THE POISON WAS PATIENT

CHAPTER 9

The next morning arrived quietly.

A pale strip of sunlight slipped through the curtains of a small apartment.

Lucia opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, suspended between sleep and reality. Her heart was already racing, though she couldn't remember what had frightened her awake.

She rose at last and crossed to the window. After drawing back the curtains, she opened it. Cool air brushed her face.

For a moment, she stood there, breathing slowly and trying to convince herself that everything was normal. The thought felt hollow. Her gaze kept returning to the small drawer beside the sofa, as if she expected it to betray her.

In the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of coffee. Its aroma filled the quiet apartment. She had just lifted the mug when—

Ding... Dong.

Lucia froze.

The coffee trembled in her hand as her eyes shifted toward the front door.

Nobody was supposed to come.

Ding... Dong.

She set the mug on the counter too quickly. It struck the surface with a faint clink.

Then she crossed the room. Each step tightened the pressure in her chest.

Through the peephole, she saw a man in dark trousers and a formal shirt. His expression revealed nothing.

Lucia hesitated with her hand on the latch. A dozen excuses formed and collapsed in her mind.

"Who are you?"

The man immediately showed his identification.

"I'm Inspector Raman."

Lucia's face changed.

Only slightly.

But enough.

A cold sensation moved through her stomach.

Raman noticed it.

"I want to ask you something, Miss Lucia."

She glanced at her watch, though she already knew the time.

"I have to go to work."

"It won't take long."

"Please come on the weekend. Or in the evening."

"Ma'am, five or six minutes. That's all."

Raman's voice was polite.

Almost too polite.

"Please cooperate with us."

Lucia stared at him.

She wanted to say no. The word rose to her lips, but fear pressed it back down. Refusing would make him wonder why. Letting him inside might expose something she had spent months hiding.

Her eyes shifted past Raman to the empty corridor.

Something inside her seemed to give up.

"Okay..."

She opened the door wider.

"Come in."

Raman stepped inside.

Lucia closed the door.

Click.

The sound seemed strangely loud, sealing the apartment around them.

Raman surveyed the room.

Nothing unusual.

A sofa.

A bookshelf.

A dining table.

A coffee mug sitting untouched on the counter.

He pulled out a small notebook while Lucia remained standing, her arms stiff at her sides.

"You can sit," Raman said.

She lowered herself onto the sofa. Its edge pressed against the backs of her knees. Keeping her hands folded in her lap, she tried to hide their shaking.

Raman took the chair opposite her.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then he asked casually,

"When did you last see Raghav Malhotra?"

Lucia's fingers tightened together.

The room seemed to contract. She looked down, afraid the answer might appear on her face before she could control it.

"January 5th, 2025."

Raman wrote something.

"Where?"

"At his office."

"Did you meet him often?"

She hesitated. The pause felt dangerous.

"Sometimes."

Raman looked up.

"Were you in a relationship with him?"

Lucia's breathing changed.

Just slightly.

Her throat tightened, and she forced herself not to glance toward the drawer.

"Yes."

Raman wrote again.

"How long?"

Lucia stared at the floor.

"About four years."

"Four years?"

"Yes."

"Where did you meet for the first time?"

"His office."

"Okay."

Raman paused.

Then asked the question Lucia had been silently dreading.

"Did Raghav's wife know about your relationship?"

Lucia shook her head at once.

"No."

The answer came too quickly. She heard the fear in it and knew Raman had as well.

He studied her.

"Are you sure?"

Lucia swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry.

"Yes."

A short silence followed.

Raman turned a page in his notebook.

"Did Raghav ever talk about his marriage?"

Her eyes flickered towards the window.

"Sometimes."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing important."

"What does 'nothing important' mean?"

Lucia said nothing.

Her pulse thudded in her ears.

Raman waited.

He didn't repeat the question.

That silence was worse. It gave her too much time to imagine what he already knew.

At last, she whispered,

"They didn't have a very good relationship."

"Who?"

"Raghav and his wife."

Raman nodded slowly.

"Did he ever say he wanted to leave her?"

Lucia looked at him.

"No."

A pause.

"Not exactly."

Raman's pen stopped.

"Not exactly?"

She realized her mistake.

Heat rose beneath her skin. Looking away, she pressed her nails into her palm.

"He... he said things when he was angry."

"What things?"

"That he was tired."

"Of his marriage?"

"I don't know."

Her voice faded.

Raman leaned back.

"Did he ever tell you he was afraid of someone?"

Lucia's fingers went still.

For a moment, her face became completely blank. The question struck somewhere deep, somewhere she had tried not to remember.

Then she forced a small shake of her head.

"No."

The word barely emerged.

Raman continued writing.

He didn't notice her uneven breathing or the way her eyes had shifted toward the small drawer beside the sofa.

And he certainly didn't know what was inside it.

Lucia did.

A folded piece of paper.

Something Raghav had given her.

Something she had never shown anyone.

Not even the police.

The thought twisted her stomach. She could almost feel the paper's edges against her fingers, though it lay hidden only a few feet away.

Raman closed his notebook.

"One last question."

Lucia looked at him.

"Did you meet Raghav after January 5th?"

"No."

"Never?"

"Never."

The lie left her mouth. For one terrible second, she thought Raman could hear the fear inside it.

He stood.

Lucia released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her lungs burned as the air escaped.

Raman walked toward the door, then stopped.

"Oh, Miss Lucia."

She looked up.

"Yes?"

He turned around.

"Why January 5th?"

Lucia froze.

The muscles in her back tightened.

"What?"

"You remembered the exact date immediately."

Her lips parted.

No answer.

Raman gave her a neutral look.

"Most people don't remember the exact date they last saw someone."

Lucia's face slowly lost its colour.

The room seemed to tilt. Blood drained from her hands.

"I... I just remember it."

Raman studied her for another second.

She forced herself to meet his eyes, though every instinct told her to look away.

Then he nodded.

"Alright."

He opened the door.

Lucia watched him leave.

The door closed.

Click.

She remained still.

For several seconds, she listened to Raman's footsteps fade down the corridor. Only when silence returned did her knees weaken.

Then she rushed to the drawer.

Her hands trembled so violently that she nearly dropped the handle as she pulled it open.

Inside lay the folded paper.

It was old.

Creased.

At the bottom of the page, in Raghav's handwriting, were six words:

"If anything happens to me, don't..."

Lucia stopped reading.

Her vision blurred. She couldn't bring herself to look at the rest.

Because she already knew what came next.

And Raman...

had just started asking her the right questions.