Smiling Devil: Rage Chapter - 7

At the police station, a stranger sat nervously in front of Lakshmikant and Prakash. He was a young adult, lean-bodied, with round spectacles that made him look almost fragile. Prakash leaned forward. “You’re Hari, right?” The stranger gave a small nod. Without warning, Prakash slapped him across the face. “Are you mute or what? Can’t you speak?”

“Prakash!” Lakshmikant barked, pulling him back. “How many times have I told you—don’t raise your hands?” Prakash lowered his eyes. “Sorry, sir.” Silence followed. Lakshmikant fixed his gaze on Hari.

His voice was calm but firm, “You disappeared from the society for a whole week. In that time, Indu died. You also published an online blog story titled ‘Night Killer.’ And we’ve heard you once loved her—one-sided. Now, tell us the truth.”

Hari’s hands trembled. His eyes welled up, tears rolling down his cheeks as he stammered, “S-Sir… I’m not that kind of person. I… I only work as an editor for a YouTube channel. Writing online stories is just my passion. The biggest crimes I’ve ever done in life were… watching porn and downloading pirated movies. Other than that, I’ve never done anything wrong. Please… don’t arrest me, sir.”

Prakash and Lakshmikant exchanged a glance, both taken aback. For a grown man, Hari was crying like a child. Lakshmikant leaned forward, softening his tone. “Hey, relax. This is just interrogation. We’re not here to arrest you. Believe me.”

Through his tears, Hari asked in a small voice, “So… this is only interrogation, right? Nothing else?” “Yes,” Prakash muttered, though impatiently. “Now stop crying like a baby.”

Hari quickly wiped his face, trying to compose himself. Lakshmikant and Prakash locked eyes again, silently agreeing—this man couldn’t be the killer.

Lakshmikant asked, “Okay, tell me where you have been this whole week?” Hari replied, “Sir, I was in Goa with my friends. We had been planning this one-week trip since our college days.”

Lakshmikant leaned forward. “Do you have photos?” Hari nodded quickly and handed over his phone. Lakshmikant scrolled through the pictures, then turned to Prakash. “Verify these.”

After a pause, Lakshmikant questioned again, “And what about the love part?” Hari sighed. “Sir, I liked her back in 7th standard—that was almost fifteen years ago. But since then, people in this society never let me forget it. They keep mocking me. It’s been years since I even spoke to her.”

Lakshmikant pressed further. “Then what about this story you wrote? The events match exactly with Indu’s death.” “Sir,” Hari explained patiently, “I wrote that story only a few weeks ago. For reference, I used our society building so it would feel more real. The mention of 2 p.m.? I only added it later after hearing neighbors say that was the time of Indu’s death. I can even show you the complete draft.”

Lakshmikant raised his hand. “Okay, okay, fine.” Prakash stepped in. “Sir, he’s telling the truth.” Lakshmikant realized the mistake. He let out a breath and said, “Sorry, Hari. This was our fault.” Hari shrugged. “It’s fine, sir. At least you realized it now.” Changing the subject,

Lakshmikant asked, “You mentioned working as an editor at a YouTube channel. Which one?” Hari answered, “Sir, Wizwo Channel. It’s actually an animated news channel.” Lakshmikant nodded approvingly. “Well, best of luck for your career.”

Hari stepped closer and pointed at a photograph on the board. “Sir, the one on the right-hand side… who is he?” Lakshmikant followed his finger. It was Pravin’s photo. Keeping his face steady, he lied, “That’s Pravin. He’s just a witness in one of our cases.”

Hari nodded. “Okay, sir.” But Lakshmikant leaned in. “Why are you asking about him?”

Hari hesitated for a moment before replying. “Sir, I saw him in the metro once. A man slapped him in front of everyone. The whole compartment shouted at that man, and he left the train, humiliated. When I came here and saw this photo, the memory just struck me.”

Lakshmikant’s tone sharpened. “When exactly did this happen?” “On the 8th… or maybe the 9th of March. Around 9:45 p.m. The Andheri to Versova line,” Hari answered quickly. Prakash raised an eyebrow. “You remember the date and time that clearly?”

“Yes, sir.” Hari gave a small smile. “I usually jot down moments like these. I’m a writer, and I use real-life incidents for inspiration. In fact, I’m working on a story right now, and that incident gave me an idea.”

Lakshmikant leaned back, skeptical. “Do you have proof of that? This diary of yours?” “Yes, sir.” Hari pulled a small diary from his pocket and handed it over. Lakshmikant flipped through it. Pages filled with messy notes—confessions, insults, encounters—everything Hari had witnessed.

“Strange habit,” Lakshmikant muttered. His eyes narrowed. “Makes me suspicious.” Hari’s voice was calm but firm. “Sir, writers either use imagination, personal experiences, or events from the world around them. When something truly happens, it carries weight. That’s why I write them down.”

For a moment, Lakshmikant studied him, then finally closed the diary. His tone softened. “Fine. You can go. But if I find even a single lie in your words, I’ll call you back.”

Hari gave a respectful nod and walked out. As the door closed, Lakshmikant leaned toward Prakash. “Keep an eye on him.” Prakash nodded silently.

The next day, we see Lakshmikant, Prakash, and Abhinav at a coffee shop. Abhinav looked restless, fidgeting with the cup in his hands. “Sir, why did you call me here?” he asked nervously.

Lakshmikant leaned forward. “Relax, Abhinav. We just need to ask you a few things… about Pravin.” Abhinav exhaled, some tension leaving his face. “Okay, sir. Go ahead.” Lakshmikant’s voice was steady. “Tell me honestly—has Pravin ever lost his temper at the office?”

Abhinav shook his head. “No, sir. He sometimes got tense because of work pressure, but never… angry.” Lakshmikant glanced at Prakash, realizing how calm Pravin had managed to appear in public.

“Alright,” Lakshmikant continued. “When you say tense… was there ever a time he seemed disturbed, or unusually silent?” Abhinav thought for a moment. “Nowadays, yes. After Indu’s death, he’s been very quiet and sad. Which made sense… he truly loved her.”

Prakash leaned in. “What about before that?” Abhinav’s brow furrowed. “Hmm… yes, sir. Once, in the beginning of March, he didn’t talk to anyone for two days. The first day he said it was work pressure. The second day, he mentioned he was stuck on some… riddle. A strange one. Totally based on psychology.”

Prakash narrowed his eyes. “What was the riddle?” Abhinav began recounting it. What he didn’t realize—Lakshmikant and Prakash did. That so-called riddle was no riddle at all. It was a disguised description of a real event, a murder. As Abhinav spoke, both officers exchanged a look.

Pravin had killed before. And the “pub case” might not have been his first crime after all. Once Abhinav finished, Lakshmikant straightened. “That’s all we needed to ask. Thank you.” Abhinav nodded, then hesitated. “Sir… can I request something?”  Lakshmikant asked, “What is it?”

“I don’t know if Pravin really had a hand in Indu’s death. But one thing I do know—he’s a good man at heart. If… if he is the murderer… please, don’t beat him. Arrest and make him pay for crimes.” Lakshmikant studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

Abhinav stood up, paid his bill, and left quietly. Outside the café, Lakshmikant asked, “You got the CCTV footage, right?” “Yes sir,” Prakash confirmed. “Where are we heading now?” Lakshmikant gave a cunning smile. “Today’s Saturday, isn’t it?” “Yes, sir.” Lakshmikant didn’t answer, only kept that sly smile as they walked to the jeep.

The flat was silent, untouched. Dishes lay unwashed in the sink, dust clung to the corners, and in the middle of the living room a sandbag swung gently, as if waiting for its owner.

On the bed, Pravin lay staring at the ceiling, his face hollow with sadness. A sharp knock at the door broke the silence. He dragged himself up and opened it.

Lakshmikant and Prakash stood there. “Hello, Pravin,” Lakshmikant said lightly. “May we come in?” Pravin stepped aside. “Yes, sir.” They walked in.

Lakshmikant gave the sandbag a playful tap. “What’s this? You a boxer?” Pravin shook his head. “No, sir. Just… stress relief.” They all sat.

Lakshmikant looked around, then asked casually, “This flat… yours?” “No, sir. I rent it.” Lakshmikant nodded, then leaned forward. “Actually, Pravin… we came here for something.”

He spun a lie smoothly. “We’ve reached the final phase of Indu’s case. We’re calling everyone close to her for questioning. Since you were close too, you’ll need to come to the station. We didn’t have your number, so we came here directly.”

Pravin’s eyes flickered with doubt. Something felt wrong. But it was the police, and procedure was procedure. He forced a smile and nodded. “Of course, sir. Let’s go.” He picked up his keys and followed them out, unaware of the trap slowly closing in.