DSP Kavita Sinha's office was on the second floor of the SP's building in Sector 6. It was the only office in the building with actual curtains — she'd brought them from home after deciding that the translucent glass panels gave passing constables too many opportunities to observe her eating lunch. Kavita was fifty-two, thin in the way that long-distance runners are thin, with steel-grey hair she kept in a tight bun and a face that could communicate a full performance review in a single glance.
She looked at Aarav's files for thirty-seven minutes without speaking. He sat across from her and waited. He'd learned years ago that Kavita processed information in silence the way other people processed it through questions, and interrupting her was like poking a surgeon mid-incision.
"The nine calls," she said finally. "That's not random."
"No, ma'am."
"Nine is deliberate. It's a signature. This person wants the calls to be found. They want us to see the pattern — eventually."
"Or they want the victims to feel it. The escalation. One call is a wrong number. Two is a nuisance. By the fourth or fifth, you're nervous. By the ninth, you're —"
"Primed." Kavita removed her reading glasses. "You're psychologically primed. The fear is already doing the work. By the time they come for you, you're already halfway gone."
Aarav hadn't thought of it that way, but she was right. The calls weren't just a signature — they were a tool. A weapon of conditioning. Nine strikes to weaken the lock before kicking the door down.
"I want to form a joint task force," Kavita said. "Delhi, Gurgaon, Greater Noida, and us. But that means politics, paperwork, and a minimum of two weeks before anything moves. In the meantime, what do you need?"
"Phone forensics. The unknown numbers are untraceable through standard methods — the calls don't show a source number, which means they're being routed through VoIP services. I need the cyber cell to trace the digital origin."
"You'll have it. What else?"
"A profile. Someone who understands why the number nine. Why women in this age range. Why NCR specifically."
"I know someone. Clinical psychologist, works with the CBI occasionally. Dr. Sahil Mehra. He's good. Unconventional, but good."
"I'll take unconventional."
"And Aarav — the victims. We need to find a connection between them. Four women who don't seem to know each other, living in different cities, working different jobs. Something connects them. Find it."
He spent the next forty-eight hours living in the case files. Sleeping at his desk. Eating whatever Pankaj brought him — mostly samosas and chai, because Pankaj's nutritional philosophy was that anything wrapped in fried dough was a complete meal.
