Adultery The Rural Posting: Shipra's ordeal.

[Suraj76626]

Continued from the last post....

"Everything you're saying is believable, Chetan," Shrutika said, her voice calm but sharp, like a knife gliding over glass. "But the timing of your arrival in Ambruj, and the fact that you took up a job at the exact location where the crime occurred—it's just too convenient. Either you have the worst luck imaginable... or you're trying to play smart with me."
 
Chetan, sitting across from her desk, was visibly agitated. "You have to believe me, ma’am," he pleaded, folding his hands in desperation. "What would I gain by committing such a horrific act? I wasn’t even in Ambruj for the past two years. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s all. Please..."
 
Shrutika studied him with a piercing gaze, unmoved by his pleas. Just then, the office door creaked open and Deshmukh entered, clipboard in hand.
 
"What is it, Deshmukh?" Shrutika asked without breaking her eye contact with Chetan.
 
"Ma'am, the Dhaba has been sealed. The forensic team has completed their preliminary investigation. Saad Hasan's body has been sent for postmortem," Deshmukh reported, standing at attention.
 
"And the CCTV footage? Witness statements?"
 
"All collected as per your instructions," he replied confidently.
 
"Good," Shrutika nodded. "Compile everything. I want the report on my desk within the next fifteen minutes."
 
Deshmukh gave a slight nod but didn’t move. His eyes darted between Shrutika and Chetan, as though something was weighing on his mind.
 
"Is there something else?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
 
"Yes, ma'am. I’ve come across a piece of information that might shed some light on this case," Deshmukh said, his tone more serious now.
 
Shrutika gestured casually, "Go on. And don’t worry about him," she said, referring to Chetan.
 
Deshmukh cleared his throat and continued, "A few days ago, Saad Hasan abducted a girl from Kasegaon village. She had been trying to blow the whistle on a corruption racket involving a women’s welfare scheme. Allegedly, Saad had direct involvement with the purported fraud associated to that scheme. The girl belonged to a backward community, and due to mounting pressure from local activists and a few insiders, he was forced to release her."
 
Shrutika tilted her head slightly, amused. "And you think this connects to his murder somehow? Are you suggesting that the girl killed him?"
 
Deshmukh shook his head. "No, ma'am. Not the girl. But her brother might have. His name is Bhiva."
 
Chetan’s face visibly changed. The moment the name escaped Deshmukh’s lips, his body tensed. His eyes widened and a thin sheen of sweat formed on his brow.
 
"Bhiva."
 
The name echoed like a shot across the room. Chetan's heart began to race. Panic began creeping up his spine like ice water. He had met Bhiva just the night before. They’d shared drinks, exchanged stories. He had no idea Bhiva was tangled in something so dark. But now, that fleeting encounter could very well link him to a murder.
 
Shrutika didn’t miss a thing. Like a predator sensing blood in the air, her eyes narrowed on Chetan, picking up on every subtle twitch.
 
"Bhiva?" she repeated. "Who is he?"
 
Deshmukh stepped closer. "He's a local tough guy, ma'am. A known hothead. Works as a subcontractor for odd jobs—construction, transport, occasionally security gigs. He has a criminal record: gang fights, vandalism, extortion—you name it. When his sister was abducted, he went into a frenzy. Locals say he was openly threatening to take revenge on Saad Hasan. And according to an eyewitness, the man who pulled the trigger on Saad matches Bhiva’s description."
 
Shrutika leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled in front of her lips. "Now that... is a solid lead, Deshmukh. Perhaps you're not as hopeless as you look."
 
Deshmukh gave a half-smile, unsure whether to be flattered or offended.
 
"Thank you, madam," he said, choosing neutrality.
 
Meanwhile, Chetan’s world felt like it was crashing down. His already tenuous position was crumbling fast. Bhiva’s involvement meant trouble. Serious trouble. And whether he liked it or not, he was now dangerously close to becoming a suspect—or worse, an accomplice.
 
Shrutika shifted in her chair; her tone suddenly calm—almost too calm. The sharp edge that had punctuated her interrogation moments ago now dulled into something vaguely cordial.
 
"You can go now, Chetan," she said, her eyes still assessing him like a puzzle she hadn’t quite finished solving. "For now, I’ve got what I needed. But don’t leave Ambruj. I might need to speak to you again. And relax—based on your statement and what I’ve seen so far, you’re not a suspect... yet. Let’s just say, I’m not convinced you're guilty, either."
 
Her words lingered, carefully chosen, deliberate. A half-assurance cloaked in official courtesy.
 
Chetan blinked, taken aback. A small wave of relief washed over him, though it wasn’t quite enough to extinguish the unease clawing at his chest. The way she spoke—measured, intentional—it felt like a reprieve, not freedom.
 
"Thank you, ma’am," he said quickly, standing up, eager to get away from her piercing gaze and the suffocating weight of that office.
 
He gave Deshmukh a quick, awkward glance and practically skeltered out of the room, not wanting to give them even a second more to change their minds.
 
As the door clicked shut behind him, Shrutika leaned back in her chair, the soft leather creaking under her weight. Her calm demeanour dissolved almost instantly, replaced by the sharp clarity of a seasoned investigator at work.
 
"Deshmukh," she said after a beat, her tone firm and businesslike.
 
"Yes, ma’am," he straightened, sensing the shift in energy.
 
"Assign one of the constables to keep a low-profile watch on Chetan. I want his movements tracked—not just him, but also that Dhaba owner. Something about their stories doesn’t sit right with me."
 
Deshmukh nodded, making mental notes.
 
"And get their phone records—last two weeks. Incoming, outgoing, call durations, tower locations, everything. Let's see who's hiding what."
 
Her voice carried the authority of someone used to being right—and the confidence of someone who often was.
 
"Also, I want full background on this Bhiva fellow. Past cases, associates, any pending warrants—dig into everything. And try to locate him. If he’s still in the district, I want him brought in for questioning. Quietly."
 
"Understood, ma’am. I’ll get on it right away. And what about the reporters waiting outside? Should I send them in?"
 
"Yeah, send them in. I'll handle it," Shrutika leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath her chin as her mind began connecting the threads. "Let’s see what secrets Ambruj is hiding," she murmured to herself, eyes narrowing.
 
***********************************************
 
Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping!
 
A stream of notifications lit up Shipra’s phone the moment she toggled on her mobile data. She had just taken her seat on the rear bench of the semi-empty, air-conditioned bus bound for Ambruj. The cool air hummed softly around her, but the tightness in her chest hadn't eased. She adjusted the window curtain, leaned back, and finally glanced at her phone screen.
 
The first notification was from Alok.
 
Her brows creased as she read his message. Typical. Another carefully wrapped, selfish and inconsiderate message under faux concern. A small sigh escaped her lips. But rather than engage, Shipra chose the high road. She typed a polite, measured response, free of emotion, free of the weight she used to carry around him. It wasn’t about him anymore, and she wasn’t about to let his words needle into her peace.



The second was from Namrata—her closest confidante, and occasional frenemy.
 
Shipra smirked before even opening the message. As predicted, it was packed with drama and mischief. With a wicked glint in her eyes, she crafted a playful reply, laced with just enough sass to stir envy. But amid the mischief, she couldn’t resist letting a bit of her heart slip through—her longing for her son, the ache of separation, the burden of guilt she carried beneath her composed facade. Only Namrata would understand her current situation.

 
 
Then her eyes landed on the final notification. Patode.
 
She paused. Her fingers hovered over the screen. A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips.
 
She looked around cautiously. The bus was still mostly empty—two college kids up front, an old man snoring softly halfway through the aisle, and a woman dozing in the opposite corner. Satisfied, she tapped open the message.
 
As expected, —it wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t sentimental, and it certainly wasn’t innocent.

  
 
It was exactly what she had anticipated from Patode after what she’d sent him earlier that morning.

  

 
 
Her heart gave a mischievous thump. A naughty smile tugged at her lips as her eyes danced across the screen. Crude. Blunt. Wickedly playful. The kind of message that could make someone blush and bite their lip at the same time. She shook her head with mock disapproval, but the glint in her eyes betrayed her amusement.
 
She was smiling now, not the warm kind, but the kind that curled from the corners of secrets, of daring, of pleasure pulled from chaos. This journey to Ambruj had barely begun, and it was already promising to be far more satisfying—and far more delicious—than she'd expected.

End of Chapter 33: Into the Velvet Abyss