Rohan leaned forward. “A ghost?”
The autopsy report arrived just as the church bells tolled six. Arjun scanned it, then went still. “The incision. It was made post-mortem.”
Arjun took a slow sip. His son, Rohan, now fifteen and dangerously curious, sat cross-legged on the rug. “So, it’s a locked-room mystery, Baba. The killer must have never been in the room.” Sunday Suspense
“He bled out from a wound to the wrist first. A slow, deliberate bleed. The carotid cut came after he was already dead. Someone wanted to make sure the message was written in fresh blood—but not his.”
The door had been bolted. The windows were on the 42nd floor, sealed shut. No vents, no secret passages. The security cameras in the hallway showed no one entering or leaving between 7:00 PM and 10:00 PM. Rohan leaned forward
“Too theatrical. This killer is precise, not dramatic. The message isn’t for us. It’s a signature. A promise.”
Arjun stood, pulling on his coat. “That’s the question. And tonight is the third Sunday of the month. If the pattern holds, someone, somewhere, is already waiting for their visitor.” “The incision
He paused at the door. “Come, Rohan. Let’s go meet a ghost.”
