"Ma'am?" Vikram appeared at her door, holding a thick envelope. "CCTV results. Also, ACP Deshmukh wants to see you."
Assistant Commissioner of Police Sanjay Deshmukh was Priya's direct superior — a career officer who'd risen through the ranks by being competent enough to avoid scandal and political enough to avoid controversy. He was neither brilliant nor incompetent, which in the Mumbai Police was practically a superpower.
His office was on the sixth floor, air-conditioned, with framed photographs of him shaking hands with various Chief Ministers. He was behind his desk when Priya entered, reading something on his phone with the intense focus of a man checking cricket scores.
"Sit."
She sat.
"The Andheri warehouse case. Tell me."
She told him. When she reached the part about the note — Case No. 1 of 7 — his phone hand froze mid-scroll.
"You're telling me someone is deliberately recreating your unsolved cases."
"That's what the evidence suggests, sir."
"Your cases specifically. Not just any unsolved murders."
"Mine. The details match my personal case notes. Not the official FIR, not the media reports — my notes."
Deshmukh put his phone down. This was the equivalent of another man gasping. "Who has access to your notes?"
"That's what I need to find out."
"I'll assign a team. You'll have —"
"Sir, I want to lead this investigation personally."
"Priya, you might be a target."
"Which is exactly why I should be leading it. Nobody knows these cases better than I do. If the copycat is working from my notes, I'm the only person who can spot where they deviate. That's where we'll find them."
Deshmukh studied her. He'd known her for twelve years — knew she was stubborn, brilliant, and had a tendency to operate as if sleep was optional. He also knew she was the best investigative officer he had.
"Fine. But you take Vikram, and I'm assigning Inspector Rajan Khare from the Special Ops team as your security. If this person is targeting you, I want someone watching your back."
"I don't need a babysitter."
"That wasn't a request, Inspector."
She left his office with the CCTV envelope and a new problem. Inspector Rajan Khare — she'd worked with him once, three years ago. Tall, quiet, late thirties. From the Delhi Police originally, transferred to Mumbai under circumstances that were vaguely described as "restructuring." He was competent. He was also irritatingly observant.
Back in her office, she opened the CCTV footage. Six cameras covered the area around the Andheri warehouse. Five showed nothing useful — the usual Mumbai nightlife of stray dogs, late-night delivery riders, and the occasional drunk navigating home. But Camera 3, mounted on a traffic pole two hundred metres east of the warehouse, caught something at 9:43 PM on Sunday night.
A white Maruti van. No number plates. Moving slowly through the frame, then turning into the lane that led to the warehouse compound. It appeared again at 11:52 PM, leaving the same lane, same speed, same direction. Two hours and nine minutes.
In that van, someone had brought Kavita Mane to her death, staged a scene from Priya's past, left a note, and driven away. Methodically. Patiently. Without a single mistake that the cameras could catch.
Priya stared at the frozen frame of the white van. The screen glowed in her dark office, and for the first time in years, she felt something she hadn't felt since her first case as a junior officer.
Fear.
