X: The Hunt Begins Read online

  “What's there to think about here?” Virat demanded. “It's a serial killer, the same as the Bhandipur case. We need to get moving to catch him, like we did with Soura.”

  “No, this is different.” Aditya's hands folded under his chin as his brow furrowed. “Soura's work showed no planning or forethought, and that's why we were able to trace him. He was a simple minded, illiterate man whose killing instinct was a result of rage. The selfie murders are cold blooded and carefully thought out campaigns. They were committed beacause of a desire to show off. The killer wants the whole world to know him. He wants fame, even if it is fame by proxy. He's intelligent and educated, and he's using the notoriety gained from the murders to feed his ego.”

  Virat was silent as he stared at Aditya, considering his words. “If this selfie thing is just a way to feed his ego, why did it have to involve murder? Why did he choose a stunt that he knows will end with a noose around his neck if he gets caught?”

  “Because he's convinced he won't get caught, and murder gets the most eyeballs.” Aditya shrugged. “Just turn on the news and see for yourself. When the public gets hold of a gruesome and perverted killing, they don't turn away in horror. They sieze upon it and discuss it day and night. Experts are brought in on special newspanels for their opinions. The police report is dissected and analysed. The media feeds on the crime for days. And the killer feeds on the attention.”

  “So we can't do anything except wait for him to kill again?”

  “We can continue to study his methods to understand how his mind works. Each new murder is bringing us closer to identifying his triggers. With every new selfie he's showing us a little more of how his mind works. No matter how ugly the picture might be, we need to wait till it grows more complete before we make our move.”

  * * *

  “He was such an intelligent boy.” His mother was saying tearfully. She was on the phone with another of her friends, one more indistinguishable, middle aged aunty from the kitty party pack. They were discussing the marriage of the aunty's son who was a doctor. The conversation had inveitably led to comparisons of the doctor son to him and what a disappointment he was.“Everyone said so. We had such high hopes from him. And now, we can't even talk about his marriage. One of the first things the girls parents ask is, what are his qualifications and what does he earn? What are we supposed to say to that?”

  He ignored her, silently logging onto the internet. Ever since he'd started posting the selfies, it had become easier to endure her ramblings of how he had let down the family's hopes and dreams.

  He routed his server through the proxy site, and went to google. He typed in 'Selfie Killer'.

  Immediately, he was flooded with results. Breaking news, not just from India but the outside world as well breathlessly covered his work. Social sites were endlessly sharing and commenting on his pictures. The net was flooded with memes and parodys of his work, from a picture of a cat wearing a mask captioned 'Can I Haz Selfie?' to fake pictures created by college students to mimic his. Internet celebrities were recordning videos of their reaction to the photos and writing blogs about the murders. Everyone was trying to get on the Selfie Killer bandwagon. But he wasn't worrried. He'd just make a new account to upload the next installment in his project. He was the center of the online maelstorm, and no one else could supply what he could.

  Exiting the net, he rose from his desk and went to his room. Time to get to work again. There were more pictures to plan.

  * * *

  The third selfie surfaced quicker than the second had. This time the virtual world was expecting it, and within minutes the picture had spread throughout the world. The online conversation began in less than an hour, and soon reached the print and television media. There were calls for banning facebook and other social media to stop the crimes.

  “Where was the body found this time?” Virat asked Shahid at the station.

  “Bamrauli.” Shahid tossed them a folder containing the photo in enlarged form at the top. “These are fresh wounds. Victim was killed very recently.”

  “He doesn't like to wait too long after the murder to post the selfies.” Virat commented as he examined the photo. “In case someone discovers the body and the press leaks the news before him. Who was the victim?”

  “Auto shop owner.” Shahid said. “Solid family man. No known enemies. In no way connected to the other two victims.”

  “Is Aidtya here?”

  “He's been locked up in the conference room all day.” Shahid said,rising from his desk. “Let's see if he's found anything.” He led the way to the room.

  They found Aditya standing before a huge map of Delhi in the room. He had the laptop open and was muttering to himself as he crossed off locations on the map.

  “What do you two make of the latest selfie?” He asked without turning.

  “There's a random order to these murders that's throwing me off.” Virat said, coming to stand next to Aditya. Certain parts had been crossed off, others had question marks, while yet others were small ticks next to them.

  “I think that was the intended effect.” Aditya remarked, going over to the laptop. “What about the symbols arranged around the body?”

  “I recognised some of them.” Shahid said. “There didn't seem any order to the symbols, either. All I got from the photo was that he doesn't seem to like facebook. Maybe he's a former employee?”

  “No, this isn't a crime of revenge. It seems more a philosophical stand against social media. Depression from facebook use is a well documented phenomena. People usually like to post good news about themselves, from marriage to foreign trips to promotions. This tends to give the impression that only good things are happening to them, resulting in the people reading their posts to feel dissatisfied with their own lives. The killer might be one such disillusioned user.”

  “And what about the other symbols?” Virat asked.

  “There has been an increase in the number of symbols appearing in the selfies.” Aditya said. “I think that was delibrate. And I think that's the killer's ego at play. He's got the world looking at his work, so he wants it to have greater meaning and significance. A more expansive canvas, so to speak. The large variety of topics on display are a hallmark of the digital age. The internet has taken the dissemination of knowledge to unprecedented levels. Anyone with a net connection can look up information on the most obscure topic. But that's also given rise to a new wave of scholars who think reading an online article about a subject and looking up it's wikipedia entry makes them experts on the matter. You see it in the recent surge in patients who think they can research their symptoms online and diagnose there illness better than the doctors.”

  “There is an invaluable upside to the number of symbols.” Aditya continued. “They give a very clear idea of the type of mind we're dealing with. Subject is male. Late teens to early twenties. Intelligent and well acquainted with computers. Exhibits qualities of narcissism and exhibitionism, with a strong possibilty of an oedipal complex as well as paranoid delusions. Active in the online world, withdrawn and anti social in the real world. Obsessive compulsive with retarded social skills.”

  “Have you spotted any kind of a link between his choice of victims?” Shahid asked, studying the locations tick marked on the map.

  “Not yet, but there must be.” Aditya said. “These murders required planning. The killer knew of the movements of the victim and made his plan accordingly. The killer chose people from wildly different sections of Delhi to throw us off. But there must be some common factor between them that connected them to him.”

  * * *

  The hours leading up to the deadline were always the most nerve wracking. He had seen many presentations go south because the speaker got nervous. So many things to double check. So many things to keep in mind. Last time his strike had been sloppy . The cut in the neck had looked very untidy. He would have to be careful not to strike too soon this time.

  He spotted his prey coming out of the metro
. A professor at IIT Delhi who made a detour every saturday to Lonalva to meet his mistress. He anticipated quite a lot of outrage for this one. It would have been far easier to find victims among the labororers and richshaw pullers. But he had studied the recent case of the killer who broke his victim's legs. That case only got attention after a famous producer became a victim. First rule of business was to know your market. You needed someone from the middle class or higher up to make the media give a damn...

  He set off after his prey, keeping at least ten yards away as the two wove through the crowded metro. They moved up the stairs and onto Khairad street. The professor set off in the direction of the taxis idling on the next block.

  He sped up and walked rapidly up to his prey, giving him a tap on his shoulder. “Excuse me, Professor Shukla?”

  The man gave a start and turned. The panicked guilt in his eyes turned to relieved recognition. “Aren't you... weren't you in one of my classes?”

  “Yes, sir. You taught me thermodynamics for a couple of semesters.” They kept walking as the man fumbled around in his memory for the name of his former student.

  “I just saw you coming out of the tunnel and thought I'd say hi.” He spoke before the professor could say anything further. He took a deep breath, his expression turning grave. “Actually, sir, there was also something else. When you were teaching my class, there was a class assignment that you gave me low marks on. I was really angry about those marks, and we had a big argument about it in front of the class. I said a lot of rude things to you that day.”

  “Really?” The man looked puzzled. “I'm afraid I don't recall-”

  “The memory of that incident has been preying on my mind ever since.” He cut in, speaking in a low voice filled with emotion. “I've always fetl so guilty about talking disrespectfully to one of the best teachers I've ever had the privelige of studying under. I'm very sorry, sir.” Before the man could react, he had reached down and touched his feet. He maintained the position for a long moment, then rose and joined his hands before him.

  “That's all right, my boy.” The man said with a gratified smile, patting his shoulder. “We all make mistakes. I don't even remember the incident. You are most definitely forgiven.”

  “Thank you so much sir.” He smiled gratefully, then glanced at his watch. “Well, I need to get going. I'm on my way to Nehru Place to get my laptop back. The keyboard wasn't working. It was so good to see you again, sir.”

  “Nehru Place?” The professor hesitated, glancing over his shoulder to the next block where the taxis waited. “Listen, could you give me a lift upto Jamal Chowk? I'm... meeting a colleague there, and I'm running late.”

  “Of course, sir. I'd be delighted. If you could just wait here a moment while I get my car.” He hitched his backpack more securely over his shoulder and made his way towards the parking area.

  A minute later, he had brought the car around to the curb. The Professor got in the front seat next to him and started to say something , then stopped in surprise, staring at the steering wheel.

  He laughed, raising his arms off the steering wheel to display his hands encased in surgical gloves. “Can you believe how germophobic my brother in law is? I had the flu a week ago and he still insists I wear gloves while driving his car so that I don't leave any germs on the steering wheel. I'm lucky he didn't make me wear a mask, too.”

  “Some people can be paranoid that way.” The professor chuckled as the car inched it's way out of the curb. “I have a brother who is a doctor, and he treats his home like a surgery room. Why, one time...”

  He kept smiling and nodding while the professor droned on. The car moved out of side curb and began to make it's way along the main road.

  * * *

  Aditya, Virat and Shahid stood in Inspector Khurana''s office. It had been three days since the fourth selfie had surfaced, and the Police Commissioner looked exhausted from the round of press conferences and official meetings related to the case that he had attended. “I'm hoping there's been some progress on the case, Shahid?”

  “Investigations are still underway, sir.” Shahid said. “The car the fourth murder took place in was stolen a few hours before the muder from it's owner, who was at the hospital with his pregnant wife during the time the murder took place. The killer jimmied the door open and hotwired the engine. We didn't find any fingerprints inside the car. The victim got into the car willingly, which means he knew the killer. Possibly a student of the professor's, or a collegue. We've determined an intersection near Howrah bridge that formed a part of the three earlier victim's daily commute. The intersection is located at the center of an IT hub. We think the killer works in one of those offices. That's where he tracked their movements from.”

  “Any clues as to his identity?”

  “The security cameras outside the hospital yeilded no results on that front, sir.” Virat said. “But Aditya has created a psychological profile.”

  “How will that help us catch the killer?” The Police Commissioner's eyes were impatient as they turned to Aditya. “Do we know who he is?”

  “No, sir.” Aditya said.

  “Where he lives? A physical description?”

  Aditya shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Inspector Khurana gazed at him in exasperation. “So what do you know?”

  “I know a bit about his psychology.” Aditya said evenly. “I know what he wants out of these selfies. I have a plan for bringing him out into the open. I've triangulated the area of operation of the killer based on his MO, signature and victimology. We have a list of individuals within that area who match the emotional, physical and psychological description closely enough to be considered suspects. We'll need to keep a surveillance watch on them. But there's a catch. Eighty seven individuals made it to the list.”

  The others stared at him. “Eighty seven? That's all you can narrow the suspect list down to?”

  “Considering the millions who live in this city, I consider eighty seven pretty narrow.” Aditya said. “Sir, there's no way to determine exactly which of these is the killer. Who knows, it might not be any one of them. Psychology isn't an exact science. We're dealing with probabilty here. I can't tell you who the next victime will be, or where the murder will take place. All I can tell you is that one of these individuals is probably the selfie killer.”

  “So how do we know which of the people on the list is the killer?” Shahid demanded. “We don't have the manpower needed for indefinite surviellance on all eighty seven individuals. What can we do to stop the next murder?”

  “We can decide the date on which it takes place.” Aditya said.

  * * *

  The news broke a few days later. The social sites were flooded with similar newspieces. The hashtag, #SelfieKillerExposed was the number one trend on twitter, not just in India but the world.

  News bytes emerged in bits and pieces. The killer had willingly walked into the police station and given himself up. He had admitted to the crimes, and described details about the murders known only the killer could have known. Speculations were rife as to his identity, from a disgruntled facebook employee to the janitor at the rashtra pati bhavan.

  Pictures emerged soon of the man standing next to Police Commissioner of Delhi, Mr. Ajit Khurana. He was a small, thin man with a rapidly balding head and thick prescription glasses encasing a pair of particularly protuberent eyes. The press siezed upon the unlikely appearance of the ruthless serial killer with glee. The picture was run on every news channel, with experts on face reading being called in to examine his face and determine the reason behind his crimes. Swami Madhav's conclusion was that he was under the influence of the malevolent planet Saturn, and needed to wear a ring made of green gemstone to return to his senses.

  * * *

  He kept hammering on the front door until his mother opened it. She stared at him in surprise. “Why aren't you at work? Did they leave you early today?”