The Nidhi Kapoor Story Read Online Free PDF

conform to an average Mumbaikar’s. He was in that sense, the voice of the city.
    “And this is why someone killed them. Maybe you did. Did you? You clearly are jealous of them,” Prakash barked. As much he liked Tambe and his opinions, he hated interruptions while he was working a case.
    Tambe realized he had irked Prakash. He bowed and quietly headed towards the door to tend to Rujuta who wasstill visibly distressed.
    Prakash worked like that on most of his cases. He’d take one long, hard look at the crime scene to acquaint himself with it. Then he would talk to everyone who could have had anything to do with the victim or the crime scene. He would then let everything simmer in his head and wait for the dots to connect. Every new piece of evidence added another layer of connection between the dots and he kept on breaking and making these connections until he cracked the case. He believed that most crimes had a clear motive and more often than not someone connected with the victim was the key.
    Although he never took notes, somehow the answers almost always dawned onto him, even in seemingly impossible cases. His repertoire of successful cases included confiscation of a large stash of illicit drugs and a famous hit-and-run by the son of a leading industrialist. In both these cases, the police did not have any substantial clues. In the drug bust, he just had an incoherent account from a junkie and tyre marks on a dirt track of a dusty road. In the hit-and-run, he had a grainy footage from a CCTV and a sleepy guard manning an ATM.
    Prakash was always called in when cases seemed too complex for the police force to handle. He was amongst the best officers of Mumbai police but nothing in his countenance gave that away. At 5 feet 8, he was rather small compared to other police officers. He kept his head shaved and no one could tell that he was just thirty-four. He had come to Mumbai with his mother when he was five and the city was still called Bombay. His mother was a successfultheater actress in Pune, some 160 KMs from Mumbai. He father was headmaster of a small school on the outskirts of a sleepy Pune. Even though they made an unlikely couple, theirs was a love marriage. But right after Prakash was born, the daily grind of the household began to test the patience of the couple. They started to quarrel, occasionally at first and almost everyday subsequently. His mother was young, talented and harbored the desire to be a film star. His father preferred the small town life. Their differences became so much that Prakash’s mother decided to run away to Mumbai with Prakash in tow. But reality hit harder and sooner than she had expected. Her only appearances on screen were a few sightings in the background scenery of big films and a couple of side roles in smaller films. She, like others, turned to alcohol, hoping to find solutions and success.
    Prakash’s mother eventually committed suicide when he was thirteen. She was depressed about girls half her age getting meatier roles than her. Even in her death, she did not get the fame she craved for; there was not even one obituary. Prakash had no option but to go back to Pune. But by this time, his father had moved on and a young Prakash could not trace him. He came back to Bombay and put all his energy and time into his education. He never pardoned his mother for her ambitions and always blamed himself for not being able to find his father.
    Back in Nidhi Kapoor’s office, the room reeked of overpowering odors of animals, excreta, burnt flesh and air-conditioning. While examining the room, Prakash spotted a typed sheet of paper stuck in the typewriter. He used his phone to click a few pictures of the typewriter and the sheet of paper hanging from it. He then tore the sheet and startedto read.
    Most other officers would have waited for the police photographer to arrive and take pictures of the crime scene before they start with the investigation. Not Prakash. He liked to take