With skill and clear mastery of her work, the young lady, about twenty-nine years old, continued explaining while pointing at the whiteboard illuminated by the projector’s bright light. Even without being told, one could easily understand that they were inside a major-crimes investigation room—especially crimes involving murder, rape, kidnapping, and similar offenses.
The projected image showed a young man lying flat on the ground, looking lifeless. All signs suggested he was dead. The area was surrounded with long yellow tape, and boldly written on it were the words Restricted Area.
The young lady fixed her eyes on the image, which appeared large in front of them because of the projector. She stepped closer, narrowing her eyes as she examined the picture. Slowly, she murmured, “He held the gun with his left hand. The direction the gun is pointing doesn’t match a straight shot to his chest. The bullet should have pierced his ribs first before entering the chest, that’s if he fired the gun himself with the hand the prints were found on…”
A young man, around thirty-two, rose from his seat and walked toward her. He was also one of the detectives seated in the well-arranged investigation hall. With his hands in his pockets, he glanced at the image and said, “Well done, Agent Maleeka… but don’t rush. Don’t you think if the man was left-handed, he could angle his hand enough for the bullet to hit the center of his chest and pierce straight through?”
Maleeka turned toward the speaker, shrugged slightly and replied, “I’m not certain, Inspector Assad… but that’s what I believe.”
She barely finished when another voice cut sharply through the air: “Oh, shut up!”
They all turned to him. Since they entered the room, he had been sitting with his head lowered, rolling the ring on his finger—something he often did whenever he was deep in thought.
He lifted his head, fixing her with a stare that made her uneasy and confused, completely scattering her thoughts. “Are you guessing… or are you sure?”
Maleeka couldn’t utter a word. She lowered her gaze.
With both hands in the pockets of his jeans, he stood in front of her, tall enough to see the top of her head because of their height difference. In a voice heavy enough to weaken her composure, he said, “We’re investigating a murder here, in case you forgot. There is no room for what you think. Everything here must be known. I want results, not assumptions. Do you understand?” He leaned his face closer, his intense eyes nearly touching hers.
She nodded slightly, her voice shaky. “I… I’m sorry, Inspector, sir…”
“I don’t need your apology. Just do your work properly. Otherwise, you’ll be kicked off this team!”
The anger in his voice made it clear he was deeply upset.
The man standing beside Maleeka shook his head slightly before saying, “But—”
He cut him off immediately. “What do you mean but? You know me very well, Assad. You know I hate incompetence. And people like her irritate me easily.”
Assad sighed, already familiar with his friend’s nature. “MU’AZZAM… please calm down. I’m only asking you to go easy on her.”
“Oh really, Assad? Am I really being too strict? Let me remind you in case you forgot—this is my sister’s case. My sister was found dead with that criminal. And you’re telling me to go easy on her? My sister, Assad. My only sister. She was killed in cold blood. Someone murdered her, Assad. And I’ve been unable to bring those responsible to justice. Tell me—this is when you want me to calm down? This is when you want me to go easy on her?” His voice rose sharply, the hair on his arms stiffening with anger.
The room fell silent except for the sound of Mu’azzam’s heavy breathing. He continued, voice trembling with emotion, “If she is not competent enough to work with this team, the door is wide open.”
Assad interrupted firmly, “But the man who killed your sister is dead too. He committed suicide after he killed your sister, Mu’azzam!”
He walked to the large board and pointed. “Look… look at the suspect. He killed himself after killing her. One gun was used. His fingerprints were found on the gun. Every possible investigation has been done, Mu’azzam, but nothing changed. The only conclusion is that he killed Ikram and then killed himself. And I think we should release the man we’re interrogating—there’s no point detaining him anymore.”
Mu’azzam stared at Assad, his eyes completely red. He shook his head slowly, reached for a small pistol on the table, and picked it up. With anger boiling in his voice, he said, “I’ll prove to all of you that that man did not kill himself. Someone killed him!”
He pointed the gun at Assad, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Sir… what are you doing? Please don’t…” Maleeka’s terrified voice trembled.
He didn’t even look at her. He pointed the gun directly at Assad’s chest, breathing hard like someone about to pull the trigger.
Suddenly, he shifted the gun and pointed it at his own chest instead. Being left-handed, he held the gun exactly the same way the man in the picture supposedly shot himself. His eyes remained fixed on Assad.
Maleeka’s eyes widened. Mu’azzam was pointing the gun at himself exactly like the suspect in the photo. Panic washed over her; it looked like he genuinely intended to shoot himself.
Another officer—the fourth member of their team, older than all of them at about thirty-nine—finally stood up and walked over to them.
He went to the board and pointed at how the supposed suspect had held the gun and shot himself. Then he walked back and looked at Mu’azzam, who was holding the gun the same way. A slow smile appeared on his face as he seemed to admire Mu’azzam’s sharp thinking and dedication.
The way Mu’azzam held the gun was proof: the suspect couldn’t have shot himself in that position. Someone had killed him and placed the gun in his hand afterward. Otherwise, there is no way he could have fired the gun at himself from that angle.
Hidden Truth Behind the “Suicide”
From the demonstration alone, it became clear that the suspect did not commit suicide as earlier believed. The angle, hand position, and bullet trajectory did not match suicide. Mu’azzam’s reenactment showed that someone else must have killed the suspect and staged the scene to appear self-inflicted. The real killer was still out there—and the case had just taken a new, dangerous turn.
Description
Inside the Investigation Room
With skill and clear mastery of her work, the young lady, about twenty-nine years old, continued explaining while pointing at the whiteboard illuminated by the projector’s bright light. Even without being told, one could easily understand that they were inside a major-crimes investigation room—especially crimes involving murder, rape, kidnapping, and similar offenses.
The projected image showed a young man lying flat on the ground, looking lifeless. All signs suggested he was dead. The area was surrounded with long yellow tape, and boldly written on it were the words Restricted Area.
The young lady fixed her eyes on the image, which appeared large in front of them because of the projector. She stepped closer, narrowing her eyes as she examined the picture. Slowly, she murmured, “He held the gun with his left hand. The direction the gun is pointing doesn’t match a straight shot to his chest. The bullet should have pierced his ribs first before entering the chest, that’s if he fired the gun himself with the hand the prints were found on…”
A young man, around thirty-two, rose from his seat and walked toward her. He was also one of the detectives seated in the well-arranged investigation hall. With his hands in his pockets, he glanced at the image and said, “Well done, Agent Maleeka… but don’t rush. Don’t you think if the man was left-handed, he could angle his hand enough for the bullet to hit the center of his chest and pierce straight through?”
Maleeka turned toward the speaker, shrugged slightly and replied, “I’m not certain, Inspector Assad… but that’s what I believe.”
She barely finished when another voice cut sharply through the air: “Oh, shut up!”
They all turned to him. Since they entered the room, he had been sitting with his head lowered, rolling the ring on his finger—something he often did whenever he was deep in thought.
He lifted his head, fixing her with a stare that made her uneasy and confused, completely scattering her thoughts. “Are you guessing… or are you sure?”
Maleeka couldn’t utter a word. She lowered her gaze.
With both hands in the pockets of his jeans, he stood in front of her, tall enough to see the top of her head because of their height difference. In a voice heavy enough to weaken her composure, he said, “We’re investigating a murder here, in case you forgot. There is no room for what you think. Everything here must be known. I want results, not assumptions. Do you understand?” He leaned his face closer, his intense eyes nearly touching hers.
She nodded slightly, her voice shaky. “I… I’m sorry, Inspector, sir…”
“I don’t need your apology. Just do your work properly. Otherwise, you’ll be kicked off this team!”
The anger in his voice made it clear he was deeply upset.
The man standing beside Maleeka shook his head slightly before saying, “But—”
He cut him off immediately. “What do you mean but? You know me very well, Assad. You know I hate incompetence. And people like her irritate me easily.”
Assad sighed, already familiar with his friend’s nature. “MU’AZZAM… please calm down. I’m only asking you to go easy on her.”
“Oh really, Assad? Am I really being too strict? Let me remind you in case you forgot—this is my sister’s case. My sister was found dead with that criminal. And you’re telling me to go easy on her? My sister, Assad. My only sister. She was killed in cold blood. Someone murdered her, Assad. And I’ve been unable to bring those responsible to justice. Tell me—this is when you want me to calm down? This is when you want me to go easy on her?” His voice rose sharply, the hair on his arms stiffening with anger.
The room fell silent except for the sound of Mu’azzam’s heavy breathing. He continued, voice trembling with emotion, “If she is not competent enough to work with this team, the door is wide open.”
Assad interrupted firmly, “But the man who killed your sister is dead too. He committed suicide after he killed your sister, Mu’azzam!”
He walked to the large board and pointed. “Look… look at the suspect. He killed himself after killing her. One gun was used. His fingerprints were found on the gun. Every possible investigation has been done, Mu’azzam, but nothing changed. The only conclusion is that he killed Ikram and then killed himself. And I think we should release the man we’re interrogating—there’s no point detaining him anymore.”
Mu’azzam stared at Assad, his eyes completely red. He shook his head slowly, reached for a small pistol on the table, and picked it up. With anger boiling in his voice, he said, “I’ll prove to all of you that that man did not kill himself. Someone killed him!”
He pointed the gun at Assad, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Sir… what are you doing? Please don’t…” Maleeka’s terrified voice trembled.
He didn’t even look at her. He pointed the gun directly at Assad’s chest, breathing hard like someone about to pull the trigger.
Suddenly, he shifted the gun and pointed it at his own chest instead. Being left-handed, he held the gun exactly the same way the man in the picture supposedly shot himself. His eyes remained fixed on Assad.
Maleeka’s eyes widened. Mu’azzam was pointing the gun at himself exactly like the suspect in the photo. Panic washed over her; it looked like he genuinely intended to shoot himself.
Another officer—the fourth member of their team, older than all of them at about thirty-nine—finally stood up and walked over to them.
He went to the board and pointed at how the supposed suspect had held the gun and shot himself. Then he walked back and looked at Mu’azzam, who was holding the gun the same way. A slow smile appeared on his face as he seemed to admire Mu’azzam’s sharp thinking and dedication.
The way Mu’azzam held the gun was proof: the suspect couldn’t have shot himself in that position. Someone had killed him and placed the gun in his hand afterward. Otherwise, there is no way he could have fired the gun at himself from that angle.
Hidden Truth Behind the “Suicide”
From the demonstration alone, it became clear that the suspect did not commit suicide as earlier believed. The angle, hand position, and bullet trajectory did not match suicide. Mu’azzam’s reenactment showed that someone else must have killed the suspect and staged the scene to appear self-inflicted. The real killer was still out there—and the case had just taken a new, dangerous turn.