Who Was She?

The cool breeze of the late evening swirled around the rooftop of a nine-story apartment building, carrying with it an eerie silence that seemed to press against the world below. At the edge of the rooftop, gripping the railing with trembling hands, stood Dr. Nishat. The faint glow of the city lights cast shadows across her face, highlighting the terror in her wide, glassy eyes.

Her body shivered, sweat beading on her forehead and dripping down her temples despite the chill in the air. Her lips moved frantically, her voice a low murmur, almost inaudible against the wind.

"I didn't do it… I didn't," she muttered, her voice cracking. Her gaze darted from the railing to the empty void below, then back to the roof tiles. "No… no… don't touch me. Stay away!"

Her breaths came in ragged gasps, and she gripped the railing tighter as if trying to steady herself. But her feet shifted closer to the edge, almost involuntarily. Her mind was a whirl of fragmented thoughts, each one sharper and darker than the last.

A sudden noise—a sharp clang of metal—caused her to jolt, her body jerking like a puppet on strings. Her muttering grew louder, more frantic. "No! Don't come near me! I didn't—"

The sound of her scream tore through the night, cutting through the quiet like a knife.

The sickening thud of her body hitting the ground echoed in the narrow street below. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, like a dam breaking, chaos erupted.

People poured out of the apartment building, their faces pale with fear and confusion. Neighbors whispered in hushed tones; their eyes fixed on the horrifying sight before them.

Lying on the road, illuminated by the harsh glare of a streetlamp, was Dr. Nishat's lifeless body. Her arms were bent at unnatural angles, her head turned sharply to the side, a pool of blood spreading beneath it. The stark red against the gray pavement was almost too much to bear.

"She jumped!" someone whispered, their voice trembling.

"Oh my God… she's dead!" another said, covering their mouth in horror.

The security guard of the building pushed through the growing crowd, his hands shaking as he tried to keep people back. "Stay away! Don't touch anything!" he barked, his voice hoarse.

It didn't take long for the news to spread. Within an hour, reporters and camera crews swarmed the scene, their microphones thrust forward as they shouted questions at anyone who looked remotely involved.

"Was this a suicide?"

"Do you know the victim?"

"Is there foul play suspected?"

Flashes from cameras lit up the street, capturing the grim tableau from every angle. The growing buzz of speculation only added to the tension, the air thick with unanswered questions.

By the time Police Inspector Kavin Peterson arrived, the crowd had doubled in size, spilling onto the street and causing traffic to grind to a halt. Kavin, a tall man with sharp features and a commanding presence, stepped out of his car, his expression grim as he took in the scene.

His colleague, Inspector Anderson, walked up to him, holding a notepad. "The victim has been identified as Dr. Nishat. She lived in this building, on the ninth floor. The security guard confirmed her identity."

Kavin nodded, his eyes scanning the scene with a practiced gaze. "What do we know about her?"

Anderson hesitated before answering. "She's a doctor at Kolkata General Hospital. But there's more…" He lowered his voice. "She was implicated in a murder that happened four days ago at the hospital."

Kavin's brows furrowed. "A murder? Who was the victim?"

"A patient," Anderson said. "A man named Newton. She was his attending physician."

Kavin's jaw tightened. "That complicates things. Let's figure out what led her to this. Start with her background. Get her family details."

Anderson handed Kavin a piece of paper. "Here's the contact information for her ex-husband."

Kavin stepped aside, dialing the number. It rang twice before a male voice answered, sharp and impatient.

"Hello?"

"Is this Mr. Fernando Torres?" Kavin asked, his tone professional.

"Yes. Who's asking?"

"This is Inspector Kavin Peterson with the Kolkata Police. I regret to inform you that Dr. Nishat, your ex-wife, has passed away."

There was a long pause on the line before Torres responded, his voice flat. "We're divorced. I haven't spoken to her in years. She's not my responsibility."

Kavin's lips pressed into a thin line. "I understand you're no longer involved, but as her next of kin—"

"She's not my next of kin," Torres interrupted sharply. "She left me, Inspector. Blocked me on everything—phone, Messenger, WhatsApp. She wanted a new life, and I gave it to her. We've been done for years."

In the background, Kavin heard the faint sound of a woman's voice.

"Come to me, baby! I need you now!"

Kavin's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Torres, are you remarried?"

"Yes, I am," Torres said, his tone unapologetic. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have no interest in revisiting the past. Good night."

The line went dead before Kavin could respond.

Kavin sighed, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He turned to Anderson, who was waiting nearby.

"Her ex-husband's a dead end," Kavin said. "He's remarried, wants nothing to do with her."

Anderson nodded, jotting down a note. "What's the next move?"

"We head to the hospital," Kavin said, his tone resolute. "If she was involved in a murder there, that might give us the answers we're looking for."

The drive to the hospital was silent, the weight of the case pressing heavily on Kavin's mind. The rain had eased slightly, but the streets were still slick, the city shrouded in a gray haze.

As they pulled up to the hospital's entrance, Kavin turned to Anderson. "Start with the staff. I want to know everything about this murder and how Dr. Nishat was connected."

The sterile, white walls of Kolkata General Hospital seemed to press inward as Inspector Kavin Peterson stood at the reception desk, his sharp eyes fixed on the woman behind it. The buzz of activity in the hospital lobby, the faint squeak of wheelchairs, and the occasional beeping of distant monitors formed a soundtrack to his simmering thoughts.

Flashing his badge, Kavin leaned slightly over the counter. His tone was firm, yet polite. "I need to speak with the hospital administrators about Dr. Nishat. Can you arrange that?"

The receptionist, a young woman with auburn hair neatly tied into a bun, nodded quickly. Her name tag read Loren Samantha. She pressed a few buttons on the phone, her fingers moving with the efficiency of someone used to constant emergencies.

"Administrators, please report to the reception area immediately," she said into the receiver. Her voice was calm, but her hands fidgeted slightly, betraying a hint of nervousness.

Kavin stepped back, crossing his arms as he surveyed the lobby. The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting a pale glow over the polished floors. A gurney rolled past, the wheels squeaking as two nurses rushed a patient toward the emergency wing.

"Inspector Peterson?" A voice drew Kavin's attention.

A small group of individuals had gathered, their expressions ranging from concerned to wary. They were dressed in varying shades of professional attire—suits, lab coats, and even a scrubs-clad administrator who looked as though she had been pulled from a meeting.

Kavin stepped forward, his commanding presence silencing the murmurs among them. "I'm here regarding Dr. Nishat," he began. "I need to know everything about her professional conduct, her relationships with patients, and any irregularities you may have noticed in her behavior."

The oldest of the group, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and thick glasses, cleared his throat. "Inspector, Dr. Nishat was an exceptional doctor. Dedicated, compassionate, and skilled. She worked long hours and always put her patients first."

Another administrator, a woman in her forties with sharp features, nodded in agreement. "I can't recall any complaints against her, either from patients or staff. She was well-respected."

The man in scrubs spoke next, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and sadness. "If anything, she overworked herself. She was always here, even on weekends. She'd step in to help with emergencies, even when it wasn't her shift."

Kavin's sharp gaze moved from one face to the next, searching for cracks in their collective testimony. "And what about her personal life? Did she ever mention anything that seemed… off? Stress, perhaps? Financial troubles?"

The woman with sharp features hesitated. "She was private about her personal life. We knew she had a child—she talked about him occasionally—but beyond that, she kept to herself."

Kavin's brow furrowed. "You're telling me no one noticed anything unusual about her? Nothing at all?"

The group exchanged uneasy glances but shook their heads.

"She was a model employee," the man with glasses said firmly. "Whatever happened to her, it had nothing to do with her work here."

Kavin nodded, though his instincts told him there was more to the story. "Thank you for your time," he said, his voice clipped. "I'll need access to her employee file and a list of her recent patients."

"I'll have it sent to you," the sharp-featured woman said, pulling out a notebook to jot down the request.

As the administrators dispersed, Kavin turned back to Loren at the reception desk. Her auburn hair caught the light as she adjusted her headset, her gaze flickering up to meet his.

"I need to speak with the hospital chairman," Kavin said, his voice steady. "Can you make that happen?"

Loren nodded, her expression calm but curious. She picked up the phone again, dialing a number with practiced ease.

After a few moments, she spoke. "Sir? This is Loren at reception. There's an Inspector Peterson here who'd like to speak with you. It's regarding Dr. Nishat."

There was a pause as she listened to the response, her eyes briefly darting to Kavin before she nodded. "Understood, sir. I'll send him."

Hanging up the phone, she turned back to Kavin, her polite demeanor unwavering. "The chairman said you can meet him in his office. Go straight down this hall, take a left, and his office will be at the end of the corridor."

"Thank you," Kavin said, offering her a brief smile.

As he turned to leave, Loren hesitated. "Inspector Peterson," she called after him.

Kavin stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.

"My name is Loren Samantha," she said, her voice softer now, almost hesitant.

Kavin's lips quirked into a faint smile. "Good to know, Loren."

He resumed walking, his footsteps echoing down the hall. Loren watched him go, her gaze lingering longer than she intended.

Kavin Peterson's footsteps echoed faintly through the hospital corridor as he made his way toward the chairman's office. The corridor was starkly lit, the white walls reflecting the harsh fluorescence in a way that made everything seem too bright, too exposed. The smell of antiseptic and faint traces of burnt material filled the air—it was the Burn Unit.

He slowed his pace, his eyes scanning the small windows of patient rooms on either side. The sight inside one room made him pause.

It was a large cabin, its beds occupied by five patients, each wrapped in layers of gauze and bandages. The burns covered various parts of their bodies, red and raw where skin had been exposed to fire's unforgiving touch. Among them was a woman, her face barely visible beneath the dressings, and a small child whose tiny frame was swaddled in layers of medical care.

Kavin's throat tightened as he stared through the window. He didn't know these people, but he knew their pain.

He turned away abruptly, walking to a nearby bench. Sitting down, he pressed his elbows to his knees, his hands clasped tightly. The air felt heavy, pressing down on him, and he let out a shuddering breath. His mind, unbidden, dragged him back to a time he had tried so hard to forget.

It had been a crisp winter morning. Kavin had stirred awake to the scent of something faintly floral—the shampoo his wife, Nikki, always used. He opened his eyes to find her watching him, her head propped on her hand, her lips curved into a soft, radiant smile.

"Good morning," she said, her voice still husky from sleep.

Kavin smiled back, his heart swelling. "Good morning, beautiful."

She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. "You're so predictable," she teased, pressing her forehead against his. "Always saying the right thing."

He chuckled, holding her tightly. "I mean every word."

Her fingers played absently with his hair as she whispered, "I love you, Kavin."

He looked up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I love you more," he replied, his voice soft but earnest. He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, and then, almost reverently, her chest, as if trying to imprint his affection into her very being.

Nikki laughed, a sound like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Flatterer."

The rest of the morning passed in peaceful domesticity. They ate breakfast together, their son toddling around the table as Nikki alternated between feeding him and eating herself. Kavin left for the police station with a lingering kiss and a promise to be home early.

The day at the station had been busy. Kavin was working a high-profile rape case, one that had garnered media attention and public outrage. He had arrested the main perpetrator just the day before, a known criminal whose influence reached into dangerous circles.

At 10 o'clock, as Kavin was immersed in paperwork, his phone rang. He almost didn't answer, but something in the pit of his stomach told him to pick up.

The voice on the other end was panicked and shrill. "Inspector! Your house—it's on fire! There's—there's someone inside!"

Earlier that evening, Nikki had been in the kitchen, humming softly as she prepared dinner. The smell of curry filled the air, mingling with the faint sound of cartoons playing in the living room.

The doorbell rang. She wiped her hands on a towel, a faint smile on her face as she approached the door. But when she opened it, the sight before her froze her in place.

A group of men stood there; their faces twisted with malice. One of them held a hockey stick, tapping it against his palm with deliberate menace.

"What do you want?" Nikki asked, her voice trembling as she tried to close the door.

The leader of the group smirked. "Oh, we're just here for a little… visit."

Before she could react, the man shoved the door open, sending Nikki stumbling backward.

"No!" she screamed, but the sound was cut short as one of the men struck her across the face with the back of his hand. She fell to the floor, her vision spinning.

The men swarmed into the house, their boots thudding against the hardwood floor as they began smashing furniture and throwing items to the ground. Glass shattered, wood splintered, and the cozy home Nikki had built with Kavin was reduced to chaos in mere moments.

One of the men grabbed her by the arm, pulling her up roughly. Nikki struggled, kicking and scratching, but another man came up behind her and struck her with the hockey stick. Pain exploded in her head, and the world went black.

When she came to, the air was thick with the acrid smell of kerosene. Her head throbbed, her vision blurry, but she could make out the faint sound of laughter.

"Future motherfuckers," one of the men said, his voice dripping with contempt.

Nikki tried to move, but her body refused to obey. She could hear her son crying somewhere in the house, the sound faint but piercing. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to call out, but her voice was a broken whisper.

The men left, slamming the door behind them. Moments later, flames erupted, their orange tongues licking hungrily at the walls and furniture.

By the time Kavin arrived, the house was an inferno. Firefighters were battling the blaze, their hoses spraying powerful streams of water, but the flames seemed insatiable.

Kavin pushed through the crowd, his face pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "My wife! My son! They're inside!"

A firefighter grabbed his arm, trying to hold him back. "Sir, it's too dangerous—"

"I don't care!" Kavin shouted, his voice breaking. "That's my family in there!"

The firefighter's grip tightened. "We're doing everything we can. Please, let us work."

Kavin collapsed to his knees, his hands clawing at his hair as he watched the flames devour the life he had built.

An hour later, the fire was extinguished. The house was a smoldering ruin, blackened beams and ashes all that remained. Five firefighters entered cautiously, their boots crunching against debris.

They emerged minutes later, carrying two charred bodies. Kavin's scream of anguish echoed through the night, raw and guttural.

Kavin blinked, the memory fading as the sounds of the hospital filled his ears again. He was still sitting on the bench outside the large cabin of burn unit, his hands clenched into fists. His breath hitched as he realized his cheeks were wet—tears he hadn't even noticed were streaming down his face.

He took a long, shaky breath, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Slowly, he stood, his legs feeling heavier than before.

The corridor stretched before him, cold and unyielding, and Kavin forced himself to take the next step.

The hallway outside the chairman's office was eerily quiet. The faint hum of the air conditioner was the only sound as Kavin Peterson stood still for a moment, gathering his thoughts. His sharp eyes scanned the door before him. The nameplate, polished to a mirror-like gleam, read:

Leonardo Smith

Chairman, Kolkata General Hospital

Kavin knocked firmly, his knuckles making a crisp sound against the wood.

"Come in," a muffled voice replied.

Kavin pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The office was immaculate, clearly curated with care. A deep brown mahogany desk sat in the center, its surface gleaming under the overhead lights. Behind it, shelves lined with neatly arranged books and framed certificates spoke of professional accomplishment. A plush leather chair faced Kavin, and opposite it were two equally luxurious guest chairs.

The faint hum of the air conditioning filled the space, keeping it cool despite the heat outside. A light fragrance—something like lavender—hung in the air, almost masking the tension that seemed to settle in as Kavin entered.

Behind the desk sat Leonardo Smith. He was a man in his early forties, with a round face and a gleaming bald head that reflected the light. His glasses, perched on the bridge of his nose, framed eyes that were sharp but restless. His stout frame pressed against the arms of the leather chair, and he straightened slightly when he saw Kavin.

Kavin flashed his badge as he introduced himself. "Inspector Kavin Peterson, Kolkata Police."

Leonardo's lips curved into a polite smile, though his fingers fidgeted slightly on the desk. "Inspector Peterson, welcome. Please, have a seat." He gestured toward one of the guest chairs, his tone overly accommodating.

Kavin sat down, his back straight, his presence commanding even in the comfort of the chair. His eyes scanned Leonardo with quiet precision, noting every movement, every flicker of expression.

Leonardo's smile wavered under the intensity of Kavin's gaze. "How can I help you, Inspector?"

Kavin didn't waste any time. "I'm here regarding the murder of Newton Dutta and the death of Dr. Nishat."

Leonardo's face tightened, his brows knitting together in a look of feigned confusion. "Murder? Death?"

Kavin leaned forward slightly, his tone sharp. "Yes, Newton's murder. Dr. Nishat is dead as well jumped off the ninth floor of her apartment building. Or maybe she didn't jump. Maybe someone pushed her."

Leonardo's eyes widened, and for a moment, his polished composure faltered. His hands froze mid-motion, and his lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came. He reached for the glass of water on his desk, his fingers trembling slightly as he took a sip.

"I—I'm terribly sorry to hear that," Leonardo stammered.

"Just sorry?" Kavin shot back, his voice low but laced with accusation. "Why didn't you come to the police after Newton's murder? Dr. Nishat was your employee, and Newton was a patient in your hospital. Why didn't you act when this happened under your roof?"

Leonardo blinked rapidly, his face flushing a deep red. He let out a nervous chuckle, though it sounded forced. "I—I was going to come today. I had planned to meet with you, actually."

Kavin's eyes narrowed. "How convenient."

Leonardo shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. "Inspector, I assure you, I had nothing to do with—"

"Where were you when this murder happened?" Kavin interrupted, his voice cutting through Leonardo's excuses like a blade.

The chairman's hand twitched, his fingers brushing against his tie as if adjusting it would somehow steady his nerves. "I was… I was in the United States. On vacation. With my wife."

Kavin didn't react immediately, his piercing gaze locked onto Leonardo's face. The chairman's words were precise, but his body betrayed him—the beads of sweat forming on his temple, the slight quiver in his voice, the way his eyes darted to the side as if seeking an escape.

As Leonardo spoke, Kavin noticed something strange. Reflected in the chairman's glasses was the faint outline of someone outside the door.

The shape was distinct—a figure wearing a black saree, the edges of the fabric shimmering faintly in the corridor light. The figure stood motionless, their presence almost ghostly.

Kavin's heart skipped a beat. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor.

Leonardo flinched at Kavin's sudden movement, his face draining of color. "W-What's wrong, Inspector?"

Ignoring him, Kavin strode toward the door and flung it open.

The corridor was empty.

Kavin's sharp eyes darted left and right, scanning every shadow, every corner, but there was no one in sight. The faint hum of the hospital and the soft flicker of fluorescent lights were the only signs of life.

His jaw tightened as he stepped into the corridor, his thoughts racing. Who was that? A woman? But who? Why was she listening to our conversation?

His hand instinctively went to his phone. He dialed Anderson, his voice low but urgent when his colleague picked up.

"Anderson, I need you to lock down the area. There's a woman wearing a black saree somewhere in the hospital. Find her and bring her in."

"On it," Anderson replied without hesitation.

Kavin stepped back into the office, his sharp gaze landing on Leonardo, who looked even more nervous than before. The chairman's hands gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles white.

Kavin's tone was icy. "Who brought Newton to this hospital?"

Leonardo swallowed hard. "Two people… Hasib and Nafisa. They brought him in after he was injured."

"Do you have their contact information?" Kavin asked.

Leonardo shook his head quickly. "No, but I can give you Newton's father's number. He might have it."

Kavin nodded curtly, taking the slip of paper with the number and saving it in his phone. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone. "I'm watching you, Leonardo. Every move you make. Don't try anything."

Leonardo nodded quickly, his face pale.

Kavin left the office, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. He moved toward the stairs that would take him to the second floor, where Anderson and his team were searching for the mysterious woman.

But as he descended the stairs, a faint, sweet scent stopped him in his tracks. It was floral—something delicate yet pervasive, cutting through the sterile hospital air.

He turned his head slightly, his hand instinctively brushing the grip of his holstered gun. Behind him, at the far end of the corridor, he saw it—a flash of black fabric.

The woman was there, watching him.

She stood in the shadows, her figure obscured, but the outline of her black saree was unmistakable.

Kavin's pulse quickened. Who was she? What did she want?

And then, she was gone.

To be continued....