CHAPTER 2 : The House of Hollow Eyes

"So, the first victim was an unmarried man living alone in this small house, and he was? A labour? Good. He was found dead in his home."

Isarish's voice was smooth, almost casual, as he walked through the kitchen, his eyes scanning for any further clues. He turned back to the inspector Rayhan, who was still processing the new information, his gaze flickering between Isarish and the scene around them.

The inspector Rayhan nodded, hesitant but compelled to answer. "Yes, he was a labour—worked at a nearby factory. Spent most of his days doing heavy, physical work. There wasn't much to his life outside of that... except for some strange... people he associated with."

Isarish raised an eyebrow, the sharpness in his eyes betraying his interest. "Strange people?"

The inspector Rayhan shifted uncomfortably. "Not much detail, really. But we've heard whispers. He seemed to be in contact with some shady characters. A few acquaintances with less-than-legal dealings."

"Less-than-legal," Isarish repeated thoughtfully, rolling the phrase over in his mind. "So, he had enemies? People who might want him dead?" He paused and then added, "Anyone who would've known about his... vulnerabilities?"

The inspector Rayhan hesitated, his discomfort growing. "He wasn't exactly well-known. Quiet man, kept to himself mostly. But there were rumours about debts—gambling, maybe. I don't know. People like him... they don't always make the best choices when it comes to who they trust."

Isarish's lips twitched into a smirk. "A man with secrets. How quaint."

He walked around the room again, checking the corners of the house. His eyes lingered on the simple possessions scattered around—nothing of value, no sign of a struggle. It was as if someone had come, done their work, and left without disturbing the air of quiet ordinariness that hung around the house.

"You said he was found dead here," Isarish continued, his voice turning colder now. "But when? How long had he been dead before the body was discovered?"

"About two days," the inspector Rayhan responded. "We found him when the neighbours noticed the door left ajar. He had been decomposing slightly, which made the time of death more apparent."

Isarish paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Two days. That matches the timing of the other murders, doesn't it?"

The inspector Rayhan frowned. "Yes, it does. The same pattern, same methodical approach."

Isarish gave a low, almost inaudible chuckle. "A signature. The killer's been busy."

He took a final, sweeping glance around the house before turning back to the inspector Rayhan. "And now, we follow the trail." His tone was unyielding, confident. "Let's find out who's behind this and why they're so... meticulous."

Isarish noted everything carefully in his mind, his sharp eyes missing nothing as they took in the details of the first victim's home. The pieces were starting to come together, but there was something about this case that felt far from simple. He stood for a moment, letting the silence of the house sink in before turning to the inspector Rayhan.

"Let's move on," he said, his voice as cold as ever. "We've wasted enough time here."

The two of them stepped out of the house and into the narrow streets of Dhaka once again. The inspector Rayhan led Isarish to the second victim's residence, a more affluent area this time, with larger homes and well-maintained gardens. The contrast between the two victims was stark—one a solitary labour, the other a man of respect, a well-established member of society with a loving family.

As they approached the second house, Isarish's gaze sharpened. This was the kind of place where the walls told stories of wealth, respect, and comfort. The perfectly trimmed hedges, the faint scent of jasmine in the air, and the gleaming windows spoke of a life well-lived.

Isarish stood in front of the house for a moment, taking it all in. "So, he's the one responsible for my presence here—the friend of Mr. Carlson," Isarish whispered.

"This doesn't add up," he muttered, more to himself than to the inspector Rayhan. "A man like this... Why would someone target him?"

The inspector Rayhan shifted uncomfortably. "He was a respected businessman, had a strong reputation. Family man—his wife and kids loved him dearly. The whole neighbourhood held him in high regard. There was no reason to suspect anyone would want him dead."

Isarish's eyes flickered to the door, his lips curling into a smirk. "Then why don't we go inside and see for ourselves?"

They entered the house. The atmosphere was different here—cleaner, more polished. The air carried the scent of fresh flowers and rich wood. A family portrait hung on the wall near the staircase. A woman and two children, all smiling happily, with the father standing proudly in the centre.

As Isarish stood there, his eyes scanning the house, a pregnant woman emerged from upstairs. She moved down the staircase with slow, deliberate steps, her face pale. She was fair-skinned, with dark hair that cascaded down her shoulders, though it looked unkempt, as if she hadn't bothered to arrange it properly that day. Her clothes, though fine, were soiled with dirt, and there was an air of neglect around her appearance.

But it wasn't just her dishevelled appearance that caught Isarish's attention—it was her eyes. They were empty, dead, as if the life had been drained from her the moment she heard the news of her husband's death.

While trembling she asked "who are you". "We are police and investigating case of your late husband". Inspector Rayhan said with low voice.

The woman stood frozen at the door, her eyes wide with terror as she processed the words. The faint tremor in her hands didn't escape Isarish's notice. Her lips parted as if to speak, but the words seemed to fail her, the shock too much to bear.

"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "you have to be wrong. My husband... he can't be—"

Her words broke off, and a soft sob escaped her throat. She clutched her abdomen instinctively, her fingers trembling as she wiped her eyes, but there was no mistaking the grief in her expression now.

Isarish observed her carefully. The look of genuine disbelief in her eyes, the way she clung to the side of the doorframe as if she might collapse, all pointed to a woman who had just learned of something utterly devastating. The way she didn't try to hide her tears, the way she wiped them away as if her very soul was breaking—it was real.

His sharp eyes softened just a fraction, but he didn't let up on his scrutiny. He spoke softly; his voice neutral but measured. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I understand this is difficult. But we need to ask you a few questions. Please... your husband's last actions—can you tell us where he went?"

The woman's hands shook, and she leaned heavily against the doorframe, her face turning pale as she tried to gather herself. "He... he went out last night, to see the doctor. Dr. Rafiq. I—" she paused, her voice trembling. "He was so worried. I... I didn't even know what was wrong. He said it was for me... for the baby."

The words seemed to escape her in a breathless rush, her voice barely above a whisper. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her pulse visibly throbbing in her neck.

Isarish exchanged a brief glance with the inspector Rayhan. "Was he acting strange, in any way? Did he mention anything unusual before he left?"

Her gaze flickered, and for a moment, her eyes lost focus as if recalling the past hours felt unbearable. "No... no, he was just... he said everything would be fine. He kissed me, promised he'd be back soon... but..." She bit her lip, eyes welling up once more. "But he didn't come back."

Her body trembled slightly as she closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a shaky breath. She seemed like a woman on the edge, caught between grief and disbelief.

Isarish stepped forward, his voice calm but probing. "And did he ever have enemies? Anyone who might want to harm him?"

She shook her head quickly, her dark hair falling over her face as she muttered, "No, no, everyone loved him. He had no enemies... not that I know of."

Isarish's eyes narrowed slightly. Her reaction, the tremble in her voice, and the way her hands gripped her stomach all spoke of a woman who truly couldn't process the enormity of what had happened. Still, he remained vigilant. People were complicated. Victims of grief often hid more than just sorrow.

He gave her a moment to collect herself, but his mind was already processing her words. There was no immediate sign that she had anything to hide—yet the situation was strange. Why would a man like him, someone with a family, be killed under such brutal circumstances?

"Thank you, ma'am," Isarish said, his voice softer now. "We'll take our leave for now. Please... try to rest."

He stepped back, turning to the inspector Rayhan with a look that said everything. Something didn't fit, but for now, he wasn't about to jump to conclusions.

As they left the house Isarish was repeating name of the doctor Dr. Rafiq ....