Chapter 3: The Selfie Killer
Two months since moving to Delhi, Aditya had settled in comfortably at Virat's apartment. They had inspected several rooms over the weekends for Aditya, but the choices available were either too far away, or too expensive.
It was the rare Saturday when all three had holidays from work. Aditya was reading a comic while Payal sat at the table browsing through her Facebook profile.
“Anyone want to watch a film?” Virat asked, who was browsing the internet on his mobile. The three had agreed to pitch in together for wifi. “There's the new Akshay Kumar movie out this Friday.”
“And there'll be another one out in a month,” Aditya said. “He does like twelve movies a year”.”
“So you prefer to sit at home reading a cartoon comic on your holiday?” Payal asked.
“It's a Super Commando Dhruv comic,” Aditya said without looking up. “It's all I have until someone has the sense to make a live-action movie on him.”
“I'm glad you have such mature tastes,” Payal remarked, turning back to her laptop. “After all, the mark of a grown-”
Suddenly Payal stopped talking. Virat glanced up at her. She was staring at the screen of her laptop with a look of shocked incredulity on her face.
Aditya and Virat got up and walked over to the table. The screen of the laptop came into view. Payal's Facebook wall was displayed on the screen. Amidst birthday greetings to friends and group invites from strangers was displayed a picture. Aditya and Virat leaned in closer as their minds tried to wrap around what they were seeing. The picture had been shared on Payal's page by one of her friends, and the comment section showed people from the world reacting in horror to the gruesome scene.
The background was that of a darkened room, vague and immersed in shadows. But the flash from the camera had lit up the two people at the center of the frame. A young man lay on the ground, his legs splayed out before him, his back leaning against the wall. There was a deep gash along his neck, and the front of his shirt was covered in blood. His vacant eyes stared sightlessly ahead. Next to him, with an arm around him, sat another person, the one who was holding the camera. He was looking directly into the lens, but his face was hidden behind a mask of the smiling moron often seen in internet memes. Payal felt a chill crawl up her spine as her eyes moved from the blank, expressionless face of the dead man to the smiling, distorted features of the other person. Beneath the picture was the hashtag #WillYouTakeASelfieWithMe?
The silence lasted for several moments as the three stared at the picture. There was something hypnotic about the gaze of the mask directed at the camera.
“Is this real?” Payal finally spoke. “Or is it some kind of a hoax?”
“Has to be fake,” Virat muttered, clicking on the picture to enlarge it. “Like those celebrity death news pieces that are always doing the rounds of Facebook.”
“I can make out the background a bit,” Aditya said, leaning in closer to the screen. “I think those are stairs there to the left.”
Virat's phone rang. He went to answer it on the balcony while Aditya and Payal continued to study the photo. Two minutes later Virat emerged from the balcony, looking grim.
“That was Shahid.” He said without preamble. “The picture isn't a hoax. They found the dead body outside an IT office in Nehru Place.”
* * *
Inspector Shahid Khan felt exhausted as he settled behind his desk at the police station. It was three in the afternoon the day after the selfie murder, and he had not had his lunch yet.
“Thought you might appreciate this,” Virat said as he came over, holding a plate of samosas. Shahid gratefully seized the plate and began to devour the food. “How does the case look so far?”
“This was a nasty one,” Shahid said, leaning back in his chair with a samosa in hand. “And by nasty I don't mean brutal. The murder was carried out in a very neat and orderly fashion. That's what made my skin crawl. It looked like a butcher's shop window rather than a crime scene.”
“Any leads on the killer?”
“None at all.” Shahid frowned as he bit into a second samosa. “Victim was Bobby Singh, a college student who worked in his father's computer shop in the afternoons. Quiet, studious kid. No known enemies. No Demands or threats were made on the family before the murder. Just the one night he stayed behind every week to put new supplies in order. The killer lured him out to the staircase outside the closed office one floor below and killed him.”
“What's the press being told?” Virat asked.
“Nothing that will satisfy them,” Shahid grunted. “This is the most publicized murder in the department's history. And that's before we found the body. They'll have a field day with this one.”
The next few days proved him right. The news media seized upon the Nehru Place murder with glee. The headline 'The Selfie Murder' graced the front page of every newspaper and breaking news report video. The victim was soon turned into a martyred symbol of youth snatched away in its bloom, and the police's inability to discover the killer turned into a mocking exercise.
“This thing just keeps blowing up bigger and bigger,” Payal remarked a week after the selfie was first posted as she surfed Facebook. Someone had posted a picture of Bobby Singh captioned 'Never Forget. RIP'. “People from all over the planet are discussing the murder. They're calling it the most sensational murder in online history. The police still haven't found anything?”
“Not a single lead,” Virat said. “There's no evidence of any kind that the kid had ever harmed a soul in his life. The media is making the police out to be incompetent buffoons, but there really are no clues to go on in the investigation.”
“I don't think this was a case where the killer was someone from the victim's past,” Aditya commented, settling into the beanbag chair as he nursed a cup of tea in his hands. “Whoever did this was looking for some attention. That's why the selfie was posted online. And it looks like he got his wish.”
* * *
Three weeks later, the news about the murder began to subside. A lack of fresh clues, coupled with the press being unable to unearth any gossip-worthy incidents from the victim's former life made conjuring up fresh newsbytes difficult. The victim had been cremated in a private ceremony. His photos had stopped appearing on Facebook walls. A fresh scandal erupted concerning an actress and a politician that seized the media's attention.
And then, just as the storm over the picture seemed about to die down, another selfie surfaced on Twitter. The scene was similar to the first, with the killer wearing the same mask while taking the picture, one arm around his dead victim. But this time the room was brightly lit. Symbols of Facebook and other social media were scrawled on the floor around the victim and scrawled over. A picture of Che Guevara and Mahatma Gandhi had been morphed into a single picture and stuck in the wall behind the victim. Beneath the selfie was the hashtag #StayTuned. It was trending at the first position in less than an hour.
“Stay tuned,” Virat muttered as he stared at the picture shown in enlarged form by a slide projector. “That means there'll be more of these.”
“Looks like it,” Aditya said. He and Virat were sitting in the police presentation hall along with several other officers for an emergency meeting called by the police chief. Inspector Khurana walked into the room and made his way to the wall where the selfie was projected as chatter among the audience died down.
“This picture proves the first selfie wasn't an isolated event.” He said, gazing out at the room. “Just like the victim in the first murder, the woman who was murdered this time had no known enemies. We need all the help we can get in tracing this criminal. I want all the departments to pool their resources on the murders. Witness reports, forensic analysis, everything. This case is our number one priority at the moment.” Inspector Khurana stared grimly at the room at large. “We have another serial killer on our hands.”
* * *
In college, they had been taught about viral marketing, where a product or symbol was made to penetrate the consciousness of the masses by relentless, round-the-clock ad campaigns. Every major brand, from Coca-Cola to Google used the strategies. With the advent of the internet, the term had taken a whole new dimension. The more your product was in the news, the more it was shared and liked and reposted, the bigger your brand.
Even if that brand was murder.
It hadn't been easy. Not at all. These weren't amateur murders carried out by mindless dolts which could be easily traced. He had always had a strong taste for the macabre. He had seen dozens of films on the subject. He had spent many hours on internet sites dedicated to the lives of famous killers. He knew how murderers were caught. Only working within a specific area. Leaving traces of their personal effects behind. Getting spotted by passersby.
He was never going to be as stupid. He had prepared carefully for each of his projects. Stalking them for days. Staking out their workplaces. Learning their routines. Following them without alarming them. Learning ways to lure them to him. And then there was the actual execution of the project. The clothes to wear in order to blend in. The security cameras to avoid. The spare knife in his back pocket in case of an emergency. Planning what he wanted to say through each selfie. Setting up the picture to include all the details. It had all been very difficult. All except the killing part. That had been surprisingly easy. A tingling sensation in his arm as he gripped the knife, a quick slash through the jugular vein., and it was over...
Nevertheless, now was not the time to let success go to his head. The campaign so far had been a major success. But he had lost the element of surprise. The police were on the lookout, and he would have to be doubly careful when he went out hunting again.
* * *
For the last few days, Aditya had taken to disappearing from the station in the morning and getting back home late at night. Virat was too busy to check up on him. He was working with Shahid to question the personnel at the buildings where the murders had taken place. It was a slow, frustrating process. Witnesses were hard to come by, and the places where the murders took place were usually so crowded that it was impossible to pinpoint any one individual acting suspiciously.
Virat returned home late one night several days after the second murder. Aditya was still out, and he went upstairs to Payal's apartment.
“Did you get back late from the office, too?” He asked after she had let him in.
“They've got us working overtime covering the selfie murders,” Payal said. “Where's Aditya? He didn't come back with you?”
“He's been out all day,” Virat said. “He's allowed to work on his own time, so I'm guessing he's following leads on the case that the regular police can't.”
Aditya returned to their apartment an hour later. Virat was sitting in the living room reading the newspaper when he came in and went straight to the fridge and took out a bottle of chilled water, taking several gulps before setting the bottle down on the kitchen counter.
“Did you find anything useful?” Virat asked as he moved slowly over to the living room.
“Mostly negatives,” Aditya said, sinking into his favorite beanbag chair. He leaned back with his eyes closed. “But they're important negatives. I'm trying to get an idea of just how deep his reach into the city's administration is.”
“Who?” Virat asked, confused. “The selfie killer's reach?”
“No, X's,” Aditya said. “He's got far more civil services men on his payroll than we'd imagined.”
“So, wait.” Virat stared at him incredulously. “You've been looking for X this whole time?”
“It's a convenient opportunity,” Aditya said, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. “Everyone's talking about the selfie murders, and that's where the police are concentrating as well. I don't need to tell you several police officers are on X’s payroll. It's a good time to ask some innocuous questions without drawing the attention of too many people.”
“And what about the selfie killer?”
“What about him?” Aditya continued staring vacantly at the ceiling.
“All this time, I thought you were working on finding the guy behind those pictures!” Virat didn't try to keep the anger out of his voice. “Everyone else is going crazy searching for the murderer before he kills again. You're the guy most qualified to deal with serial killers, and you're acting like you can't be bothered with it. In the Bhandipur case, we kept searching for Bala all over Delhi until we found him. And this time you're lying on your ass like you expect the guy to come to you by post!”
A ringing silence followed the outburst. Aditya continued gazing silently at the ceiling. Finally, he spoke. “Karmath and Buddhijeevi.”
“What?”
“Meaning 'The one who works' and 'The one who thinks'.” Aditya translated, leaning forward, at last, to look at Virat. “There's a time for action and a time for thinking, and there's nothing to be gained from mixing the two. The selfie case is incomplete at the moment. We have very little data to work with. The police is running around Delhi, trying to find answers in the real world, while our killer has made his home in the virtual world. Right now, all we can do is deliberate on what we know, and wait for the killer to make another move. What this case needs at the moment is the Buddhejeevi.”
“What's there to think about here?” Virat demanded. “It's a serial killer, the same as the Bandipur case. We need to get moving to catch him, just like we did with Soura.”
“No, this is different.” Aditya's hands folded under his chin as his brow furrowed. “Soura's work showed no planning or forethought, and that's why we were able to trace him. He was a simple-minded, illiterate man whose killing instinct was a result of rage. The selfie murders were committed because of a desire to show off. The killer wants the whole world to know him. He wants fame, even if it is fame by proxy. He's intelligent and educated, and he's using the notoriety gained from the murders to feed his ego.”
Virat stared at Aditya silently for a moment, considering his words. “If this selfie thing is just a way to feed his ego, why did it have to involve murder? Why did he choose a stunt that he knows will end with a noose around his neck if he gets caught?”
“Because he's convinced he won't get caught, and murder gets the most eyeballs.” Aditya shrugged. “Just turn on the news and see for yourself. When the public gets hold of a gruesome and perverted killing, they don't turn away in horror. They seize upon it and discuss it day and night. Experts are brought in on special news panels for their opinions. The police report is dissected and analyzed. The media feeds on the crime for days. And the killer feeds on the attention.”
“So we can't do anything except wait for him to kill again?”
“We can continue to study his methods to understand how his mind works.” Aditya sat up in his chair and finally looked at Virat. “Each new murder is bringing us closer to identifying his triggers. With every new selfie, he's showing us a little more of how his mind works. No matter how ugly the picture might be, we need to wait till it grows more complete before we make our move.”
* * *
“He was such an intelligent boy.” His mother was saying tearfully. She was on the phone with another of her friends, one more indistinguishable, middle-aged aunty from the kitty party pack. They were discussing the marriage of the aunty's son who was a doctor. The conversation had inevitably led to comparisons of the doctor's son to him and what a disappointment he was.“Everyone said so. We had such high hopes for him. And now, we can't even talk about his marriage. One of the first things the girl's parents ask is, what are his qualifications and what does he earn? What are we supposed to say to that?”
He ignored her, silently logging onto the internet. Ever since he'd started posting the selfies, it had become easier to endure her ramblings of how he had let down the family's hopes and dreams.
He routed his server through the proxy site and went to google. He typed in 'Selfie Killer'.
Immediately, he was flooded with results. Breaking news, not just from India but the outside world as well breathlessly covered his work. Social sites were endlessly sharing and commenting on his pictures. The net was flooded with memes and parodies of his work, from a picture of a cat wearing a mask captioned 'Can I Haz Selfie?' to fake pictures created by college students to mimic his. Internet celebrities were recording videos of their reaction to the photos and writing blogs about the murders. Everyone was trying to get on the Selfie Killer bandwagon. But he wasn't worried. He'd just make a new account to upload the next installment in his project. He was the center of the online maelstrom, and no one else could supply what he could.
Exiting the net, he rose from his desk and went to his room. Time to get to work again. There were more pictures to plan.
* * *
The third selfie surfaced quicker than the second had. This time the virtual world was expecting it, and within minutes the picture had spread throughout the world. The online conversation began in less than an hour and soon reached the print and television media. There were calls for banning Facebook and other social media to stop the crimes.
“Where was the body found this time?” Virat asked Shahid.
“Bamrauli.” Shahid tossed them a folder containing the photo in enlarged form at the top. “These are fresh wounds. Victim was killed very recently.”
“He doesn't like to wait too long after the murder to post the selfies,” Virat commented as he examined the photo. “In case someone discovers the body and the press leaks the news before him. Who was the victim?”
“Auto shop owner,” Shahid said. “Solid family man. No known enemies. In no way connected to the other two victims.”
“Is Aditya here?”
“He's been locked up in the conference room all day,” Shahid said, rising from his desk. “Let's see if he's found anything.” He led the way to the room.
They found Aditya standing before a huge map of Delhi in the room. He had the laptop open and was muttering to himself as he crossed off locations on the map.
“What do you two make of the latest selfie?” He asked without turning.
“There's a random order to these murders that's throwing me off,” Virat said, coming to stand next to Aditya. Certain parts had been crossed off, others had question marks, while yet others were small ticks next to them.
“I think that was the intended effect,” Aditya remarked, going over to the laptop. “What about the symbols arranged around the body?”
“I recognized some of them,” Shahid said. “There didn't seem any order to the symbols, either. All I got from the photo was that he doesn't seem to like Facebook. Maybe he's a former employee?”
“No, this isn't a crime of revenge. It seems more a philosophical stand against social media. Depression from Facebook use is a well-documented phenomenon. People usually like to post good news about themselves, from marriage to foreign trips to promotions. This tends to give the impression that only good things are happening to them, resulting in the people reading their posts feeling dissatisfied with their own lives. The killer might be one such disillusioned user.”
“And what about the other symbols?” Virat asked.
“There has been an increase in the number of symbols appearing in the selfies,” Aditya said. “I think that was deliberate. And I think that's the killer's ego at play. He's got the world looking at his work, so he wants it to have greater meaning and significance. A more expansive canvas, so to speak. The large variety of topics on display are a hallmark of the digital age. The internet has taken the dissemination of knowledge to unprecedented levels. Anyone with a net connection can look up information on the most obscure topic. But that's also given rise to a new wave of scholars who think reading an online article about a subject and looking up its Wikipedia entry makes them experts on the matter. That was why there's been a recent surge in patients who think they can research their symptoms online and diagnose their illness better than the doctors.”
“There is an invaluable upside to the number of symbols.” Aditya continued. “They give a very clear idea of the type of mind we're dealing with. Subject is male. Late teens to early twenties. Intelligent and well acquainted with computers. Exhibits qualities of narcissism and exhibitionism, with a strong possibility of an oedipal complex as well as paranoid delusions. Active in the online world, withdrawn, and anti-social in the real world. Obsessive-compulsive with retarded social skills.”
“Is there a discernible pattern to his choice of victims?” Shahid asked, studying the locations tick marked on the map.
“There must be.” Aditya said. “These murders required planning. The killer knew of the movements of the victim and made his plan accordingly. The killer chose people from wildly different sections of Delhi to throw us off. But there must be some common link between them that connected them to him.
* * *
The hours leading up to the deadline were always the most nerve-wracking. He had seen many presentations go south because the speaker got nervous. So many things to double-check. So many things to keep in mind. Last time his strike had been sloppy. The cut in the neck had looked very untidy. He would have to be careful not to strike too soon this time.
He spotted his prey coming out of the metro. A professor at IIT Delhi who made a detour every Saturday to Lonalva to meet his mistress. He anticipated quite a lot of outrage for this one. It would have been far easier to find victims among the laborers and rickshaw pullers. But he had studied the recent case of the killer who broke his victim's legs. That case only got attention after a famous producer became a victim. First rule of business was to know your market. You needed someone from the middle class or higher up to make the media give a damn...
He set off after his prey, keeping at least ten yards away as the two weaved through the crowded metro. They moved up the stairs and onto Khairad street. The professor set off in the direction of the taxis idling on the next block.
He sped up and walked rapidly up to his prey, giving him a tap on his shoulder. “Excuse me, Professor Shukla?”
The man gave a start and turned. The panicked guilt in his eyes turned to relieved recognition. “Aren't you... weren't you in one of my classes?”
“Yes, sir. You taught me thermodynamics for a couple of semesters.” They kept walking as the man fumbled around in his memory for the name of his former student.
“I just saw you coming out of the tunnel and thought I'd say hi.” He spoke before the professor could say anything further. He took a deep breath, his expression turning grave. “Actually, sir, there was also something else. When you were teaching my class, there was a class assignment that you gave me low marks on. I was really angry about those marks, and we had a big argument about it in front of the class. I said a lot of rude things to you that day.”
“Really?” The man looked puzzled. “I'm afraid I don't recall-”
“The memory of that incident has been preying on my mind ever since.” He cut in, speaking in a low voice filled with emotion. “I've always fetl so guilty about talking disrespectfully to one of the best teachers I've ever had the privilege of studying under. I'm very sorry, sir.” Before the man could react, he had reached down and touched his feet for a long moment, then rose and joined his hands before him.
“That's all right, my boy.” The man said with a gratified smile, patting his shoulder. “We all make mistakes. I don't even remember the incident. You are most definitely forgiven.”
“Thank you so much sir.” He smiled gratefully, then glanced at his watch. “Well, I need to get going. I'm on my way to Nehru Place to get my laptop back. The keyboard wasn't working. It was so good to see you again, sir.”
“Nehru Place?” The professor hesitated, glancing over his shoulder to the next block where the taxis waited. “Listen, could you give me a lift up to Jamal Chowk? I'm... meeting a colleague there, and I'm running late.”
“Of course, sir. I'd be delighted. If you could just wait here a moment while I get my car.” He hitched his backpack more securely over his shoulder and made his way towards the parking area.
A minute later, he had brought the car around to the curb. The Professor got in the front seat next to him. He started to say something, then stopped in surprise, staring at his hands.
He laughed, raising both arms to display his hands encased in surgical gloves. “Can you believe how germophobic my brother-in-law is? Just because I have a bit of a cold he insisted I wear gloves while driving his car, so I wouldn't leave any germs on the steering wheel. I'm glad he didn't make me wear a mask, too.”
“Some people can be paranoid that way.” The professor chuckled as the car inched its way out of the curb. “I have a brother who is a doctor, and he treats his home like a surgery room. Why, one time...” He kept smiling and nodding while the professor droned on. The car moved out of the side curb and began to make its way along the main road.
* * *
Aditya, Virat, and Shahid stood in Inspector Khurana''s office. It had been three days since the fourth selfie had surfaced, and the chief inspector looked exhausted from the round of press conferences and official meetings related to the case that he had attended. “I'm hoping there's been some progress on the case, Shahid?”
“Investigations are still underway, sir,” Shahid said. “The car the fourth murder took place in was stolen a few hours before the murder from its owner, who was at the hospital with his pregnant wife during the time the murder took place. The killer jimmied the door open and hotwired the engine. We didn't find any fingerprints inside the car. The victim got into the car willingly, which means he knew the killer. Possibly a student of the professor's, or a colleague. We've determined an intersection near Howrah bridge that formed a part of the three earlier victim's daily commutes. The intersection is located at the center of an IT hub. We think the killer works in one of those offices. That's where he tracked their movements from.”
“Any clues as to his identity?”
“The security cameras outside the hospital yielded no results on that front, sir,” Virat said. “But Aditya has created a psychological profile.”
“How will that help us catch the killer?” The chief inspector's eyes were impatient as they turned to Aditya. “Do we know who he is?”
“No, sir,” Aditya said.
“Where he lives? A physical description?”
Aditya shook his head. “No, sir.”
Inspector Khurana gazed at him in exasperation. “So what do you know?”
“I know a bit about his psychology,” Aditya said evenly. “I know what he wants out of these selfies. I have a plan for bringing him out into the open. I've triangulated the area of operation of the killer based on his MO, signature, and victimology. We have a list of individuals within that area who match the emotional, physical, and psychological description closely enough to be considered suspects. We'll need to keep a surveillance watch on them. But there's a catch. Fifty-seven individuals made it to the list.”
The others stared at him. “Fifty-seven? That's all you can narrow the suspect list down to?”
“Considering the millions who live in this city, I consider fifty-seven pretty narrow,” Aditya said. “Sir, there's no way to determine exactly which of these is the killer. Who knows, it might not be any one of them. Psychology isn't an exact science. We're dealing with probability here. I can't tell you who the next victim will be, or where the murder will take place. All I can tell you is that one of these is probably the selfie killer.”
“So how do we know which of the people on the list is the killer?” Shahid demanded. “We don't have the manpower needed for indefinite surveillance on all fifty-seven individuals. What can we do to stop the next murder?”
“We can decide the date on which it takes place,” Aditya said.
* * *
The news broke a few days later. The social sites were flooded with similar news pieces. The hashtag, #SelfieKillerExposed was the number one trend on Twitter, not just in India but the world.
News bytes emerged in bits and pieces. The killer had willingly walked into the police station and given himself up. He had admitted to the crimes, and described details about the murders known only the killer could have known. Speculations were rife as to his identity, from a disgruntled facebook employee to the janitor at the Rashtra Pati Bhavan.
Pictures emerged soon of the man standing next to Chief Inspector of Delhi, Mr. Ajit Khurana. He was a small, thin man with a rapidly balding head and thick prescription glasses encasing a pair of, particularly protuberant eyes. The press seized upon the unlikely appearance of the ruthless serial killer with glee. The picture was run on every news channel, with experts on face reading being called in to examine his face and determine the reason behind his crimes. Swami Madhav's conclusion was that he was under the influence of the malevolent planet Saturn, and needed to wear a ring made of green gemstone to return to his senses.
* * *
He kept hammering on the front door until his mother opened it. She stared at him in surprise. “Why aren't you at work? Did they leave you early today?”
He ignored her, striding over to the television. It was already on. He grabbed the remote and turned to the news channels. The same news was being discussed on every show. The selfie killer had exposed himself.
He left a rising sense of fury as he stared at the man standing next to the Chief Inspector in the picture. This was the man everyone thought was the selfie killer? This loathsome, reptilian mouth breather? He didn't look like he had the brains to tie his own shoelaces, let alone plan and execute the selfie killings!
“I was talking to Lata on the phone.” His mother was telling him as she settled on the sofa. “Her daughter is coming to visit her from New York. She married a surgeon, you know. They have a house with an indoor pool.”
He ignored her, flipping through the news channels to discover any more information about the imposter.
“Lata said she's bringing her a mink coat that's been prepared specially at Tiffany's.”
There it was again. The face of the man who was stealing credit for the project he had slaved over. His hands balled into fists until his knuckles whitened as he stared at the dull-eyed visage onscreen.
“I asked her where she would wear a mink coat to in India, but she said it's the thought that counts-”
“OH SHUT UP!” He roared, dashing the remote to the ground as he rounded on her. “I don't care! I don't care what that whale of a woman said or who's bringing what for her. I don't care what your friends said or what their children are doing, or what they think about me. I DONT. CARE!” There was a tingling in his arm as he stared down at his cowering mother. She was staring up at him with a mixture of surprise and terror, for once at a loss for words. He felt something he had never felt in her presence before. A euphoric, overwhelming sense of power. It would be so easy... But no. He had to make plans. He couldn't let this unexpected development make him sloppy. There would be time enough to deal with his mother once he'd shown the world the real selfie killer.
He stalked out of the room without a word, leaving his mother to turn her trembling gaze towards the broken remains of the remote control on the floor.
* * *
Operation Selfie was the largest covert operation in the history of the Delhi police station. Usually, as with the case of security for a visiting politician, the public was made aware of the police's involvement. But this time they needed to stay undercover and hidden. Officers from surrounding districts were called in and sworn to silence. Plainclothes officers in unmarked cars were stationed at strategic intervals around the area marked out by Aditya. The resources and manpower staked on that one day were immense.
On the day of the operation, Aditya sat with Payal in her apartment. They were waiting for Virat to get ready and join them. A police car was waiting at the intersection to take them to their designated locations for the day. The Selfie Killer interview was going to air tonight on Payal's news channel.
Aditya had filled Payal in on what they knew about the killer and the police's preparations for the day. Payal stared at Aditya as he told her about the list of suspects. “There are fifty-seven potential serial killers in the city I grew up in?”
Aditya studied the table while he considered his words. “No, there are far more. These are just the ones who match the profile of the Selfie Killer. The human brain is an incredibly delicate instrument. Doesn't take much for something to snap. And of course, there are those who are simply born without that little voice in their head that says no to performing certain acts.”
Payal nodded soberly. Virat entered the room and looked at the two. “Everyone ready?”
“Sure,” Aditya said as he and Payal rose to their feet. “Let's go.”
They left the apartment and made their way through the street to the intersection. Houses ranged on both sides as they walked down the street. Children played outside their homes and an elderly neighbor nodded and smiled at them as he passed by.
“It all looks so peaceful,” Payal said in a low voice. “And to think the selfie killer probably grew up in a colony like this one.”
“The most peaceful environment can have a violent person living in it without anyone knowing about it until something happens,” Virat said. “You can't chase after the criminal without the crime. That's what we're trying to do today, too.”
“Where have you been stationed for the day?” Payal asked him.
“I'll be in a surveillance van, keeping an eye on Aditya.”
“You know, van duty's going to be pretty boring,” Aditya remarked to him. “You could've followed one of the other suspects.”
“So could you have,” Virat said. “But you chose this guy. And I think it's because you consider him the prime suspect.”
“I do,” Aditya admitted. “I have no actual evidence that makes him more qualified for the spot. But I found his case file particularly interesting. Something tells me he's our man.” He shrugged. “Maybe I'm completely wrong. Maybe this whole exercise will turn out to be a waste and we'll just have another murder on our hands. But we'll find out soon enough. Now there's nothing to do but to get to work.”
“Let the karmath one have his day,” Virat remarked, and Aditya grinned.
“Exactly.”
* * *
The street lamps on the outer perimeter of Manto park shone like beacons in the moonless night. A few stragglers still hung around the park. A couple whispering together, holding hands. A man in an overcoat sitting hunched on a bench and dozing off. A man intently playing a game on his mobile. It was a little after ten at night, and the park was even emptier than usual. There was a television shop across the road which was broadcasting the Selfie killer interview, and a crowd had gathered around it.
He stood watching the huddled mass outside the television shop, wondering how they could fall for the imposter's pathetic stunt. He was curious to see what kind of a story the man was trying to sell, but first, he had work to do. Very soon now, a new selfie was going to emerge online, and then the world would know the real Selfie Killer was still at large.
He spotted his prey. A restaurant manager who worked nighttime in a cell phone call center, and took the shortcut through the park to save time.
He moved out of the shadow of the tree and began to follow his prey. The man was hurrying through the park, an eye on his watch, oblivious to his surroundings. Soon he would walk through the tunnel beneath the decorational bridge to the side of the park. He would go in through one side of the tunnel, but would not come out the other.
Suddenly, a loud cough broke the stillness of the night. The man with the hunched shoulders and overcoat was walking slowly over the bridge and coughing into a handkerchief. His prey jumped, then turned. He had managed to stuff the knife into his pocket in time, but something in his expression seemed to have alerted his prey. The man had the same expression on his face as his mother had earlier. He gave him a single terrified look and abruptly changed direction, practically running towards the north side of the park.
No no no no no no NO! He watched his prey making his way to the gate he had come through earlier. A few more seconds and he would emerge onto the street. He could see his opportunity slipping out of his hands. It was all going wrong. With every passing second his carefully arranged plan was coming unraveled.
But no. There was still time to salvage the project. The other man, the one in the overcoat going deeper into the shadows under the trees of the park. He could take the place of the man he had unwittingly saved. There was still time to meet the deadline, expose the imposter, and present his greatest creation to the world. Before his mind could argue, he had moved swiftly into the shadows after the hunched man.
There was absolute silence in the moonless night as the two lone figures left the noise of the nearby street behind. They might have been the last two people on Earth. The distance between the two was rapidly closing, and he was no longer making an effort to stay silent. The knife in his hand was rising in the air, as a tingling sensation ran up and down his arm. The other man stopped walking and turned in time to see the figure bearing down upon him, the blade of the knife glinting in the faint light.
The knife swung in a deadly arc. And then his hand was stopped midway, his wrist seized in a grip of iron. Another hand gripped his shoulder, and as he struggled to get loose, his backpack was wrenched off his back. A foot shot out at explosive speed, catching him in his midriff, the force of the kick sending his body flying. His back hit the tree trunk and he collapsed to the ground.
The hunched figure in front of him straightened, and the heavy overcoat was dropped to reveal a muscular physique. A pair of glasses glinted in the faint light and the man picked up his fallen backpack while he lay panting on the ground.
“Interesting thing, a backpack,” Aditya remarked, opening the zip and peering inside. “It tells you quite a lot about the personality of its owner. So does the modus operandi of a killer.”
The figure in front of him scrambled upright. In the faint light, he could make out a tall, thin youth with large hands and feet. The face did not seem to have decided yet whether it belonged to a child or a man. A weak chin was covered with stubble that grew in uncertain patches. The cheeks were scarred by acne. But the eyes looking back at Aditya were dark and merciless.
“Not a very convenient place for a photo session, is it?” Aditya asked, taking off his glasses and placing them in his pocket. “But I imagine it's hard to find a place in the city that's suitable for selfies as well as murders.”
His mind was in a freefall, his heart hammering in fear as his former prey continued to study him. The man knew. He had known all along. It was a trap! How could he have been discovered?
His hand found the spare knife in his back pocket and he charged, swinging wildly at the man. His former prey ducked and stepped to the side. A leg rammed into his shin, causing him to stumble. Again his hand was held and bent back at an excruciating angle. The knife dropped, and he was gripped by his collar behind his neck and back and flung bodily away.
He got up then and ran, blindly and in no particular direction, not realizing that he was not being chased. His attacker had taken out his mobile and was speaking into it.
He burst out of the park onto the street. Passerbys stared at him as he ran in blind fear. Cars honked and stopped suddenly as he appeared in their path. And then a van stopped directly in front of him. The door was pulled back. Inside sat men in police uniforms. The man in front wearing plainclothes stared at him grimly.
“Hello, Abhimanyu.” Said Virat. “Why don't you come with us to the police station? We'd like a picture with you, too.”
* * *
Aditya, Virat, and Payal sat in Payal's apartment the night after Operation Selfie was completed.
“Here's the brief on the operation,” Aditya said, handing the file over to Payal. She opened it and scanned the front page, which held a picture of the Selfie Killer in lockup.
Payal's help had been invaluable to the operation. It was she who had helped set up a meeting with her news channel and had got the head to agree to assist the police in setting up the dummy interview. In return, Payal and her channel would get first-hand information about the entire operation upon its completion.
“He's so young,” Payal said in wonder as she stared at the picture. “He looks like the kid who comes to fix my cable.”
“That's because he is young,” Virat said. “His name is Abhimanyu Saxena. He's twenty-three years old. A sociopath, according to Aditya.”
“Among a bunch of other things,” Aditya said. “He was an IIT student of computer science. Top of the class, and captain of the ethical hacking club. Everyone predicted a bright future for him. He was offered a spot with Google to work for them after college, but he dropped out in the middle of his third year to create his own startup. He started a company designing software translating English and Hindi phrases for call center employees.”
“Things worked out for a while. But then the multinational corporations started shifting call centers from India to the Philippines. The company started sinking. Investors began to panic. Abhimanyu tried to rally his team but was accused of being tyrannical and bullying. He'd always compensated for his lack of social skills with his intelligence, but that suddenly wasn't enough. One by one, his employees left him. His investors withdrew funding. His company broke apart, and he spent his shares paying off the debts he'd incurred setting up his offices. He had no college degree, and no option but to work at the call center he'd once supplied software to.”
“And so there he was, at the age of twenty-one, stuck at home with a bossy and deeply disappointed mother, working a job he loathed for a pittance. Meanwhile, his friends from IIT got jobs with six-figure salaries, while others got married and started families. Abhimanyu would go on Facebook to see them posting pictures of foreign trips, newly born babies, and job promotions. His sense of injustice and self-loathing increased.”
“So then he got up one day and just started... murdering random people?” Payal asked with a frown.
“No, first came the depression,” Aditya said. “We've had a look at his online history, and he seemed to have quite the fascination with crime, especially murder. There came a time when he quit all forms of social media and started finding solace in visiting the sites of famous serial killers. Slowly the idea of the selfie killings came to his mind. They combined his fascination with murderers with his burning desire to become famous. He started plotting the murders and selecting victims in his spare time to escape the drudgery of his personal life. One thought led to another. What started as a fantasy started looking more and more plausible and attractive. And then one night it started.”
“Then later he became jealous of Rajat taking credit for his crimes?” Payal asked. Rajat Pahwa was the sub constable who had agreed to appear as the selfie killer in the news pictures and on the interview, in return for a medal and a handsome check from the Delhi Police.
“This was always a crime motivated by Abhimanyu's frustrated ambitions,” Aditya said. “He wanted to live up to the potential his career had once possessed. When he couldn't have money or fame, he decided to settle for notoriety.”
Payal fell silent again as she flipped through the rest of the report. Outside the window, the night sky shone full of stars.
“It's a relief to know the selfie killer won't be out hunting tonight,” Virat remarked, watching the sky.
“But what about the other fifty-six suspects?” Payal asked suddenly, looking up at Aditya. “How do we know one of them won't become a killer next?”
“We don't.” Aditya shrugged. “And so we do the only thing we can. We wait and watch. And we stay ready.”
