**Sunday**
After class, Meem, Rima, and Hasan are chatting. I sit nearby, engrossed in reading a manga on my app, sometimes joining their conversation. Meem has become my information source for exam updates, assignments, and other university details. I've started to rely on her for this information, so I figure I can spend time with them while still managing two episodes. Meem asks Hasan, "Any news on the magician? Has he been caught?"
Hasan took off his glasses, blew on the lenses, and polished them with a soft cloth. For a moment, he looks like a movie star, as if we were fans waiting for an autograph. "I called my uncle when I got home that day," he says. "He was busy with a case but took the information about the magician from me. By the next day, he'd found some leads about him from New Market and Gulistan."
Rima joyfully exclaimed, "Then it should be easy to catch him."
Hasan, putting on a wise look, replied, "Not necessary anymore."
Rima asked, "Why not?"
Hasan answered, "Last night at around ten, my uncle received a call about a murder. When he arrived, he saw that someone had already killed the magician."
Meem and Rima, startled, murmur, "A murder!"
Hasan added, "Now my uncle is busy with that case as well."
Just then, Rumana, Tonni, and Saurav joined us. Saurav greeted me, "What's up, boss?"
I replied, "All good."
Then Rumana shared, "We're getting an eight-day holiday in the first week of September."
Excited, I interrupted, "From what date?"
Rumana answered, "Starting from the 5th. I checked the calendar."
Eight days off! I can finish the whole 'Gintama Season 4' anime in the meantime. Yahoo!!
Saurav added, "We're planning a trip to Bandarban during that time. Will you come?"
Before I could decline, Meem interjected, "How many days, and how many people?"
Tonni said, "If you guys join, there'll be ten of us. The tour is for two nights and one day."
Without hesitation, Meem said, "We're going."
Hasan offered, "I'll bring my van, then we won't need to spend on transportation."
Saurav responded, "Great."
They started discussing the trip plans. I tried to voice my reluctance, but they kept talking, leaving me no chance to speak.
**Saturday, August 26**
My phone rang, disrupting my sleep. I saw it's a call from Meem, so I immediately hang up. I glanced at the time—10 a.m. She called again. With no other choice, I picked up, and Meem said quickly, "Come to Dhanmondi Seven, right now," and hung up.
I'm sure she's stirred up some trouble again. If I don't go, she'll bombard me with questions in class tomorrow. I reluctantly got ready, hailed a rickshaw, and headed to the location. After a while, I spotted Meem, Hasan, and Hasan's uncle, Mr. Anisul Islam, standing by a building. I realized that Hasan's uncle had roped Meem into calling me here, probably for some major case. I have a bad feeling about this.
I stepped out of the rickshaw as Mr. Islam paid the fare. Hasan immediately asked, "Why are you so late?"
Half-jokingly, I responded, "If you had told me earlier, I would have just sent an empty rickshaw. Then it would have arrived quickly."
Hearing this, Meem chuckles. Mr. Islam said, "Alright, follow me. There's something important to discuss."
We walked into a narrow lane to the left. A few cars and rickshaws were parked, and a crowd seemed gathered around something, gesturing toward a third-floor window. Thankfully, there are no reporters around. A few officers cleared a path for us, though some bystanders commented, "Who are they? They don't look like police. Why are they going in?" The officers attempted to calm them.
As we stepped through the gate, Mr. Islam said, "Alright, let's get to the point. Have any of you heard of recent murders in the past two weeks in the news or on social media?"
I rarely follow news outside of anime, so I shake my head. Meem and Hasan also give negative replies.
"No worries," Mr. Islam said. "Two weeks ago, there was a murder in this area. The victim's name was Shahidul Islam. Last week, Hasan mentioned a shady magician, and I said I'd check him out later. But when I received a murder case last Saturday and arrived at the scene, I learned that this magician, Biswajit Basu, had been killed. Another murder took place after that, with the victim named Akash Singh. All these murders happened in this vicinity."
I said, astonished, "Are you saying there were three murders in three consecutive weeks?"
Mr. Islam replied, "Yes, though not all right here, but close enough."
Hasan sighed, "Crime has spiked all of a sudden."
Meem added nervously, "It's becoming unsafe around here. We could be next."
Mr. Islam said, "Anyway, let's head to the crime scene."
Seeing the crowd, I understand that something big has happened here. But why were we called to a place like this? Or is this somehow connected to Hasan's magician complaint? Maybe we're about to witness some unusual revelation. Either way, we should be patient and find out.
We reached the crime scene on the third floor. Some officers were interviewing the neighbors as we entered the flat, where they shot us a side glance. Just inside the door was the living room, where a body lay next to the sofa. The room is scattered with items—a key ring, a mobile, and two books on hypnotism on the coffee table. Flies are buzzing around the room, and two individuals are examining the body. A nearby TV has a crack across its screen. In the adjoining dining room, food sits scattered across the table, with lentils going bad. The kitchen window is shattered. We return to the living room.
Without approaching the body, I asked, "What's the cause of death?"
An officer nearby said, "Gunshot wounds."
Mr. Islam hands us gloves and masks. I examine the body from a distance—two gunshots, one to the left shoulder and one to the left side of the chest. Meem asked, "Any thoughts?"
"One minute, was I brought here to solve this case?"
Hasan said, "Yes."
I replied, "I'm not qualified for this. You should call a detective for help."
To encourage me, Meem said, "But you solved Hasan's grandfather's case."
That case was different, and I was lucky that my theory matched the killer's. This is different, and students like us shouldn't get involved in something dangerous. I tell them, "In the previous case, I had your help, and luck was on my side. You can't expect my theory to work every time. We students shouldn't be involved in these things."
Understanding my hesitation, Mr. Islam said, "I'll ensure your safety. Just help us find some clues, and we'll handle the rest."
I'm not particularly thrilled about it. This is time-consuming, and considering his description of the murders, we shouldn't be here. But it's as if they've read Sukanta Bhattacharya's "Eighteen Years" poem and refuse to budge. I say, "I can't assure you anything. If you rely on me, it could lead to mistakes. I'll try my best, but only as an observer."
Mr. Islam said, "That's all I'm asking for. Just give it a try."
Ugh. Then I notice Meem giving me a small, encouraging smile. I asked her, "What's with that look?"
She replied, "Nothing. So, what's the plan?"
I instructed them, "Look around this floor for any clues the culprit might have left."
"Okay," Meem responded.
Hasan asked, "The culprit left clues for us?"
Mr. Islam laughed and explained, "Every criminal makes mistakes, leaving clues behind. That's how we catch them."
I asked Mr. Islam, "Do you have the victims' biodata?"
Mr. Islam handed me a file, "Here you go. We haven't found any connection between the three victims yet."
I carefully examine the files. There's no apparent link between them; they come from different backgrounds and regions. After taking some photos on my phone, I handed the file back.
Suddenly, Meem approached, holding a knife with a trace of blood on it. "I found this over there."
Hasan exclaimed, "The killer was brutal! He used both a gun and a knife?"
Holding the knife, I feel Hasan's assumption might be wrong. I told Mr. Islam, "We should check this knife for prints. It might have the victim's fingerprints."
Mr. Islam handed the knife to an officer. "Run a fingerprint test and see if the blood matches the victim's DNA."
The officer saluted and left, and we resumed our inspection.
A short while later, Hasan returned, saying, "I didn't find anything."
I assure him, "That's fine."
I then asked Meem, "Did you find anything?"
"No, nothing," she replied.
I asked her to lead us to where she found the knife.
Meem led us to a corner near the window in the bedroom next to the victim's kitchen. The glass in this window was also broken, with shards scattered on the floor. I carefully observed the room. The bed was messy, with clothes tossed around. There was a two-door wardrobe, and from the contents, I inferred that the victim lived alone in this room. It seemed oddly large for a single person. Near the wall beside the window, there was a mark from a knife, along with three or four spots of red. I touched the spots and could tell it was blood. As I checked below this mark, I noticed four or five strands of long hair. Picking them up, I saw they looked feminine, though some men have long hair these days. DNA testing could confirm it. I collected three strands in a plastic bag and handed it to Meem. "Get this tested," I said.
Meem took the packet and left. I found a stick nearby and used it to sift through the broken glass. Suddenly, I noticed a thinner piece of glass among the rest. Examining it carefully, I realized it had a slight prescription. Mr. Anisul Islam walked over.
I asked, "There's broken glass here, the killer fired a gun — all this should've caused a lot of noise. Didn't anyone notice?"
Mr. Islam thought for a moment, then called over an officer. "Go check with the nearby apartments. See if anyone heard anything."
I then asked, "Does the knife have the victim's fingerprints?"
Mr. Islam replied, "Yes, the victim's fingerprints are on the knife."
"Oh, I see," I responded.
Just then, Hasan asked, "Did you find anything?"
An officer named Shahadat approached and saluted Mr. Islam. "Sir, I questioned the neighbors. No one heard a gunshot, but a couple of people mentioned hearing glass shatter. No one saw anyone enter or leave."
Another officer, named Raju, handed Mr. Islam a file. Skimming through the green file, he announced, "The perpetrator is a woman. Well, there's a clue."
I said, "I can tell you more about her."
Mr. Islam asked, "Like what?"
"Her height is around five foot three. She also has a cut on the right side of her head and wears glasses."
Mr. Islam was curious. "We know she's a woman because the file says so. How did you deduce her height and the fact that she wears glasses?"
I pointed to the knife mark on the wall. "When the killer pulled out a gun, the victim threw the knife to defend himself. The perpetrator tried to dodge, but it slightly nicked her head. As she dodged, her glasses fell, and she accidentally stepped on them, breaking the lens. The knife struck the wall after grazing her head."
Mr. Islam asked, "How do you know it hit her head?"
I knelt and picked up two strands of hair. "There were six or seven strands of hair directly below the knife mark. DNA testing has confirmed they belong to a woman. The knife cut her hair, meaning it hit her head. I estimated her height based on the mark on the wall."
Suddenly, Meem asked, "Where did the glasses come from?"
I showed her a piece of glass from the floor. "See? This has a prescription."
Both Hasan and Mr. Islam nodded. "Yes, that's definitely a piece of a glasses lens."
I continued, "The killer probably broke the window to mix in the lens glass, hoping we wouldn't notice."
Mr. Islam, taken aback, said, "Interesting!"
A few moments later, Mr. Islam's assistant, Russell, arrived and saluted. "Sir, we checked the deceased Akash's phone."
Mr. Islam replied, "Very good. Did you find anything?"
"Yes, sir. Since yesterday, he received five messages, one from an unknown number."
Mr. Islam asked, "What did it say?"
Reading aloud, he said, "'I am coming to return your karma.'"
Hasan remarked, "That could be from the killer."
Mr. Islam gravely agreed. "It could be, but if the victim got such a message, why didn't he take precautions?"
"The message was unread," Russell replied, clarifying the situation for everyone.
I said, "Let's leave it here for today. We'll continue later."
Mr. Islam joked, "Already tired?"
Looking away, I said, "Hmm."
Mr. Islam nodded. "Alright, we'll revisit this. For now, let's go have lunch."
Hasan eagerly agreed. "Yes, let's go!"
After lunch, Meem and I left. It was midday, and the streets were quiet, with just a few elderly people around. It looked like everyone was resting, and there wasn't a rickshaw in sight. It felt like I was walking in a desert. Looks like I'd have to walk to the main road to get a rickshaw. I'd go to Azimpur from here. Meem and I kept walking, eventually reaching a park with a pond in front. The pond was large, with a bridge across it. Some white boats were anchored by the shore.
Suddenly, Meem said, "Let's take a walk around the lake."
"What! This is a lake, not a pond!" I replied, glancing at my phone. "It's already 2:30; you want to walk around now?"
Pouting like a child, Meem said, "Come on! We can walk to Dhanmondi 27 together once it cools down."
"Together?"
"Yes, you'll have to drop me home."
Walking in this heat was too much, so waiting here was the better option. Sighing, I gave in, "Alright, let's wait for the sun to go down."
We entered the park. It had long paths lined with large trees that cast plenty of shade. There was even a mosque and some fast food stalls nearby. It felt nice to be here after so long, especially with so few people around. We found a bench under a tree and sat down.
After a while, Meem said, "Let's take a boat ride."
I shook my head. "We're sitting comfortably in the shade. The sun is glaring right over the lake. Besides, I've never rowed before. Count me in if you are interested in rowing the boat."
She looked at me with a sly smile. "Why would I row when you're here?"
"Let's save it for another day," I said. "The sun's too intense."
She pouted but didn't argue.
After some time, she suddenly asked, "Why are you so busy all the time? Do you have a girlfriend who gives you a lot of trouble?"
I looked at the lake and replied, "No girlfriend. But I have some special projects."
She looked surprised. "What projects? Treasure hunting? Or detective novels?"
I smiled faintly. "Not novels. That's for you guys to stress over. I'm into other things."
She pressed, "What things? Come on, tell me."
I looked away. "Better not to ask."
In a playful tone, she said, "Oh, so you won't tell me about your girlfriend?"
"When did I say I have one?"
With a smirk, she asked, "Then tell me what you're up to."
I realized she wouldn't let it go. I couldn't lie either, so I finally said, "I…watch anime."
She looked surprised. "Anime?"
"Yes."
"Alright, just one request," she said, feigning seriousness.
I raised an eyebrow. "What?"
She giggled. "Give me a smile."
I knew she was going to tease me about anime now. "Smiling is a natural thing, hard to hold back. Since you'll keep pushing, go ahead and laugh."
And laugh she did. "You're watching cartoons at this age?"
Her laughter echoed, and though it stung a bit, I let it slide. After a while, she stopped and said, "Sorry, laughed a bit too much."
"No problem."
We spent two hours in the park. Clouds gathered in the sky, hinting at rain. I turned to Meem and said, "Let's get going."
She nodded, and we began walking toward Dhanmondi 27. The weather was nice, with a slight breeze. Suddenly, Meem asked, "Have you thought about how to solve today's case?"
I replied, "Not yet. I'll need some time, and I can't guarantee a solution."
"Let me know if you find anything," she said.
Yawning, I asked, "Why?"
"If criminals roam freely in the area, I won't feel at ease."
Self-satisfaction, huh? With no other option, I said, "Alright, I'll let you know."