A feared film producer is found dead in his locked first-class cabin on the overnight Konkan Queen. Six passengers shared his carriage, and every one of them has something to protect. A reel of film is missing from the floor. A doctor has already signed it off as his heart.
Vikram Saxena built a career on other people's ruin — and boarded the overnight Konkan Queen with a deal to close in Goa.
By first light the train is standing at Madgaon and cabin A-4 is bolted from the inside. The producer is dead on the lower berth. A panel doctor signs it off as his heart, which everyone expects, because everyone knew about his heart.
The file lands on your table because someone in the Railway Police was not satisfied. The cabin had been searched. A film tin lies open and empty on the floor. And the six first-class passengers of Carriage A have each given a statement that is careful in a way that honest statements rarely are.
You work it the way the investigating officer worked it — through his casebook, his exhibits, his photographs, and the recordings he recovered. Nobody will explain anything to you. They will only tell you what suits them.
Each one has to fall before the next makes sense. Work them in order and the evening paces itself.
A man with a known heart condition dies of a heart attack. The post-mortem should be a formality. It isn't.
Someone went through his belongings that night. The loud crime is not always the one that killed him.
Six alibis, tested against each other. The answer is in the file from the first page. Seeing it is the hard part.
Every document is built as its own artifact — police stationery, clinical lab forms, aged newsprint, an advocate's letterhead, handwritten statements. No two look alike, because in a real file they never would.
Eight QR codes sit inside the file. Point a phone at them and the evidence opens — no app, no account, nothing to install. Several proofs live only here, so the codes are not decoration.
The full scene set as the officer shot it, plus the residence photographs. Ordinary frames and load-bearing ones, deliberately mixed.
Timestamped frames from the carriage camera through the night. Who walked where, and at what hour.
What came back from the laboratory, photographed on the bench with the result sheet legible.
A voicemail left late at night, and a quarrel in the dining car that several passengers would rather you hadn't heard.
Sent within 24 hours of payment, usually much sooner.
Currently delivered within Karnataka only. Dispatched in 3–5 working days. Outside Karnataka, the digital edition is available everywhere.
Three to six people, a table, two to three hours, and one phone between you for the QR codes. No app, no subscription, nothing to set up.
It lives on a separate answer key page, reached by the code on the last page. Nobody can flip to the back, and nobody spoils it by accident.
Every person, company and event in this case is invented. It deals with a death and we suggest players are 13 or older. There is nothing graphic in it.