The Bones Are Calling: The Siya Rajput Crime Thrillers, #3

By UD Yasha

She has blood on her hands. And no memory of how it got there.

 

Former criminal lawyer Siya Rajput's father disappeared seventeen years back. There has not been a single lead in his disappearance. 

 

Until now.

 

While following up on a shocking new clue, Siya suffers from a blackout and wakes up drenched in blood with no recollection of what happened. There's a body of a woman in the boot of her car.

 

At the other end of town, Senior Inspector Kapil Rathod is called in to investigate a triple homicide. The murders pose a lot of questions—the answers to which may have a connection to Siya's father.

 

Siya and Rathod are up to their necks in a dangerous web of deceit and treachery. They cannot trust anyone, especially not the police.

 

Is Siya's father the great man she thinks he was? After all, love can cloud anyone's judgment. 

 

What Siya will find can destroy her…not unless it kills her first.

 

Emotions and suspense brim in this heart-stopping mystery set in atmospheric India. Fans of Karin Slaughter, Lisa Gardner and James Patterson should meet Siya Rajput.

• Language: English
• Publisher: UD Yasha
• Release date: Dec 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201975418

Book preview

Chapter One

I threw a hand up against my face.

But that did not seem to help. The light was blinding and it kept getting brighter.

A loud and distant banging noise.

I did not know what was causing it, or where it was coming from.

The world around me started spinning. My mouth tasted of lemons. I did not know what was happening, except that I needed to get out of there.

That made me wonder.

Where am I?

I lurched forward, pushing away from the ground that seemed to crumble under my feet, like I was standing on extremely soft sand. I was sure it was not a beach because the sand was pulling me in.

I wanted to shout and ask for help. But I was afraid to open my mouth. What if no sound comes out? I moved with all the energy I had, managing to stumble away from the heavy sand. But where was I even going? Into the blinding light? That made me even more uncomfortable.

Kids and even people talk about being afraid of the dark. But it's never darkness, it's about stepping into the big and vast unknown.

‘Is anyone there?’ I screamed, relieved for a beat that I could speak.

But no one responded.

My voice seemed to bounce around and eventually vanished into the air around me. That’s when I realized how cold it was. A chill ran through my body. I wrapped my arms around myself. Still running, I was hoping I was getting away. The light got dimmer and dimmer.

I turned around and saw that the light was behind me.

‘Siya? Are you there?’ a voice said.

My body kept moving, but my mind froze. I had not heard that voice in over sixteen years. I should not be hearing it now either. It can’t be true.

'I'm here, Siya. I'm here for you,' the voice said again as if to tell me I was not hallucinating.

How could this be happening?

The voice belonged to my father, who had disappeared traceless just three months after my mother had been abducted by a serial killer. I was fourteen years old then. I kept running. I wondered if I was trying to get away from the voice as much as possible. Dad, how can it be you?

Suddenly, the ground beneath me stopped shifting. The bright light was far behind. I was on some kind of a dark road, lit by flickering street lamps. The air smelled like it had rained and there were puddles of water by the roadside. The road, itself, seemed familiar. I looked around. Yes, this was the place where I had grown up. Our old house was to my left. I should have remembered all the good times we had as a family, but I could only think about the house as the place where maa had been taken. The bloody walls, the terror in dad's eyes when he had realized what had happened, and the way he had held me and my siblings close. It all came crashing back.

Drops of rain fell on my face. I was reminded of the day dad had not come back home. We did not know then that he was missing. I was with my sister, Radha, in our bedroom at our maushi’s house. My brother, Kunal, was standing with an ear to the door, trying to listen to the conversation happening outside.

‘I think the police are here,’ he had said.

Radha clenched my hand harder. She was only twelve then, but she knew because of maa’s investigation that any police involvement was a bad sign.

I was shaken out of the memories because dad spoke again.

‘Siya, I have missed, my girl,’ his voice said, echoing in the rainy air.

How can he be here? No one has heard from him or seen him in such a long time.

I looked around. The rain was now coming down hard, making everything blurry. I stopped running when the voice came back. It was louder this time. Was I getting closer to dad?

‘You never came looking for me,’ dad said.

My heart sank. The pit of my stomach churned. The memories of the night on which dad had vanished came back to me. I had stayed up all night, wondering what was happening to our family. Only three months before that day, we were all so happy. Maa, dad, Kunal, Radha and I. A family. We did everything together. Until my fourteenth birthday when maa was ill, and the rest of us went out to celebrate. All because I wanted to go to the waterpark.

I hated myself for it for weeks. I kept wondering how maa would have never been taken and dad would not have vanished, had it not been for my birthday celebration. If I had not insisted on celebrating it.

For months after the disappearance of my parents, I would stay up all night to look after Radha and Kunal. I did not want to lose anyone else. They were all I had. In the process, I had learnt to normalize the disappearance of my parents. It still hurt, but the only way I could manage the situation was by taking care of my siblings.

I was shaken out of my thoughts once again.

‘Siya, please come for me. I beg you,’ dad said, his voice louder, but weaker.

I ran faster toward our house. But the closer I got, the further it seemed to go. Where the hell am I? And where are you, dad?

A piercing ache sliced through my head.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, I stepped into a corridor. It was damp and smelt like piss. It did not seem to end. All the doors were closed. No way. A baby started crying somewhere. I tried to follow the sound, but it appeared to be coming from all directions.

A loud scream emanated from behind me.

‘Run, Siya, run,’ someone said. It was probably a woman.

I did not recognize the voice, but I knew I had to listen to it. I tried to bolt away but only managed to stagger forward.

Just then, a room's door opened, and a hand grabbed me, pulling me inside. At that moment, I knew it was all over. Radha's smile flashed before my eyes. I remembered mom's voice….and then everything went black.

---

The flower vase next to my bed cracked on the floor as my hand smashed into it. I jolted up from my bed as if a bolt of lightning had coursed through my spine. My room was dark, still and even quiet, except for my heart thudding against my chest.

I took a deep breath. The clock on the side table told me it was three-thirty in the morning. I sat up against the bed. Another nightmare. I think this had been the fourteenth one in the past six months. They had started ever since I had got a call from an unknown person, telling me that they had information about dad’s disappearance.

Shadow, our beloved dog, jumped on me. He must have woken up because of the vase. Pieces of it lay scattered on the floor. Shadow looked confused, but then he saw that I was alright, so he rubbed his nose on my shoulder and went back to sleep next to me. I absently petted his head.

The nightmare had been different each time. But dad had always said that I had not gone looking for him.

It was true. My mind had been preoccupied with maa's disappearance. It had been numbed by the time dad had gone missing. I felt miserable. I had tried to look for him. But there was no clue whatsoever regarding his disappearance. He had gone out for work like he did every day. Except one day, he had never returned. No one had seen or heard anything. Back in 2003, there weren't many CCTV cameras either. Dad was a cop, and his last known location was at the police station where he used to work. Some police officers had seen him there at around five in the evening. His phone's last known location was also the police station.

At that time, dad had been accused of taking maa. All my energy as a teenager had gone into telling people he was innocent and flipping out at police officers who thought he was guilty. I was either sad or angry. I did not have nightmares then, but after the phone call, for the first time in years, I had felt hopeful about seeing dad once again.

I looked at my left hand. My knuckles were bleeding from the impact against the vase. The scars were long, deep and red. I was too shocked to notice the pain. That would come later, and probably remind me of my nightmare every time I tried to pick something up.

I pulled open the drawer next to my bed and grabbed some tissue paper to wipe the blood off my hand. I grimaced as the pain seeped in and spread through my body. My mind wandered back to the mystery caller who claimed to know about dad. I had run numerous theories in my mind about who it could have been. None seemed to make sense.

There had been no further contact from the caller either. I had started to wonder if it was an elaborate prank. Dad’s disappearance was not a secret. People who knew where to find information on sixteen-year-old cases would get it easily. But then, while investigating another case six months back, I had found dad’s name in a file that contained records of corrupt cops. That was just a day before I got the call. It surely could not have been a coincidence. Something had happened that must have triggered it. But that also did not explain the radio silence since then.

I also wondered if the call could have been made by Kishore Zakkal, the psychotic serial killer who was obsessed with me. He was the one who had taken maa. I had caught him almost six years ago, but then he had escaped when we rescued maa. However, this did not feel like Zakkal's work. He would want me to be scared and know it was him. The process of a kill was as vital to him as the act itself. Even though it was against Zakkal's Modus Operandi, there was still an outside chance that he was involved.

I had asked a new friend, a hacker named Jay Parikh, to dig up any information he could about the caller. In a short span of time, I had started to trust him. Strangely it was because he had no direct connection to me or my family.

‘Whoever this is, they have covered their tracks well,’ Jay had told me. ‘I don’t have anything. Can I ask you a question? Who are these people?’

I did not tell Jay. Neither did I tell Radha, maa or anyone else. Maa was getting better each day, and I did not want to set her recovery back. I had started having nightmares since the day I had gotten the call. I did not wish Radha to go through the same. I had decided I would not tell anyone else until I had more information. Something credible and tangible.

Just then, my phone began buzzing on my bed. A sinking feeling crawled up my body and it felt like I took years to answer the phone. I did not recognize the number, but I hit the answer button.

‘Siya?’ the person across the line said.

A cold sweat broke all over my body the moment I heard the voice. I knew it far too well. Despite hearing it just once before, I could never forget it. It had a strange metallic ring to it that was being used to mask the voice. It was present even when the person had called me three months ago to tell me about dad.

Everything around me slowed down. Calm down, calm down.

I needed to think straight. Jay had told me of a software that I needed to run on my laptop the next time I got a call that I wanted to trace. ‘It would help with the process,’ he had said.

Since then, I had always kept my laptop near me wherever I went.

‘Yes, this is Siya,’ I said, surprising myself with my poise and confidence.

I flipped open the laptop and opened the software.

‘I had called you a long time back. A lot of things have changed since then,’ the person said.

What has changed? I listened as the software started running. It picked up the Bluetooth on my phone and started recording the call.

‘I never thought this was needed, but the situation is dire right now. I need to meet you.’

‘Who are you?’ I said.

‘As I told you last time, that’s not important. It’s also too risky to tell you over the phone.’

‘Alright, where do you want to meet?’

‘Before I tell you, you need to know that I’m on your side.’

I paused for a beat before answering. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I hope so.’

‘There’s an abandoned clothes factory near the Gahunje Housing Society called Stan Mills. Meet me there. Now.’

‘Now?’

‘Yeah, I don’t have much time.’

I thought about it. Stan Mills was on the outskirts of Pune city. I said, ‘How can I trust you? For all I know, this could be a trap.’

‘It could be. But I have no way of proving I am on your side. I can assure you of one thing, though. This is probably your last chance to know about your father.’

My body shrank at the mention of dad. ‘Is he alive?’ I said, the words refusing to come out of my mouth.

I pressed the phone harder into my ear, somehow hoping that I would not be able to hear the answer if I jammed it hard enough. I was afraid to know the truth. Ever since I had gotten the phone call, I did not know which was worse. To know that dad was still alive, if he was corrupt or if he had been killed.

‘I can’t tell you over the phone,’ the person said.

I heaved a sigh of relief. I was hoping not to know, and I hated myself for it. On several occasions I had wondered what I would do if I had the chance to meet this person. Each time, I had decided that I would meet them.

‘How will I know who you are?’ I said.

‘You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll find you once you reach.’

Silence.

The voice across the line said, ‘Needless to say, come alone. Trust no one, not even the people who you think are on your side. Cops are not your friends.’

I did not bother to argue. ‘Alright. I’ll reach in twenty minutes,’ I said.

I got out of my bed, thinking: Dad, I’m coming for you.

Chapter Two

Senior Inspector Kapil Rathod had reached home at midnight, exhausted from an extended day at work. He had warmed some varan and rice, lathered it with ghee and then wolfed it down. By the time he slept, it was almost one fifteen. So, when his phone started buzzing at three-thirty, he was sleeping too soundly to hear it the first time.

He let out an anguish when he eventually realized it was ringing. He secretly hoped it was nine in the morning, knowing fully well from the inertia his body experienced that the sun had not yet risen.

Phone calls in the middle of the night were never a good sign. In Rathod's experience, he had never gotten a call bang in the middle of the night from anyone in his team to tell him about a clue that solved the case. They always called him at this hour to get his ass to a crime scene and examine a dead body. Somehow, the prospect of investigating a murder seemed exciting enough for him to answer the phone.

‘Senior Inspector Rathod,’ he said, his eyes still closed.

‘We need your services, partner,’ a familiar voice said.

‘No, Bhalerao. I just got home,’ Rathod said.

Mahesh Bhalerao waited for his boss to come around. He had had similar conversations with Rathod many times before.

‘Alright, what is it?’ Rathod said, finally opening his eyes.

‘Three people have been killed in a house. Their neighbours have reported the murder. In turn, they told the building watchman to check. He walked into a slaughterhouse. Two of our people on night duty called it in five minutes back.’

‘Where are you?’ Rathod said.

‘Slipping into my pants.’

Rathod shook his head in disgust. The mental image of Bhalerao, a thirty-five-year old man weighing eighty kilos, putting on his clothes, woke him up fully.

‘I’ll pick you up on the way?’ Bhalerao said.

‘Yeah, get here in ten’ Rathod said and jumped out of his bed.

Rathod went to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. The drowsiness he was feeling a few minutes ago had gone away. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair and pulled out the last fresh crisply ironed shirt from his cupboard. He used to iron them for the week on Sundays. That week had been hectic and the hours had been odd, so he had run out of fresh clothes on a Thursday itself.

He went to the kitchen and put up a pot of coffee, knowing the adrenaline flowing through his veins would not last the entire day. As he sipped the coffee and pondered absent-mindedly about life, he heard his mother come out of her room.

‘You’re going again?’ she said, rubbing her eyes as they searched for the wall clock behind Rathod.

'Duty calls,' Rathod said, bending down to tie his shoelaces.

‘Stay safe, beta. Say a small prayer before you go,’ she said and disappeared back into her room.

Rathod downed the remaining coffee when his phone began buzzing again. It was Bhalerao. He was probably outside. Rathod was not religious, but he always acquiesced to his mother when it came to praying before leaving the house. He knew it was tough for any police officer's family, and it was the least he could do. He turned to the deoghar, the place where they kept their Gods—Lord Krishna, Lord Ram, Lord Balaji, Hanuman and Ganpati. His parents were devout followers of all deities and made it a point to visit at least one pilgrimage town every year. Last year they went to Rishikesh. This year, they were planning a trip to Tirupati to seek blessings from Lord Balaji.

Rathod closed his eyes, and prayed, asking the Gods to protect and keep his family safe if something were to happen to him.

With that thought in mind, he stepped out into the December chill. He was eager to learn about this case. From experience, he knew that the canvas of possibility was always wide open at the start of an investigation. That got him excited.

But he did not know then that something brutal was about to hit him and throw his life out of order.

He would later wish that he had prayed harder.

Chapter Three

Just before leaving, I checked if my Glock was firmly placed in its chest holster. I also slipped a note under the door to Radha’s room, telling her something urgent had come up at work. I told her not to worry, but I knew she would. As a visiting faculty at a college, no urgent work would ever come up in the middle of the night. Radha would guess right away that it had something to do with my former profession of being a criminal defense lawyer. I knew she would also think that it had to do with Zakkal, so I had half a mind to tell her it wasn’t about him. Yet I was not a hundred percent sure. So, I let it be and told Radha to call Rathod in case she had not heard from me by six in the morning.

The mid-January morning air was cold. It had been an odd winter with warm days through December but the temperatures had dropped to single digits in the past few days. The newspapers had been talking about how the north westerlies that were causing a cold wave across India. They had forecast a minimum temperature of eight degrees Celsius in the coming week. That was about as cold as Pune winters got. They sent shivers through all its citizens as the temperature dropped so low only for a few days every year. I put on my warmest sweater before heading downstairs to step out.

The drive to Stan Mills’ workshop was a blur. I tried not to think about anything but my fingertips tingled in excitement and anticipation to know something about dad’s disappearance. I was also wary of not getting too pumped about it.

I had Googled Stan Mills before leaving. It was set up in the 1970s and made low-cost clothes. The plant near Gahunje had been shut for the past three weeks owing to a fire that had broken out. Two workers had been killed and a large portion of the equipment had been destroyed. The insurance company was still examining the cause and the workers, mostly locals from the Gahunje village, were claiming that the company had not done enough to ensure their safety.

I wondered why this person had chosen Stan Mills. Was its location convenient? Did they have some connection to it? I didn't even know how they knew about it being safe.

The road leading up to Stan Mills’ factory was deserted. Old trees towered on either side. There were no street lights either and my car’s headlamps temporarily painted away the darkness. As I reduced the speed, my phone started buzzing on the dashboard. It was the same number from which I had received the call.

‘Where are you?’ the person said.

The voice was urgent, maybe even scared. Was I reading too much into it?

‘I’m on the approach road.’

‘Park your car outside, then walk around the factory. There’s a small door at the back which is open. Enter through it and then come to the first floor.’

I would have asked how I could be sure I wouldn’t be hurt, but I had made the decision to take that chance when I had agreed to come out here.

Before I could say anything, the person said, ‘Be quick and keep your profile low.’

Something in the voice was different this time. It was not cold and matter of fact, but instead had a layer of emotion. I could make it out despite the heavy mechanical underlay.

‘Should I be worried about something?’ I said, but halfway through the person across the line disconnected the call.

I stepped hard on the accelerator and my car zoomed ahead. It screeched to a stop when I pulled next to the factory’s main gate. There was no security guard outside. Even in the darkness, I could make out the charred walls. The fire must have been violent. I was suddenly reminded of the blinding lights in my dream. Being reminded of dad’s voice and what he had said sent an excruciating pain in my head.

Not now, Siya.

I stumbled forward, running along the tall walls of the factory. The air smelt like ash. I pulled my gun out of its holster as I circled the wall. As I had been told, I could see a small door in the wall. It was half-open.

I slowed down and approached it cautiously. As I got closer, I saw that the fat padlock on it had been smashed open. I kicked it with my leg and it screeched opened inwards. I took a deep breath. I pulled out my Glock from the holster. I was not feeling trigger shy tonight.

The smell of ash shot up through my nose the moment I stepped in. It was dark inside and I could not see a thing. I turned on the flashlight of my phone. I pulled my T-Shirt up to my nose to breathe better, using the same hand that held my phone. I wanted the other hand to be free for the gun.

Strobes of my flashlight revealed the damage caused by the fire. Everything I lay my eyes on was burnt. There was ash all over the floor. I panned the flashlight on the ground to check for footprints made in the ash. I could see one pair, curving away. I followed the gaze and I found