365 DAYS 365 TALES

CASE OF A ROMANTIC KILLER

The usually silent northern part of town buzzed with excitement today. A horde of news anchors buzzed like bees outside the mansion. The centre of their attraction was Mr. Sengupta who lay dead in his own mansion.

Far from that noisy atmosphere, Deepa sat in her office watching those reporters solve the case themselves. Some said it was for wealth, some termed it a family fewd, while the others said something else, but only Deepa knew the real motive behind it. A psycho killer.

Being a detective, Deepa should hate the man more than anything else. But in reality, she admired him in an odd sort it way. This killer was the most elegant one she had faced in her career. In the three murders that are linked to the psycho, the police had found no clue whatsoever. Nothing on the victim, nothing on the site, nothing, except a note.

The three pieces of paper that lay unruffled in Deepa's desk, were the least expected things in this case. They weren't the suicide notes of the victims, nor were they any notes threatening the town; they were infact love letters. Yes, love letters. And they were all addressed at the infamous detective, Deepa.

When she found the first note tucked neatly in the victim's pocket, Deepa had thought it was written by the victim for his lover. They had wasted many a days to find that mysterious lover. But a week later, when another murder rocked the town, one more note was found in the victim's pocket. That finally led Deepa to believe that it might actually be her that the killer was writing to.

Deepa spread all those letters on her desk to read them again. The two letters from the past murders were crumpled a bit, but the one from yesterday's murder was as fresh as new.

That moon and those stars,

They are nothing compared to your eyes

But now I finally know,

Where your cute heart lies.

That was written in the note they had found yesterday. She had to give it to him, the man definitely knew how to woo a girl. His earlier poems where he praised her delicate hands and her elegant legs were the most romantic poems she had ever read. And now, he praises her eyes.

"Wait, my eyes?" Deepa jolted in her sight.

She couldn't believe she could have missed that. First her hands, then her legs, and now her eyes. "Shit !" she cursed again as the realisation dawned on her. She was so engrossed in falling for the romantic side of those letters, that she missed the simplest of clues.

The first murder was in the western dock, the next one on the southern coast, and not the northern mansions. Hands, legs and eyes. The analogy was crystal clear in front of her. Where are you going to strike now?

Now I finally know

Where your cute heart lies

"My Heart?" she asked herself reading that poem again.

Oh yes, my heart, the centre of my body. He's going to strike the central part of town next.

Deepa quickly jumped into action laying orders on her subordinates. She would do it all in her power to prevent this fourth murder. Though there were many houses in the central town, and he could literally strike anywhere. Still, they had something on him this time, something to pin him down.

Within an hour, Deepa was out driving to the central part of town. There was but one hope that maybe, just maybe she could find something that would give away the killer. She scanned all the streets and looked intently at those houses, but nothing gave away. She was about to go back and leave it on fate, when a chord of that poem struck her again.

Now I finally know

Where your cute heart lies

Why would someone call the heart cute? Deepa was left thinking again. There was still something that the famous detective was missing. She rolled back all the incidents right from the first murder back in her mind. The three letters, three poems, the dead men, everything. And amidst all those horrific scenes, one memory really stood out. It wasn't related to the case, not with any of the victims, not at all with these murders; and yet, it played again and again in her mind.

"Good bye my cute little baby. Come home soon."

Everyday her brother greeted her with this words when she left for work. He was the only one who termed her as cute.

"No!" she shouted at the top of her voice.

Deepa drove to her house, not far from the central part of town, as fast as she could. When she pulled up in the driveway, her brother's car was already there. The house was silent, the lights were on, everything looked normal from the outside.

It was only when she opened the door that she found a man lying lifelessly on the carpet. Her most caring brother had become yet another victim of that psycho killer.

After weeping her eyes out, Deepa searched the pockets for another letter. But there was none this time. And she knew why.

After cutting her limbs, the killer had finally pierced her heart, the most fragile part of her body.

After that day, there has been no sign of the infamous detective Miss Deepa. And those four murder cases, which were termed as the work of a 'Romantic Killer' by the media, still remain unsolved.

-