A witness finally emerged.
An elderly guard reported seeing a woman wearing a red shawl leaving the library shortly before the murder.
The description matched Riya Mukherjee.
Police immediately suspected her.
But Jones was unconvinced.
Riya admitted she had been at the library.
Yet she claimed Dr. Sen was alive when she left.
Then she revealed something unexpected.
She and Dr. Sen had been secretly engaged.
The revelation changed everything.
Riya had loved the victim.
But love can be dangerous.
Especially when secrets are involved.
The news of the witness spread quickly through the investigation team.
For the first time since Dr. Arvind Sen's death, the police had something resembling a direct lead.
Until then, every clue had pointed toward hidden societies, missing documents, invisible messages, and unknown enemies. Now there was an actual person who had been seen near the crime scene at the critical moment.
Inspector Roy wasted no time.
The elderly guard was brought in for questioning again.
His name was Haradhan Das. He had worked at the National Library for nearly thirty years and knew every corridor, staircase, and reading room better than most of the staff.
The old man sat nervously in a chair while Roy questioned him.
"You are certain about what you saw?"
Haradhan nodded.
"As certain as I can be."
"What exactly did you see?"
The guard adjusted his spectacles.
"It was raining heavily that evening. I was checking the eastern corridor near the side entrance."
"And?"
"I saw a woman leaving."
"Could you see her face?"
"Not clearly."
Roy frowned.
"Then how do you know it was a woman?"
"The shawl. The way she walked. I am quite sure."
"What color was the shawl?"
"Red."
The answer came without hesitation.
Roy exchanged a glance with Jones.
A red shawl.
The detail matched someone already on their list.
Riya Mukherjee.
One of the four individuals authorized to access the manuscript.
One of the last known people connected directly to Dr. Sen's research.
And now, potentially, one of the last people to see him alive.
Roy leaned forward.
"What time was this?"
"Perhaps thirty or forty minutes before the body was discovered."
The inspector's expression hardened.
"Did you recognize her?"
Haradhan hesitated.
"Not at first."
"But later?"
The old guard nodded slowly.
"I believe it was Miss Mukherjee."
The room fell silent.
For Roy, the implication was obvious.
For Jones, it was merely another piece of a puzzle.
After the interview ended, Roy immediately began organizing a formal interrogation.
"We finally have something solid," he said.
Jones remained thoughtful.
"Do we?"
Roy stared at him.
"A witness places her at the library shortly before the murder."
"Yes."
"She had access to the manuscript."
"Yes."
"She knew the victim."
"Yes."
Roy spread his hands.
"What more do you want?"
Jones adjusted his spectacles.
"Evidence."
The inspector sighed heavily.
"You always want more evidence."
"That is generally how investigations work."
Martin struggled to hide a smile.
Roy ignored him.
"You're not convinced."
"No."
"Why not?"
Jones looked toward the rain-covered windows.
"Because the clue arrived too neatly."
Martin frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"The investigation has spent days uncovering hidden messages, forged records, staged break-ins, and secret societies."
Jones turned back toward them.
"And now, suddenly, a witness appears with a perfect suspect."
Roy crossed his arms.
"You think someone is framing her."
"I think someone may want us looking in her direction."
The distinction mattered.
By evening, Riya Mukherjee had been located and asked to come voluntarily for questioning.
She arrived at police headquarters shortly after sunset.
Martin immediately understood why she had attracted attention.
She was younger than he expected, perhaps in her late twenties. Intelligent eyes watched the room carefully. Her posture remained calm despite the circumstances.
Most importantly, she wore a red shawl.
The same red shawl described by the witness.
Inspector Roy began immediately.
"Were you at the National Library on the evening of Dr. Sen's death?"
"Yes."
The answer came without hesitation.
Roy looked surprised.
"You admit it?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
The straightforward response briefly disrupted his momentum.
"What time did you arrive?"
She provided the details.
"What were you doing there?"
"Research."
"On what subject?"
"The Order of Ashvattha."
Martin noticed Jones watching carefully.
Not the answers.
The manner in which they were given.
Riya showed no signs of panic.
No visible fear.
No attempt to avoid questions.
Roy continued.
"Witnesses place you in the library shortly before the murder."
"That is correct."
"You were in the manuscript section?"
"Yes."
"Did you see Dr. Sen?"
"Yes."
The room became noticeably quieter.
"When?"
"Approximately forty-five minutes before I left."
"And was he alive?"
She met Roy's gaze directly.
"Yes."
"You're certain?"
"Absolutely."
Roy leaned forward.
"Did you speak with him?"
A brief hesitation.
Then—
"Yes."
"What about?"
"Research."
Roy was unconvinced.
"What kind of research?"
"The kind that eventually got him killed."
The statement stunned everyone.
Even Jones looked intrigued.
Roy narrowed his eyes.
"Explain."
Riya lowered her gaze for a moment.
When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.
"He was frightened."
Martin exchanged a glance with Jones.
"Frightened of what?" Roy asked.
"He thought someone was watching him."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Did he mention any names?"
"No."
"Did he mention the Order?"
"Constantly."
The questioning continued for another hour.
Every answer seemed to create as many questions as it resolved.
Then Roy asked a seemingly simple question.
"What was your relationship with Dr. Sen?"
For the first time, Riya looked uncomfortable.
A long silence followed.
Jones noticed it immediately.
Something important was coming.
Roy repeated the question.
"What was your relationship?"
Riya looked down at her hands.
Then she spoke.
"We were engaged."
The room froze.
For several seconds nobody moved.
Martin blinked.
Roy stared.
Even Jones appeared genuinely surprised.
"What?"
Riya swallowed.
"We were engaged."
Inspector Roy leaned back slowly.
The revelation transformed the investigation in an instant.
Everything changed.
Her presence at the library.
Her interest in the manuscript.
Her involvement in the research.
None of it could be viewed the same way anymore.
Martin finally found his voice.
"You and Dr. Sen were going to be married?"
She nodded.
"When?"
"We hadn't announced it yet."
"Why not?"
Riya hesitated.
"Because of the research."
The answer seemed strange.
Jones spoke for the first time.
"What do you mean?"
She looked toward him.
"Arvind believed someone was monitoring his work."
Jones listened carefully.
"He thought announcing our engagement would put me in danger."
A silence followed.
The statement felt sincere.
Pain flickered briefly across her expression.
Not performed.
Not calculated.
Real.
Roy studied her.
"Can anyone confirm this engagement?"
"Yes."
She opened her handbag and removed a small envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Dr. Sen stood beside her, smiling.
On her hand was a ring.
Martin examined it.
The image appeared authentic.
Roy looked frustrated.
A suspect had just become something far more complicated.
After the interview ended, the investigators gathered privately.
Martin spoke first.
"I don't think she killed him."
Roy sighed.
"People murder spouses and fiancés all the time."
"Not saying they don't," Martin replied.
"But she seemed genuinely devastated."
Jones remained silent.
Roy looked at him.
"Your opinion?"
Jones folded his hands.
"I believe she is hiding something."
Martin frowned.
"You think she's involved?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what?"
Jones looked toward the photograph.
"I think she's withholding information."
Roy nodded.
"About the Order?"
"Possibly."
"About the murder?"
"Possibly."
Martin sighed.
"That doesn't help."
"It helps immensely," Jones said.
Both men looked at him.
"The question is not whether she lied."
Jones adjusted his spectacles.
"The question is what she lied about."
The following day, they searched through Dr. Sen's personal records again.
This time with a new perspective.
The engagement explained certain details.
Private correspondence.
Unidentified meetings.
Shared research notes.
But it also revealed something unexpected.
Several of Dr. Sen's journals contained references to someone identified only by the letter R.
Initially investigators had assumed the references concerned research.
Now it was obvious.
They referred to Riya.
Yet among the entries, one note stood out.
It had been written less than a week before his death.
The sentence was short.
Almost hurried.
R still doesn't know the truth.
Martin stared at the page.
"The truth about what?"
Nobody knew.
Jones examined the entry repeatedly.
The wording troubled him.
If Dr. Sen had hidden something from Riya, it meant their relationship contained secrets.
Important secrets.
Perhaps dangerous ones.
That evening another development emerged.
Forensic analysis of Dr. Sen's office uncovered traces of recently burned paper in a wastebasket.
Most of the fragments were unreadable.
Most.
One piece contained a few surviving words.
Jones studied them carefully.
The fragment read:
...cannot trust...
And below it:
...Master...
Nothing more.
The rest had been destroyed.
Roy looked grim.
"Another reference."
Jones nodded.
"The Master again."
Martin rubbed his forehead.
"Everything keeps leading back to the same thing."
The hidden message.
The manuscript.
The missing final page.
The anonymous threat.
And now a burned document mentioning The Master.
The circle was growing smaller.
Yet the center remained hidden.
Late that night, Jones sat alone in his hotel room reviewing notes.
The city beyond the window glowed beneath wet streets and distant lights.
Something about Riya's story continued to bother him.
Not because he believed she was guilty.
In fact, the opposite troubled him.
She seemed too genuine.
Too honest.
Too wounded.
Which raised a more disturbing possibility.
If Riya truly loved Dr. Sen, and if Dr. Sen truly loved her, then why had he written:
R still doesn't know the truth.
What truth?
What secret was so important that he had concealed it even from the woman he intended to marry?
Jones closed the notebook.
Somewhere inside the National Library, answers remained hidden.
Perhaps in the missing final page.
Perhaps in the identity of The Master.
Or perhaps in the past of the woman in the red shawl.
For now, one thing had become painfully clear.
Riya Mukherjee was no longer merely a witness.
She was now at the center of the mystery.
Whether as a victim, a suspect, or something else entirely, Jones could not yet tell.
And in murder investigations, the most dangerous secrets were often the ones shared between people who loved each other.