The kid nods and walks off.
I turn back to Viraj and ask. “You got what I asked for?”
Viraj nods and pulls a thick, brown file from his bag and slides it across the table.
“That’s everything on Deepak. Phone records, work details, financials, the people he meets, everything’s in there.”
I flip the file open and skim through the pages, but nothing concrete jumps out at me.
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, slamming the file shut just as the waiter places our coffee on the table.
Viraj lifts his cup and takes a slow sip before speaking. “I think he’s smart. Even if he’s guilty, he’s covering his tracks well.” He then shrugs causally. “Or maybe he’s not guilty at all.”
I shake my head, grab my cup, and take a gulp of the hot, bitter coffee.
“Most of the time, the ones who look the cleanest have the dirtiest hands. We just haven’t found the crack yet.”
Viraj nods, and we spend the next twenty minutes trying to connect dots that simply don’t exist. Every lead feels like a dead end. Frustrated, I pick the file.
“I’ll double-check it again tonight,” I say, sliding out of the booth.
He nods, and we rise, heading towards the door, still talking and going over the same useless facts one more time. Not out of hope, but out of habit.
But just as I step out the door, I collide hard with someone. The file slips from my hand and hits the ground.
“Shit,” I mutter, crouching down when I hear a voice say, “Sorry.”
My eyes snap up and meet Deepak’s.
Before I can react, he’s already kneeling and reaching for the file.
“I got it,” he says, picking up the file, then rising to his feet and holding it out to me.
I snatch the file from his hands, my jaw clenched tight. “Thanks.”
Deepak gives a casual nod. “Nice to see you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” I reply, my tone flat as I motion to my right. “Meet Inspector Viraj. He worked on Nisha’s case and was the one who caught Prakash.”
Deepak gulps hard, a flicker of unease crossing his face.
Bingo.
That’s all I needed for every damn warning bell in my head to blare like a siren, confirming that he is definitely hiding something.
Viraj steps forward and extends his hand with a tight-lipped smile. “Pleasure.”
Deepak hesitates for a second before reaching out and shaking it. “Likewise,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Can’t I just come grab a coffee?” Deepak replies, cocking his head, trying to play the innocent card. “Is that a crime now?”
“Not a crime at all.” Viraj shrugs easily, but I don’t take my eyes off Deepak
“I didn’t take you for the kind of guy who’d show up at a place like this,” I say evenly. “You’re more of a five-star, suit-and-espresso type.”
Deepak gives a small laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Even five-star guys need to slum it sometimes. Besides,” he gestures around casually, “this place is where I used to come during my college days.” Then his eyes narrow slightly. “Now, if you’re done interrogating me, can I go ahead to enjoy my coffee?”
