Smiling Devil: Rage Chapter - 6

The police van screeched to a halt in front of newClub Pub. Without wasting a moment, Lakshmikant and Prakash stepped out and walked toward the entrance. Their presence in uniform carried an authority of its own. The bouncer at the door, who usually stopped every face with suspicion, merely straightened his posture and gave them a respectful nod, allowing them inside without a word.

As they stepped into the pub, the dim lights and pulsing music wrapped around them, but before they could take another step, a well-dressed man hurried forward. “Hello, sir,” he said with a practiced smile. “Myself Ashish, manager of the pub. Is there any problem?” Lakshmikant fixed him with a cold stare. “Ashish,” he said flatly, “I’m here for my cut. I didn’t receive this week’s bribe amount.”

Ashish’s face stiffened, his eyes widening in shock. “Sir! We already paid our cut.” Lakshmikant let out a low chuckle, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m just joking. Relax. We’re here for an investigation. I need to see the CCTV footage.” Ashish hesitated, his voice dropping as he asked cautiously, “Sir… is this about the owner’s relative case?”

Lakshmikant leaned in slightly, his tone measured. “Kind of… but my primary reason is for another case.” Ashish froze for a moment, clearly calculating something in his mind. Then, forcing a polite smile, he nodded. “Alright, sir. Please, come with me.” He gestured toward a narrow corridor leading to the surveillance room.

Ashish tapped through the files on the computer, scrolling past hours of footage until he reached the night in question. The grainy screen flickered with crowded scenes of dancing and laughter.

Ashish began playing the footage from that day. Lakshmikant leaned forward and said, “I need to see the argument between that guy and the girl—where he misbehaved.” Ashish nodded and cued the clip.

Both Lakshmikant and Prakash carefully observed as the man clearly misbehaved with Indu. They noted the incident down. A little later in the footage, the man was seen walking toward the balcony.

Prakash asked, “Show us the terrace and staircase footage.” Ashish shook his head. “Sir, there was no CCTV installed in those areas at that time. We only added cameras there after the incident.” Lakshmikant frowned. “Why weren’t they installed earlier?”

Ashish explained, “Sir, this is a pub. People under the influence often go to places like the staircase, terrace, or bathrooms to do private stuffs. Installing cameras there would have violated customer privacy. That’s why we avoided it earlier. But after that tragic incident, we decided to place CCTVs there. Before, we only had coverage for the dance floor, some seating areas, entrances, exits, and the parking lot.”

Prakash snapped, his voice laced with anger. “How careless you all? What kind of place are you running here?” Ashish lowered his head, speechless.

Sensing the tension, Lakshmikant placed a hand on Prakash’s shoulder, urging him to calm down. He then instructed, “Ashish, do one thing. I want to see the footage side by side. After the misbehavior, show me what happened on the dance floor, the seating area, and at the entrances and exits.”

Ashish quickly set up the screens as requested. Both officers leaned in, watching the parallel footage like hawks—eyes sharp, searching for their prey.

On the first playback, Lakshmikant spotted a stranger slipping into the staircase right after the drunk man who later died. “Stop,” Lakshmikant ordered sharply. Prakash leaned closer, eyes narrowing as he caught it too. “Play it again,” Lakshmikant instructed. “Prakash, note the entry and exit points. First two cameras cover the public sitting area—I’ll check the rest.” Prakash gave a quick nod.

Ashish replayed the footage. Indu and her colleagues were seen leaving the place. Minutes later, Prakash’s eyes widened in alarm. “Sir! Look—Pravin just entered the pub again!” “What?” Lakshmikant’s voice cracked with disbelief as his gaze locked on the screen. His pulse quickened, eyes flashing with recognition. “Keep watching him,” he murmured, leaning forward.

Together, he and Prakash carefully tracked Pravin’s movements. Pravin casually took a seat among the public, pretending to watch the dance floor. After a few minutes, he slipped out, disappearing into the blind spots beyond the camera’s reach.

Ashish broke the silence, his tone uneasy. “Sir… there are no cameras covering the area after this.” Lakshmikant exhaled, frustration laced in his voice. “Fine. Upload all the footage to my phone.” Ashish complied swiftly. With the evidence secured, Lakshmikant and Prakash stepped out of the pub, a heavy tension hanging between them.

On their way to the police van, Prakash said, “Sir, this looks clear cut. Pravin is behind the killing. The deceased misbehaved with Indu, and Pravin must have silently taken revenge.”

Lakshmikant shook his head. “Possible, but we still don’t have solid evidence. If his face had been caught on camera, we could say for sure. Even then, that would only make him guilty for the pub murder—not Indu’s death. We need to dig deeper.”

He paused before continuing, “Pravin’s an orphan, right?” Prakash nodded. “Good,” Lakshmikant said. “First, get me a copy of the FIR from the station handling this pub murder case. Second, you and Sarfaraz go tomorrow to the orphanage where Pravin was raised. Ask around about him. Meanwhile, I’ll check on our other suspect—the ex-boyfriend. Let’s see where the case leads.”

The next day, Prakash and Sarfaraz, both in full uniform, arrived at Salvation Children Orphanage. They sat in front of Father Joseph, a 63-year-old pastor who managed the orphanage as well as the Salvation Church.

Joseph asked, “How can I help you, officers?” Prakash replied, “Yes, Father. We came here to ask about someone—a person who grew up here, Pravin Kumar.” Sarfaraz then showed him Pravin’s photo.

Father Joseph smiled as he saw the photo. “Pravin… how could I forget him? Such a nice boy. He visits every 3–4 months whenever he gets time. Why, is there any problem?”

Prakash responded, “Actually, Father, there has been a murder case at Pravin’s office.” Joseph was shocked. “Murder! Jesus Christ…”

Prakash nodded. “Yes, Father. One of his colleagues was killed. As part of the interrogation procedure, we came here to gather some information regarding his character. It will help us in our investigation.”

Joseph thought for a moment, then agreed. Prakash continued, “Father, can you tell us how he came here, and what’s the reason behind his calm nature and the constant smile on his face?”

The clock rewinds fifteen years. A ten-year-old Pravin Kumar, who had just lost both his parents in a tragic accident, was taken in by strangers and placed in an orphanage. Silent and withdrawn, he spoke to no one, the new environment suffocating him.

Most of the time, he stood by the grilled gate, staring longingly at the world outside. His quietness made him stand out from the other children—an easy target for bullying.

Day after day, the torment grew worse. They locked him inside the bathroom, poured water on him while he slept, beat him from behind, and mocked his silence. Every act carved deeper scars into his young mind, building up a storm of rage he didn’t know how to release.

And then, one day, it all exploded. A group of three children cornered him as usual, ready to beat him in the name of “fun.” But this time, Pravin snapped. His anger erupted, and he struck back—fists flying, legs kicking—making them taste the pain he had swallowed for so long. Still, outnumbered, he began to falter under their blows.

In that desperate moment, his hand fell on a wooden stick lying nearby. With blind fury, he swung it. Each strike was harder than the last—blood spilled, bones cracked, cries filled the air. Consumed by rage, he pressed the stick against one boy’s neck, choking him, ready to end his life.

The boy’s eyes widened, struggling for breath, his tiny hands clawing helplessly at Pravin’s grip. But just before it was too late, a warden rushed in and tore him away. One more minute, and the child would have been dead.

Later, Pravin sat quietly with Father Joseph. The priest looked at him and asked gently, “Why did you beat them, my child?” Pravin lowered his head, speaking in a trembling voice. “They kept torturing me for days… throwing water, locking me inside, beating me. I kept holding my anger… but today… it burst out.”

Father Joseph listened carefully, then asked with a soft smile, “But why didn’t you tell your teacher, me, or even the warden? Why keep it inside?” Pravin’s eyes welled up with tears. “I don’t have anyone to share with. If my parents were here, I would have told them…”

Father Joseph’s heart ached. He pulled Pravin into a gentle embrace. “Don’t worry, my son. Look at me.” Pravin lifted his teary eyes toward him. “From now on, whatever you feel, share it with me. Your parents entrusted me to take care of you, as they are busy with God’s work. I will fulfill what you want.”

Pravin sniffled, then asked in a childlike tone, “Will you buy me chocolate, biscuits, toys?” Father Joseph chuckled softly. “I will. But you must promise me something. Be a good child, help others, and always keep a calm smile. If you ever feel anger, tell me—or…”

He picked up a pillow and placed it before Pravin. “…beat this pillow. But never hurt another person. Do you promise?” Father Joseph extended his hand.

Pravin placed his tiny hand over it and nodded. From that day, he lived at the orphanage with more peace in his heart, holding onto the promise he made.

Time rewound to the present. Prakash thought for a moment before asking, “So, Father… after that incident, he never beat or fought with anyone?”

Father Joseph shook his head gently. “He didn’t. But he does get angry, and when he does, he takes it out on a pillow. He even has a punching bag now—he shows his anger there. I don’t know why he carries such rage inside him. I tried to help, tried to cure it, but nothing changed. Thankfully, he diverts it onto objects, not people.”

Prakash and Sarfaraz exchanged a glance and nodded. Prakash leaned closer. “Also, Father, please… don’t tell Pravin about what happened today. For Christ’s sake, keep it from him.” Father Joseph hesitated for a moment, then sighed and agreed.

The two officers left the orphanage and got into their car. Silence lingered for a while until Sarfaraz finally asked, “Sir, so… Pravin is the killer, right?”

Prakash stared ahead, his tone cold. “We’ve got what we need. We’ll inform Lakshmikant sir, and he’ll have him arrested. Time to strip away that mask of innocence.”

As soon as Prakash entered the station, he rushed straight into the inspector’s cabin. Breathless, he blurted out, “Sir, my prediction was right. Pravin is a fake character—he’s got serious anger management issues. The orphanage father told us—”

Lakshmikant raised his hand, cutting him off. “Wait. Sit down first.” Prakash frowned, frustrated. “Sir, it’s clear-cut! He’s the killer. Why waste time?” Lakshmikant leaned back calmly. “Because Indu’s ex-boyfriend Vedant is also in Mumbai right now.”

Prakash froze. “What?” “When I called him,” Lakshmikant explained, “he admitted he’s in Goregaon, staying at Malabar Lodge. I cross-checked his phone location—he’s telling the truth. First, we’ll go there and interrogate him.” Prakash was stunned, at a loss for words.

Finally, he just nodded quickly. Moments later, both officers were in the jeep, dressed in full uniform. Lakshmikant’s mind kept circling around one question—Could Vedant really be the killer? Meanwhile, Prakash sat silently, his thoughts tangled. On one hand, Pravin’s violent history and anger issues screamed suspicion. On the other, Vedant’s sudden presence in Mumbai was too shocking to ignore. Coincidence… or something deeper?

Later, they arrived at a hotel in Goregaon where Vedant was temporarily staying. Lakshmikant called him, and the phone was answered almost immediately. “Vedant, we’ve reached the hotel where you’re staying,” Lakshmikant said. “Sir, please come to room 368,” Vedant replied.

Lakshmikant agreed, and both he and Prakash entered the hotel. It was a mid-level four-star establishment—polished floors, neat interiors, and a steady stream of guests checking in and out. As they stepped inside, the hotel receptionist seemed startled upon noticing them.

His expression shifted from confusion to shock before he quickly left the desk and approached. “Hello sir, I’m Ritik, the receptionist here. How can I help you?” he asked politely. “We’re here to meet someone. He’s in room 368,” Lakshmikant replied.

“It’s on the 8th floor. Please come with me, sir. I’ll guide you,” Ritik said, then turned to another staff member. “Rakesh, keep an eye on the desk.” Lakshmikant and Prakash followed him as he led them upstairs.

The 8th floor stretched out in long corridors, lined with rows of doors on both sides—nearly 40 to 50 rooms in total. Ritik guided them all the way to room 368, then excused himself and left. Prakash knocked at the door.

Moments later, it opened. Standing there was a 25-year-old man, slightly chubby and about six feet tall. His eyes carried heavy dark circles, and faint tear marks streaked his face. “Vedant?” Lakshmikant asked gently. The man nodded. “Come inside, sir.”

After some time, Vedant sat in the room with Lakshmikant and Prakash. His head hung low, shoulders heavy with grief. It was clear that Indu’s death had shaken him deeply. Lakshmikant broke the silence. “I assume you already know about Indu’s death?”

Vedant nodded slowly. “Yes, sir. My friend Darshan told me. I was working in Hyderabad… when I heard the news, I rushed back. The girl I loved—I saw her lifeless… and I was shattered.” His voice cracked as tears rolled down his cheeks.

Struggling to continue, Vedant said, “In just two months, I was planning to return to Mumbai. I had only paused our relationship. I promised her that once I secured a good job and stood on my own feet, I would come back.”

Lakshmikant frowned. “But during the investigation, we found out that you broke up with her.” Vedant sighed, pain etched across his face. “Yes, sir. My intention was never to end things. I only wanted to focus on my career for a while. But Indu didn’t understand… so I lied, and made it look like a breakup.”

Prakash leaned forward. “Do you think her death was suicide or murder?” Vedant looked up briefly, eyes hollow. “I don’t know, sir.” Lakshmikant exchanged a glance with Prakash before saying firmly, “Until the investigation is over, you’ll have to stay in Mumbai.” Vedant nodded in silent acceptance.

Later, inside the police van, Prakash and Lakshmikant were deep in discussion. Prakash remarked, “This was Pravin’s past life—we can clearly see he has serious anger management issues.” Lakshmikant nodded in agreement.

Then he asked, “What’s your take on Vedant?” Prakash replied, “Sir, he seems completely shattered by Indu’s death. But the fact that he’s been in Mumbai for almost six days after the incident… that raises questions.”

Lakshmikant considered this for a moment before saying firmly, “Alright. Let’s push the case forward. For now, both Pravin and Vedant remain our prime suspects.”

After some time, they both arrived at the police station. Diya, Indu’s friend, was already waiting there for Lakshmikant. He walked past her unknowingly and went straight into his cabin.

Inside, Lakshmikant picked up the photos of Pravin and Vedant from his desk. He pinned them onto the investigation board and stared thoughtfully. “Which one of you could be the killer?” he muttered under his breath. A voice called from outside, “Sir.”

Without turning, he replied, “Come in.” When he looked up, he saw Diya. “You’re Indu’s friend, right?” he asked. Diya nodded. “Yes, sir.” “Please, have a seat,” Lakshmikant said, gesturing toward the chair.

Diya sat down and immediately spoke. “Sir, you need to see this. It’s related to Indu’s case.” She handed him her phone. Lakshmikant glanced at the screen. It was an online blog titled Night Killer. As he began reading Chapter 1, his expression hardened.

The story described a girl named Riya who died exactly the same way Indu had: a masked man sneaking into the society building, reaching the terrace without leaving evidence, luring Riya up, and then pushing her off before vanishing.

He raised his brows. “It’s just an online story. Maybe the writer read about Indu’s case in the news.” Diya shook her head. “No, sir. The writer is from our own society—his name is Hari. He used to have an obsession with Indu. In fact, he once proposed to her, but she rejected him. He disappeared for a week… and this story was published just yesterday. Today, he came back.”

Lakshmikant handed her phone back, his expression serious. “Hmm… thank you, Diya. This is valuable.” Diya leaned forward slightly. “Sir, Hari is clever. Please keep a close eye on him.” Lakshmikant gave a firm nod, already turning back toward the board.