."

That made Shilpa crack a tiny smile. So did Vishal.

"So, what changed recently?" he asked.

Sonal took a deep breath. "Six months ago, he started getting nervous. Jumping at every unknown number. Never left his phone unattended."

"He ever mention names? Like... Manek?"

"Once. Whispered. Said he was 'in too deep' and that Manek was 'not the same anymore.' I thought it was just work stress. You know how they all get, acting like board meetings are battlefields."

Vishal leaned forward.

"Did he ever mention... a file? Or a pen drive?"

Sonal's eyes flickered.

Then she stood up. Walked to the bedroom.

They waited.

She returned with a small metal box. Unlocked it. Inside — documents, a few receipts... and a key.

"He left this in my dresser the night before he disappeared," she said. "Didn't explain. Just said: 'If anything happens, don't trust anyone. Not even the nice ones.'"

Vishal took the key.

"Locker?" Shilpa guessed.

"No markings," he said. "But I know where to start."

Sonal looked at him for a long moment. "You think he's dead?"

Vishal paused. Then gave her the most honest thing he could offer:

"I think someone's hoping you believe that."

Outside the building, Shilpa exhaled loudly. "That was heavy."

"She's sharp," Vishal said. "Not scared. Just... tired of being handled."

"So what now?"

Vishal turned the key over in his fingers. "This is from Krishna Bank. I saw that exact key pattern once when Rajesh lost his locker keys and panicked for two hours straight."

Shilpa smirked. "I remember. He checked his sock drawer eight times."

"Exactly. We'll go check the locker tomorrow. For now—"

A familiar voice called out from behind.

"Oye detective saab!"

They turned.

Landlord. Standing at the juice stall opposite the road, holding two carry bags and wearing that legendary frown of his.

"Rent not paid. Milk also not paid. And now you're eating pani puri behind my back?"

"I'm chasing a killer!" Vishal shouted.

"Chase savings first!" the old man yelled back.

Shilpa burst into laughter.