Chapter 3: Blind Spots

Shanti Niketan Society was an old colony with only one entrance and exit. The old guard shifted on his stool, rubbing his eyes, unsure whether to offer Amit more chai or another excuse. The five-metre-high wall was covered in thorny bougainvillea—impossible to climb unnoticed.

Checking CCTV footage revealed nothing unusual: children playing, aunty in a red saree with groceries, the colony dog chasing a rickshaw. No unfamiliar face, no sign of panic. That night, only residents and their families entered. Even the dhobi had an airtight alibi.

Could the killer be a resident? The idea unsettled Amit. Children played cricket in the lane, their plastic stumps wedged against the faded compound wall—every face seemed suspect, every smile a potential mask.

The team debated theories: professional killer, secret lover, even the cook in the mess had opinions. Amit was relentless—"Ek bhi aankh band nahi hogi jab tak sach samne nahi aata."

Door-to-door investigation followed. Aunty in 304 handed them chai in steel glasses, muttering about the bad nazar that had fallen on the colony. Three thousand residents, but all had alibis or didn’t fit the profile. Files grew thicker, tempers shorter, but nothing pointed to a culprit.

Amit barely slept, surviving on cutting chai and hope. The murderer walked free. During these days, a WhatsApp notification kept buzzing—anxious relatives flooding the society group.

After consulting senior detectives, Amit mapped out CCTV blind spots. They found a loophole—a narrow lane beside the transformer, camera blocked by a peepal tree. Amit tested the route at night—no one noticed him.

But if the killer was an outsider, how would he know? Someone inside must have revealed it, or the killer had studied the place. This was not impulsive.

The investigation now focused on Ananya’s circle. Amit discovered she was a well-known singer, her voice floating over the colony loudspeaker during Ganpati visarjan, making even the children pause their games. She was beautiful and popular, often performing at local events—admired and sometimes envied.

Rumours swirled about her late nights and independence, but those close to her vouched for her honesty and kindness. Rohan, too, was well-liked. Both were in their second marriages, described by neighbours as made for each other. Ananya even taught local children singing.

The first round of investigation suggested neither revenge nor passion fit. Amit stared at the investigation board—photos, strings, and notes, but no answers.

Yet, he knew: the more flawless a case appears, the more likely a conspiracy is hidden. "Yeh jo sab perfect dikh raha hai na, ismein sabse zyada khatra chhupa hai," Amit told his team. Someone had rehearsed every detail, but every actor makes a single mistake.