The next morning, Simani was awake.
She was still quite weak – her body spending all its resources on the process of recovery – meaning that she couldn’t stay awake for more than an hour at a time. And she was a little disoriented from all the drugs being pumped into her body.
But she was recovering well, according to the doctors. Vik said they might release her by the end of next week, if she kept responding to treatment as well as she currently was.
Ruban nodded, a sudden surge of relief flooding his veins. He took a sip of his coffee to try and hide the smile that rose unbidden to his lips.
He’d been late to arrive at the hospital, since he’d had to visit the IAW headquarters first thing in the morning to report the break-in at his flat. To say that his superiors – Unnati and Raizada, in particular – were unhappy with the recent goings-on would be an understatement. Aside from Simani’s brush with mortality, eight other people had died during the attack on the fair. Several others were injured and a family of three (including a child) were still missing.
All things considered, Ruban was almost surprised they hadn’t yet tried to suspend him, but he knew their patience was wearing thin.
“Vik, did you…” He took another sip of his coffee. “Have you had a chance to—”
“Yes,” Vikram said, before he could finish the question. “Sim says she was pushed from behind. She didn’t see who it was, but she’s positive about it. I asked her multiple times, just to be sure she wasn’t simply confused and disoriented. Her account is consistent, and there are too many details – too much specificity – for it to simply be a product of delirium brought on by her injuries.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his oversized beige trousers, which he had paired with a faded denim shirt that’d clearly seen better days. “She believes someone pushed her in front of that shell, deliberately, to kill her. And I don’t think there’s any chance she could’ve been mistaken.”
Ruban nodded thoughtfully, then related the events of the previous night. “There aren’t any valuables in the flat,” he said, concluding the story. “I might sometimes take some case files home with me, but I certainly don’t keep them in Hiya’s room. It doesn’t make any sense why—”
“Maybe the…perpetrator,” Vikram began. “Didn’t know it was her room. Maybe they intended to search the whole flat, and that was just the first room they had access to.” He paused for a few seconds, thinking. “Hell, maybe they didn’t even expect you to be there. That flat’s been empty for days, with you here at the hospital and Hiya at my place. And you wouldn’t have gone back last night, either, if I hadn’t forced you to.”
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“Just as well you did.” Ruban smiled ruefully. “The flat’s been cordoned off for now. God only knows when I’ll have a chance to sleep in my own bed again.”
“The police are handling this case?” Vikram asked, surprised.
“For now.” Ruban drained the last of his coffee and tossed the cup into a nearby bin. “They’ll hand it off to the Hunter Corps eventually. It’s obvious this wasn’t an ordinary burglary, but they have to keep up the appearance of due process.”
“What about DNA? You said your ‘burglar’ had cut himself,” he cocked his head to the side. “Or herself, I suppose. On the window frame.”
“They’re processing it,” Ruban said. “But I don’t know how much use that’ll be. We have only a handful of the cultists on our database. Those that have been arrested before. And most of the ones we arrested in recent months are still behind bars. Plus, there’s no guarantee the cults were involved.
“I mean, that’s the most likely answer, but it could also be the feather mafia. The larger gangs were decimated last year, but many of the smaller ones are still active, sporadically, in Ragah. Might be one of them decided they wanted some ‘revenge’. If so, we might have an easier time matching the DNA to the profiles in our database. But that wouldn’t be any use for our current case.”
A green-clad nurse strode into the narrow corridor they were standing in, and spoke softly to Vikram. He nodded and turned to follow her, beckoning for Ruban to come along.
“What about Simani’s shirt?” Ruban asked, as they followed the nurse to his partner’s room on the second floor. “I mean her uniform, the one she wore to the last Hunt.”
“What about it? It’s ruined. It was in tatters when you got her to the hospital—”
Ruban clicked his tongue. “Don’t be daft, Vik. I’m talking about DNA. There’s blood on that shirt, right? Considering the extent of Simani’s injuries, most of that blood would be hers. But you said…” he paused as they rounded a corner and went up a flight of stairs. “You said she was pushed from behind, right?”
Vikram swore softly under his breath. “You think some of the blood on the back of her shirt might belong to the person who pushed her? And that it might be the same person who broke into your flat last night?”
“I know how long of a shot it is, trust me. But it’s worth a try, isn’t it?” Ruban’s voice rose with his mounting interest in the theory. “By the time Ashwin showed up, the fairgrounds had turned into a mini-warzone. If someone got close enough to push Simani into an oncoming energy-shell, there’s a solid chance they sustained some injuries of their own. And if they did, they might’ve gotten some of their blood onto Simani’s clothes, when they pushed her.”
“Or, the blood could’ve gotten there at some other point during the fight,” Vikram pointed out.
“Very true. Which is why it’d prove nothing on its own. But if there’s a match—”
“If it’s the same person who broke into your flat,” Vikram finished, brightening.
“Unlikely as that is,” Ruban said.
“But if it is the same person, then that’d be undeniable proof of foul play.”
Ruban hummed his agreement as they finally came up to the door of Simani’s room. The nurse pushed the heavy wooden door open to let the two men in, then closed it softly behind herself.