Mission Forensic
Part 19: The Man Behind the Badge
The city had folded itself into darkness by the time they left the library. Delhi after rain always carried a kind of weary elegance—streets rinsed clean but slick with secrets, neon signs bleeding their colors into puddles, shadows hanging longer than they should. The air was cool and wet, heavy with the mingled scents of damp stone, diesel, and jasmine shaken loose from the roadside creepers.
Catherine drew her stole tighter around her shoulders as they crossed the courtyard. Drops clung to the ends of her hair like beads of glass, and Edward, walking beside her, placed a quiet hand at the small of her back. He didn’t say anything, but the gesture—warm, steady, unthinking—was enough to make her feel less exposed beneath the wide, dripping sky.
***
Ahana settled into the driver’s seat of Edward’s car, her tablet already open in her hands, the pale light casting sharp angles across her focused expression. She reviewed the data one last time, fingers moving swiftly across the screen, before setting the tablet aside. With a confident motion, she grasped the keys, the soft jingle breaking the silence as she started the engine. Shawn took the front passenger seat beside her, buckling in with a quick glance at the road ahead. Edward and Catherine settled into the back, the doors closing with a soft click that sealed them into the quiet hum of the car’s interior.
The drive through the city was slow, traffic clogged even at this hour. Horns flared like sudden outbursts of temper, swallowed again by the rain. The wipers kept their patient rhythm, revealing fleeting frames of Delhi in passing: a boy carrying milk cans across a wet lane, a tea-seller fanning his brazier while steam curled upward, a dog shaking itself free of water under the shelter of a parked rickshaw.
Inside the car, their voices dropped into fragments, each word weighed before spoken.
“The consultancy lists Mumbai as its base,” Ahana said, eyes flicking to the road, her hands steady on the wheel. Her voice was calm, almost too calm. “But on Vohra’s delegate form, he listed a correspondence address here in Delhi. Defence Colony. Rented flat, above an old tailoring shop.”
Shawn leaned back, gaze hard on the slick road ahead. “Shops that never open, never close—classic camouflage. Too convenient to be coincidence.”
Edward’s reflection ghosted in the car window, neon smearing across his features like painted light. He had been silent for most of the drive, but now his voice came, low and certain. “He wanted us to see him in Gujarat. That wasn’t carelessness—it was an invitation. Which means Defence Colony isn’t a hiding place. It’s where he wants us to come.”
Catherine shifted closer, her knee brushing his. Her words were barely above a whisper. “And when we do?”
He turned his head, and for a moment the city’s passing lights caught the sharp line of his jaw, the quiet intensity in his eyes. “Then we make sure it’s his mistake, not ours.”
Her pulse leapt, but she smiled faintly, slipping her hand into his beneath the fold of her stole. For the span of a breath, the world outside blurred into insignificance—the wet şehir, the rain, even the man who watched them. There was only the feel of Edward’s fingers closing around hers, strong and steady, as though reminding her that no matter what waited, they would meet it together.
***
Defence Colony greeted them with a silence that felt unnatural. The rain had softened to a mist that hung in the air, fine as breath on glass, clinging to hair, lashes, and the dark fabric of their coats. The narrow lanes gleamed like spilled ink under the tremble of old streetlamps. A few windows glowed above shuttered shops, little square pockets of warmth against the spectral emptiness of the street.
Their destination waited at the end of one such lane. The ground floor tailoring shop had long since surrendered to time—its sign faded, paint peeling, the lock rusted into its grooves. But the flat above breathed faintly with life. Curtains drawn tight. A single lamp behind them, pulsing once as though someone had just crossed in front of it.
They stopped in the shadows. Rain tapped lightly against the shutter, each drop echoing in the stillness.
Shawn crouched to examine the lock, fingers brushing along the metal with the precision of habit. “This shop’s been dead for years,” he murmured. “But the flat… too clean. Someone’s keeping it alive.”
Ahana tilted her face upward. “And whoever’s inside knows we’re standing here.”
Edward followed her gaze. For the briefest instant, the curtain stirred—a movement so slight it could have been the trick of wind, but wasn’t. It was deliberate. A signal. You’re seen.
***
Catherine’s phone buzzed in her palm, sharp in the hush. She opened it with a thumb that wasn’t entirely steady.
One message. No subject. No sender. Just five words:
You’re closer than you think.
She felt the breath catch in her throat. Edward’s hand was there almost at once, covering hers, steadying her. He took the phone, eyes scanning the message, jaw tightening with resolve.
“This isn’t surveillance anymore,” he said, voice a low thread through the mist. “This is invitation.”
The four of them stood in silence before the shuttered shop, the curtained window above glowing faintly like an unblinking eye. The street seemed to hold its breath with them, even the rain falling in softer threads, as if the city itself was waiting.
Catherine looked at Edward, the question clear in her eyes though she gave it shape with her voice. “So what do we do?”
He didn’t hesitate. Rain streaked down his hair, caught in the sharp line of his cheek, but his eyes stayed locked on hers. His answer was steady, final.
“We go up.”
Continue to Episode 20
