When an Old Crime Refuses to Stay Buried — Sameer Gudhate Reviews An Uncaught Criminal by Rihan Khalyani

There is something deeply unsettling about a dead police officer hanging from a tree at a Delhi crossroads. Not just because it is murder, but because of who the victim is. A person who is supposed to represent the law has now become a message from someone who clearly has no respect for it.

And then there is the symbol.

The mark of Lady Justice on the dead officer’s neck.

That is where Rihan Khalyani’s An Uncaught Criminal grabs your attention. Not with a long explanation, but with a question: who would want to murder a police officer like this—and, more importantly, why?

Before Avinash and his team can make sense of the first murder, there are more. Police officers begin turning up dead, following the same disturbing pattern. The investigation starts moving in circles until an old case from Punjab, dating back sixteen years, begins to cast a shadow over everything happening in the present.

That is when this stops being just a story about a serial killer.

It becomes a story about what happens when an old wound never really heals.

The older case concerns Shivika, a young woman who was brutally raped and eventually died from her injuries. The criminals were killed in a police encounter, and, on the surface, the case was over. But Khalyani builds his thriller around the uncomfortable possibility that a case can be officially closed without ever being emotionally finished.

And that is where the book becomes interesting.

Because revenge rarely begins with a person deciding, calmly and rationally, that they want to become a criminal. It begins somewhere much more human—grief, helplessness, anger, the feeling that justice has failed, and the terrible belief that perhaps someone has to take matters into their own hands.

Khalyani uses the investigation to explore that space.

Avinash and Arif are not simply running from one crime scene to another collecting clues. They are trying to understand the connection between two periods separated by sixteen years. Every answer throws up another question. Every person they look at seems to carry another piece of the puzzle.

And that makes the reading experience quite conversational in its rhythm. You keep finding yourself thinking, Okay, so if this is connected to that, then what about this person? Just when you think you have understood the direction of the investigation, another connection changes the picture.

The characters help maintain that curiosity.

Avinash becomes the natural centre of the investigation, while Arif works alongside him as they attempt to make sense of increasingly complicated circumstances. Rakshit, the psychiatrist, adds another dimension to the story, while Ameek becomes particularly intriguing because questions surrounding his identity and his connection to the case keep the reader looking at him from different angles.

What I particularly liked is the way the characters are made part of the mystery rather than simply placed around it. You don't just ask, Who is the killer? You start asking, What does this person know? What are they hiding? Why are they behaving this way?

That distinction matters.

The novel also understands something important about crime fiction: sometimes the most interesting mystery isn't the crime itself. It is the reason behind it.

The murders here are shocking, but the deeper curiosity comes from the connection to Shivika's case. Why these policemen? Why now? Why after sixteen years? And what does the old case reveal about the people involved in the present one?

Khalyani keeps pulling the reader backwards to move the story forward.

That structure works particularly well because some details that may initially seem unnecessary begin to make sense later. A few readers have also pointed out that the novel's character naming and recurring connections reward attentive reading. These are small structural choices, but they contribute to the feeling that the story is gradually assembling itself in front of you.

The writing is another strength. Khalyani keeps the language simple and the narrative moving. There is no attempt to bury the mystery under elaborate prose. For this particular story, that works. The reader's attention remains where it should be—on the investigation, the characters and the questions.

But the book isn't flawless.

The biggest issue is predictability. Some readers were able to identify the killer before the final revelation. I can understand that criticism because a thriller depends heavily on uncertainty. Once you begin suspecting the right person, part of the mystery naturally loses its bite.

Yet there is something interesting about the fact that even readers who guessed the culprit still found themselves reading ahead to see how everything would come together. That tells us something about where Khalyani's real strength lies. The book isn't entirely dependent on the final reveal. Its momentum also comes from understanding the connections between the past and present.

There are moments when the story feels almost cinematic in its construction. The murders, police investigation, old case, politics and hidden identities could easily belong to a crime series. But that cinematic quality occasionally makes the narrative feel familiar. The stronger moments are the ones where the story slows down enough for us to consider the people behind the crimes rather than simply the mechanics of the mystery.

And that brings me back to Shivika.

She is not merely a name from an old case file. Her story becomes the emotional centre around which the present-day murders revolve. Through her, the novel raises an uncomfortable question: if someone believes the system failed a victim, what happens when that person decides to create their own version of justice?

There is no easy answer.

Justice and revenge can sometimes look frighteningly similar from a distance. The difference becomes visible only when we ask who gets hurt along the way.

That is what stays with me about An Uncaught Criminal. Not simply the murders. Not even the question of whether the police eventually identify the person responsible.

It is the idea that some crimes don't really disappear when the files are closed.

They wait.

And sometimes, years later, they come back looking for someone to answer them.

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