"So for the twins case — we're looking for potential victims who are teenage males. Brothers."
"Or any pair of young men. The copycat might take liberties with the exact profile, but the core will match: two victims, poisoning, and the use of a specific industrial chemical."
"Which chemical?"
Priya hesitated. This was the detail. The one that existed only in her notes. "Sodium monofluoroacetate. Compound 1080. It's a restricted pesticide. Extremely toxic. Tasteless, odourless when dissolved. The Malad twins consumed it in bottled water that had been tampered with."
"If the copycat is planning to use the same chemical, they'd need to source it. That's traceable."
"Exactly. I want you to pull every purchase record, every theft report, every licensed dealer of Compound 1080 in Maharashtra for the last six months. Also check online — dark web marketplaces, agricultural forums, anything."
While Vikram worked the chemical angle, Priya turned to the question that kept circling her mind like a vulture: who?
She pulled out her list of twenty-three names. Over the past two weeks, she'd quietly investigated each one — checking alibis for the nights of both murders, looking for financial irregularities, unusual behaviour, unexplained absences.
Eleven had solid alibis for both nights. She crossed them off. Three had alibis for one night but not the other. She circled them. Nine had no verifiable alibis for either night.
Among the nine: Inspector Rajan Khare.
Priya stared at his name. The man Deshmukh had assigned to protect her. The man who followed her everywhere, who had access to her movements, her schedule, her office when she wasn't there.
She knew it was paranoid. She also knew that paranoia was just pattern recognition with a bad reputation.
She didn't cross his name off. She didn't circle it either. She just left it there, a question mark in human form.
That evening, Rajan knocked on her office door. He had a habit of knocking exactly twice — firm, unhurried — that she'd learned to recognize.
"You wanted the background check on Kavita Mane and Nikhil Joshi," he said, placing a folder on her desk. "No connection between them. Different social circles, different areas, different workplaces. The only link is that they're both the same general profile as the original victims."
"Which means the copycat is selecting targets based on profile, not personal connection. They're interchangeable."
"That's what makes this terrifying," Rajan said, sitting in the chair across from her desk uninvited. "The victims aren't personal. They're props. Cast members in someone else's play."
Priya looked at him. "That's an unusually literary observation for a cop."
"I read." He held her gaze. "Inspector, can I say something that might offend you?"
"You're going to say it regardless."
"You're not sleeping. You're not eating properly. You're running on fumes and obsession, and I've seen officers in that state make mistakes that get people killed — including themselves."
"Noted."
"You didn't hear me."
"I heard you. I just don't have the luxury of self-care right now. There's a person out there who is going to poison someone in the next few days, using a method only I know about, and every hour I spend sleeping is an hour they spend planning."
Rajan nodded slowly. "Then let me help. Not as your assigned security. As a detective. I was good, once. Before Delhi. Before the transfer. Let me work this with you."
She studied him. The career question lingered — why had he really been transferred from Delhi? What had happened? But his eyes were steady and his offer was practical.
"Fine," she said. "Start with the locked room. Figure out how the copycat sealed Nikhil Joshi's flat from outside. If they used the same method I theorized for the Siddiqui case, there'll be tool marks on the deadbolt mechanism. Microscopic, but there."
He left. She sat in her office, the light from the parking lot casting long shadows across the evidence boards, and thought about the voice on the phone.
"I finish what I start."
What did that mean? The copycat was recreating her seven unsolved cases. But seven cases meant seven new victims. After the seventh recreation — then what? Was Priya the audience, or was she also part of the cast?
Case No. 1 of 7. The countdown wasn't just a sequence. It was a timer.
And she was running out of numbers.
