The revelation of the small, colored toy block in the truck cab shattered the framework of the accident. It wasn't just evidence; it was an intimate signature. The killer hadn't been targeting a random truck; they were targeting Rajeev's family and had left a grim calling card—a child's item at the scene of the children's death.
Rajeev stared at the police file's footnote, the image of the building block blazing in his mind. The ANI wasn't asking him to find a random saboteur; it was forcing him to uncover a personal vendetta.
He had to get a better look at that block. The official police evidence room was inaccessible, but Rajeev knew Inspector Patil's office habits. Patil was meticulous but old-school. He often kept crucial, anomalous evidence in his desk, away from the official logging system, until he had time to process it mentally.
Rajeev looked at the clock: 38 hours remaining. The clock was ticking not just on the life of Mrs. Sharma, but on his own freedom.
The Nighttime Visit
Rajeev waited until the dead of night. He knew the layout of the police headquarters from his repeated visits after the accident. He donned dark clothing, packed a small bag containing lock-picking tools (skills he'd learned from Rohan's earlier escapade) and a powerful mini-camera.
He bypassed the main gates by scaling a low boundary wall near the parking lot, using the shadows of the large trees for cover. He moved through the silent, oppressive administrative building, finding the Records and Investigations wing.
Inspector Patil's office was on the third floor. Rajeev picked the door lock quickly, adrenaline surging through him as he slipped into the dark room.
He found Patil's large, messy desk. Rajeev's hands worked quickly, searching through the drawers. Finally, in a small, wooden box tucked beneath a stack of old files marked "Kadam, V. Homicide," he found it: Evidence Item 4A.
It was a small, bright yellow plastic block, four studs wide, manufactured by a well-known children's toy company. It was clean, almost pristine, contrasting sharply with the tragedy it represented.
Rajeev carefully placed the block under his camera, taking high-resolution photos of every angle, especially a tiny, almost invisible scratch on its side. He returned the block to the box, replaced the box, and slipped out of the police station with the precision of a seasoned criminal.
The Fingerprint of the Killer
Back in his apartment, Rajeev enlarged the photos of the yellow block. The scratch wasn't accidental; it looked like a tiny, deliberate mark—perhaps a letter or a symbol.
He focused the image and manipulated the contrast. Under extreme magnification, the scratch resolved into a stylized, almost triangular shape. It looked faintly like the letter 'S'.
The killer's signature was the letter 'S' left on a child's toy. The killer knew Rajeev's life, his tragedy, and his vulnerabilities.
Rajeev ran the name through his mind: people connected to him, whose name started with S.
Sunil (the cake shop helper, who fled). Suresh (his dead friend). Sagar (a casual office acquaintance). Shreya (Anjali's sister).
The most logical, immediate suspect was Sunil, but he had vanished. The ANI demanded he find the killer, not just point a finger.
He stared at the tiny 'S' on the toy block, then his eyes flickered to a framed photograph on his shelf—a picture of him and Suresh, laughing on a work trip.
Suresh. Could his best friend, his shadow, the man who was recently branded with the 'Agony Inheritance' mark, possibly have been the architect of his greatest pain?
It seemed impossible. Suresh was grieving with him; he was Rajeev's anchor. Yet, the ANI had focused on Rajeev's friendship as the final loss. It was the deepest wound.
Rajeev pulled out his old university yearbook. He looked up Anjali's sister, Shreya. Shreya had been close to Anjali but had distanced herself after the accident, unable to handle the grief. Her name started with S. She was family, and family secrets are often the darkest.
The ANI's Clue
Rajeev slumped onto his couch, the photos of the block scattered around him. He was guessing. The ANI wouldn't accept guesswork. It was leading him toward a single, unavoidable truth.
He remembered the specific phrasing of the objective: Find the killer of Anjali and Anaya.
He needed a connection that tied the letter 'S' on the block, the murder of his family, and a motive.
Rajeev remembered a detail from the initial police investigation—a brief, dismissive mention of Anjali having taken out a substantial life insurance policy two years prior to the accident, naming Rajeev as the sole beneficiary. It was routine, and the financial gain was not enough to trigger suspicion.
Rajeev suddenly felt a chilling clarity. The 'S' was not a person's name. It was a symbol that had meaning to the killer.
He looked around the room, focusing on what was uniquely Rajeev's. The house, the furniture, the memories.
His eyes fell on a small, engraved silver locket that Anjali used to wear. It was a cheap piece, a gift from a childhood friend. He'd kept it in a drawer.
He found the locket and opened it. Inside, there were no pictures. Instead, there was a tiny, intricate design etched onto the silver—a symbol of two interlocking serpents.
Rajeev's blood ran cold. He knew that symbol. It was the logo of the Serpent Financial Group, the very company where he and Suresh worked. The company had a distinctive, stylized 'S' in its logo—a symbol Rajeev saw every day.
The killer was a colleague. Someone from work. Someone who saw Rajeev's routine, knew his anniversary, and had access to his wife's insurance details.
The letter 'S' on the block pointed to the Serpent Financial Group. And the person most intimately involved in Rajeev's work and private life, besides Suresh, was Sunil (who had fled) or someone higher up.
Rajeev stared at the remaining time. 36 hours. He had identified the symbol and the likely environment. The ANI would now be waiting for him to name the killer.