The apartment was the documentation. The notebooks were the documentation. A place for everything. Everything in its place.
She set the red notebook down. She looked at Inspector Nair, who had been reading her own investigation files at the dining table. "Layla Menon," she said.
Nair looked up immediately. The name had landed visibly.
"You know that name," she said.
"We found her phone in the apartment," Nair said. "Underneath the sofa. A phone registered to Layla Menon, Indiranagar address. Battery dead. We're getting a warrant to access her records." She paused. "How did you find the name?"
"Red notebooks," she said. She held up the notebook. "Rohini Sharma — the woman in the apartment, the person who wrote these — she had been in a relationship with Layla Menon. The relationship had become abusive, specifically controlling. Rohini ended it but Layla wouldn't accept it. There's a documented record of harassment going back at least a year." She paused. "The phone being under the sofa — Layla was in the apartment last night."
"Yes," Nair said. She said it with the flatness of someone confirming something they had suspected. "We believe Layla Menon was in the apartment last night. We are currently trying to locate Layla Menon." She paused. "She is not at her Indiranagar address. Her phone—" She gestured toward the sofa. "Her phone is here. Her car is not in her residential building's parking. She has not used any bank cards since two days ago."
She looked at Nair. Nair looked at her. They were both thinking the same thing and neither of them was saying it yet.
"Inspector," she said carefully. "The notebook has a line at the end. The last entry. It says: if you are reading this and you do not know who you are." She paused. "Who was she expecting to read this? Who did she anticipate might wake up in her apartment not knowing who they were?"
