Detective Arjun Malhotra was finishing his late-night tea when his phone buzzed.
“Sir, it’s urgent,” the duty officer said. “We’ve got a body at the Ashoka Grand Hotel. Room 812. Looks like a high-profile case.”

Arjun grabbed his coat and hurried into the rainy Delhi night. A murder in a luxury hotel meant reporters, pressure, and questions from the top.

The Ashoka Grand’s lobby was silent except for the drip of rain from guests’ umbrellas. A nervous manager led Arjun to the eighth floor.

Room 812 smelled of expensive perfume and iron. On the plush carpet lay a man in his forties, a single stab wound in his chest. No signs of a struggle.

“Name’s Rajiv Bansal,” the manager said. “Business consultant. Checked in yesterday. Alone.”

Arjun’s eyes scanned the room. Laptop on the desk, untouched. Wallet in his jacket, cash and cards intact. No forced entry.

The door had a modern electronic lock. “Who has access?” Arjun asked.

“Only the guest’s key card,” the manager said. “And housekeeping during the day.”

The detective lifted the key card from the nightstand. The room had been locked from inside.

Downstairs, three people waited in the lounge. Meera, the night receptionist. Calm but pale. Dev, a young bellboy with nervous eyes. Ananya, a guest in the room next door.

Ananya spoke first. “I heard a soft thud around 10:45 p.m. Then nothing. I thought it was someone dropping luggage.”

Meera said no one had passed the desk after 10:30. “The hallway cameras were off for maintenance tonight,” she added, wincing. Bad luck.

Dev avoided Arjun’s eyes. “I brought Mr. Bansal some tea at ten. He seemed fine.”

“Did you notice anything unusual?” Arjun asked.

Dev hesitated. “A woman came earlier. Around nine. She didn’t give a name. Said she was expected. I… I let her up.”

Arjun checked the guest register. Only one woman had visited that evening: Dr. Kavya Bansal—Rajiv’s wife.

He drove to the Bansal residence in South Delhi. Kavya opened the door herself. Her eyes were red but her voice steady.

“Yes, Rajiv was my husband,” she said. “But I wasn’t with him tonight. We’ve been separated for months.”

“Why?” Arjun asked.

“He was laundering money through shell companies. I wanted no part of it. He refused a divorce.”

“Did you go to the hotel?”

“No. I stayed home all evening.” She handed over her phone without hesitation. The location data showed she hadn’t left.

Back at the hotel, Arjun examined Rajiv’s laptop. Encrypted files filled the screen. One folder stood out, named “Key.” It was password-protected.

Forensics found a single clue: a faint smudge on the inside door handle—someone wearing thin gloves had turned it.

“How could the killer leave and lock the door from inside?” the officer asked.

Arjun studied the electronic lock. “Unless the killer never left,” he said quietly.

Housekeeping records showed that Dev, the bellboy, had a master key card—one that could override locks.

Arjun called Dev back for questioning. The young man trembled. “I didn’t kill him, sir. I swear.”

“Then tell me everything.”

Dev looked at the floor. “Rajiv asked me earlier if the side service elevator was working. He said he was meeting someone secretly and didn’t want to be seen.”

“What about the woman?”

“She wore a dark scarf. I never saw her face.”

Arjun pressed harder. Dev admitted he sometimes helped guests avoid the front desk for a small tip. “I used my card to open a service door, but I didn’t go inside the room after that.”

The cyber unit cracked the “Key” folder by morning. Inside were bank statements and emails linking Rajiv to a smuggling ring—and to Commissioner Verma, a senior police official.

Arjun’s stomach tightened. Verma was his boss.

One email from Verma read: “Meet tonight. Bring the key. After this, you disappear.”

Was “key” a password, a file, or something physical? And if Verma was involved, why was Rajiv dead?

Arjun requested CCTV footage from the service elevator. Though the hallway cameras were down, the elevator camera was still working.

At 9:05 p.m., Dev appeared, holding the door for a woman in a dark scarf. Her face stayed hidden. At 11:15 p.m., the same woman left—wearing Rajiv’s jacket and hat.

The timestamp showed the service door opened with Dev’s master card. But Dev insisted he never gave it away.

Arjun slowed the footage. A tiny reflection in the elevator’s metal panel revealed part of the woman’s face. He recognized her.

Meera, the receptionist.

Arjun brought Meera into an empty conference room.

“I have footage of you leaving in Rajiv’s clothes,” he said.

She folded her arms. “He ruined my sister’s life,” she snapped. “Promised marriage, cheated her, left her broke. I only wanted the files to expose him.”

“So you killed him?”

“No!” Tears filled her eyes. “I went to get the proof. He was alive when I left. I wore his jacket so the cameras would think he was walking out. I wanted people to believe he disappeared, not died.”

“Why?”

“If the world thought he ran away, his investors would panic, and his dirty deals would collapse.”

Her story rang half-true, but Arjun needed more.

Before he could dig deeper, Arjun’s phone buzzed. Commissioner Verma wanted a private meeting.

Verma closed the office door. “Drop the hotel case,” he said quietly. “Suicide, open-and-shut.”

Arjun’s instincts screamed. “Sir, it’s murder.”

Verma’s eyes hardened. “Listen to me. You like your badge? End the investigation.”

Arjun left without replying. He now knew two things: Verma had motive, and someone inside the hotel helped.

A lab report arrived: the door lock showed it had been opened at 11:20 p.m.—after Meera left. Only one card could do that: the victim’s own key.

But the key was missing.

Arjun replayed the footage. At 11:22 p.m., the service elevator carried one last passenger: Commissioner Verma, wearing a raincoat and cap.

Arjun quietly obtained a warrant and confronted Verma at his farmhouse.

“You went to the hotel after Meera left,” Arjun said. “You took Rajiv’s key from the front desk earlier. He had proof of your corruption. You silenced him.”

Verma gave a cold smile. “Bold theory. Any evidence?”

Arjun slid a pen drive across the table. “Service elevator video. Your face reflected in the metal. Not perfect, but enough.”

Verma’s smile faded. “You’ll ruin your career.”

“I’d rather lose a job than my conscience.”

The commissioner lunged for the flash drive. Officers waiting outside stormed in and pulled him back.

Days later, the case made headlines: Top Cop Arrested for Murder of Consultant.
Meera was charged only for obstruction of justice; her sister’s complaint against Rajiv supported her motive but not murder.
Dev was cleared after his testimony helped prove the timeline.

Arjun stood outside the hotel one last time. Rain washed the neon lights into streaks on the pavement.

The electronic lock on Room 812 had been replaced, but Arjun still carried the real “key”: the evidence of power, greed, and how close justice had come to being locked away.