Skip to main content

Duplicity : Chapter 15

The name of my team is "Writers' Express"


To start reading this story from the first chapter click here
You can read the previous chapter of the story here

    Jennifer awoke the next day fresh and early. It was a warm day. She had convinced herself that she was not doing anyone a favour by moping around. That's not how Maya would have wanted her to be. She had to do something to bring Maya’s murderer to justice. Even the very least that she could do would be better than doing nothing at all.

    She got up, drew open the curtains and made some coffee for herself. It was scalding hot so she sat down at her desk, blowing air on the cup for it to cool down. She picked up her laptop and kept it on the desk.

    She searched for any news about Maya. There was very little. A few online newspapers and blogs had mentioned her death, but the focus was not so much on the murder but what it represented to whoever was writing the article. They had asked rhetorical questions about the safety of women in the capital and lamented the lax police service and the administration's inaction; Maya's murder had just been a prop.

    She knew very little about what could have killed Maya. The only thing she knew for sure was that Maya had gone to meet Varun when she got murdered. Maybe he killed her. Maybe Maya was not the target. Maybe someone else killed her. Jennifer drew a little coffee, but almost spat it out when she realised that she had missed the biggest lead so far. Maya had once fleetingly mentioned that she had chatted with Varun a few times on Facebook. Jennifer knew that there was every chance that the profile had already been deleted but this was her only lead at the moment.

    She kept the mug away and navigated to Facebook. She searched for "Friends of Maya Mistri named 'Varun'" in the graph search. Only one result showed up. She clicked on his profile and waited for it to load up. She felt a rush of adrenaline and excitement in her body. The coffee cup teetered from the constant push of her trembling legs. But when the profile loaded up, she was disappointed. There was no information on the page. It was all hidden. Even the profile picture was a stock image of a Leopard. She felt helpless.

    She checked the "See Friendship" page of Maya and Varun just to be sure. They had become friends after the wedding. This was the scum, alright! Finding the profile was the easier part; finding the owner of the profile was way tougher.

    She paced about the room, trying to think of a way to get more information about Varun. She had heard that the FBI had forced Facebook to divulge details about its suspects a few times, but she knew that the Delhi Police would hardly have any clout with the website. Without Facebook’s assistance, it would be impossible for the police to track Varun down. The only way to find any information about him would be to be friends with him on Facebook. But she knew that if she sent him a request, it would spook him. She tried to call up Cyrus to get his opinion, but he didn't pick up. She was just about to try calling him again, when it struck her!

    She ran to the laptop and logged out of Facebook. She logged in again, but as Priya -- an account she had created years ago to prank her friend. With some help, she had soon created an account that had looked very authentic. Over the years, she'd gotten many friend requests and added a few of them, which made it look even more real. She sent a friend request to Varun and settled down comfortably in the chair, feeling good about it all.

    She remembered that she still needed to inform Cyrus and send him a link to the profile. Cyrus and she had always talked on the phone or made video calls. They had never chatted, which she thought was for the best, because she had always found it difficult to communicate her feelings in words and also because there was something about the way that he talked that made her smile. She opened up graph search again and searched for "Men named 'Cyrus Daruwala' who were born in New Delhi, India". There was no result. She relaxed the criteria of birth city and tried again but did not find the Cyrus she was looking for. She found it rather odd that Cyrus wouldn't have a facebook profile.




    She Googled for 'Cyrus Daruwala law student'. The first result that came up was a BlogAdda profile: 'Cyrus Daruwala, Male , blogs 'Eunomia's Quill' - BlogAdda'. She clicked on it and went to switch on the fan. The profile had loaded when she returned back to the desk. It was the Cyrus Daruwala she was looking for. His photo smiled at her through the profile. He had mentioned himself as "A law student in the search for justice". He had two blogs: 'Eunomia's Quill' and 'The Spectacular Cyrus'. She laughed at the name of the second blog. She opened the first blog in a background tab and clicked on the link to the second blog. It led her to a Wordpress blog with a huge colourful title announcing "The Spectacular Cyrus". The blog had started in 2004 but there hadn't been many posts lately. The latest posts were titled: 'Of Washing Machine Heroics' and 'I Sold Shoe Soles on the Seashore'. She bookmarked the page and smiled to herself. She closed the tab and took a look at the other blog: "Eunomia's Quill".

    Eunomia's Quill was the antithesis of Cyrus' personal blog. It was serious and focused. She noticed that his last post was before Maya's death. She quickly scrolled through the first page. Cyrus had written blog articles about Indian Laws. He had hundreds of followers and half a dozen blogger awards. Impressed, she clicked on the latest blog post, a detailed explanation of a recent law, detailing the subtleties missed by the mainstream newspapers. Commentators had lauded the explanation and many had shared it on Facebook and Google Plus. She read a couple of older posts, which were about the procedure murder investigations followed in India. He came off as an erudite individual and not the cute and casual guy she had come to think of him as. She was surprised that his blog never came up during their conversations.

    Jennifer switched off the laptop and got up to warm the coffee again. She had decided to wait for Cyrus to call her whenever he got up. She had a feeling that they would catch Varun soon.

You can read the next chapter of this story here
“Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.”

Popular posts from this blog

X for X023

Sheena Zavheri was in the bathroom touching up her make-up when she heard the muffled explosion of a gunshot from the corridor. She instinctively grasped at the gun hidden expertly under her saree and slid towards the entrance--instincts one would hardly expect from the socialite wife of an a-list actor. Sheena, born Hridi Quazi and codenamed X023, was a sleeper operative for the Bangladeshi secret agency. Hridi had married Toufique Zavheri--recognized popularly by the pseudonym: ‘Milan’--after a short affaire planned, funded and effected by the agency in coffee shops and fancy restaurants. More than fifteen years later, Sheena and Milan were at a resort on their wedding anniversary at her insistence trying to resuscitate their gasping relationship.

Hridi spied through the fisheye a muted tussle going on in the large corridor between two dark figures almost out of her field of vision. It could be an unrelated murder attempt on another guest. It would have been risky to step out. But…

Y for You

I see you lying on the bed and I want to scream out to you. But I know it won’t reach. I feel like giving up. I see your body on the bed but it isn’t you. You’re gone. You have deserted me.

I’m sitting on the chair besides your bed holding a bouquet of Bougainvillea for you. It’s not a common flower for bouquets–the nurses looked curiously at the bouquet as I walked to your room–but you used to love them. And today is a special day.

I always get you Bougainvillea. The florist at the corner keeps a bouquet ready for me every year. It’s a newer shop. You’ve never seen it. So many things have changed in the neighborhood since you left. Our favourite ice-cream shop is gone. There’s a bookstore in its place. I visit it often. The year before the last when the car wouldn’t start, I bought a book and taught myself how to fix it. I figured I was going to need it often. Robert tells me we can now afford a new car.

I don’t talk to him much lately. He is rarely at home nowadays. He thinks we’re…

Repentance

It was late at night but she was still in the kitchen. The knife cut away rhythmically, punctuating the eerie silence of their bungalow.
‘Was I too harsh on him?’ she thought to herself. ‘Maybe I overreacted.’ The knife came threateningly close to her fingers. ‘Which married couple doesn’t argue? We have argued in the past. We got over it. We would have this time too. Maybe I went too crazy. Maybe he was right. Maybe I deserved to get slapped.’ The knife cut her finger. She ran to the sink and washed her wound and clasped the finger with her other hand. She sighed. ‘I wish I could tell him how much I repent my mistakes. He would have believed me, if no one else ever did.’ She put the remaining pieces of him in the bag. ‘Maybe I was too harsh on him’.