The Complete Siya Rajput Crime Thrillers

By UD Yasha

The COMPLETE Siya Rajput Crime Thriller series. That's a total of FOUR BINGE-WORTHY THRILLERS with a feisty heroine brought together in one great value collection.

 

"Excellent. Grips you from the opening chapter, great characters & thrilling mysteries." ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

 

He hides in their house for days, watching their every move. He's patient. Calm. Calculated. A shadow over their bed. Their screams are music to his ears.

 

Hello again…this is just the start, there will be more.

 

When a serial killer leaves a message for detective Siya Rajput at the brutal crime scene of a woman's murder, she unravels a bone-chilling connection to the mystery that has tormented her since her childhood—the vanishing of her mother, who has been presumed dead for sixteen years.

 

Feisty and headstrong, but still reeling from the horrors of a devastating mistake she had made, Siya has dark secrets of her own. She must now return to the life that had once ripped her world apart.

 

Is Siya's mother still alive?

 

A depraved serial killer seems to know the truth...

 

And so begins the series that has been read by thousands of people across the world.

 

Books Included:

Where Are They Now (Book 1)

Little Girl Gone (Book 2)

The Bones Are Calling (Book 3)

When He Finds You (Book 4)

 

What readers are saying about the Siya Rajput series:

"The best crime novels I have read in a long time!" ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

"Great thriller with enough twists and written in a style that makes for a great read." ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

"This is a different read for me but I really liked it. Different as it takes the reader to India and introduces a likeable Siya and family." ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

"A real page-turner. Definitely a home run." ★★★★★

• Language: English
• Publisher: UD Yasha
• Release date: Jan 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201522919

Book preview

THE COMPLETE SIYA RAJPUT CRIME THRILLERS

BOOKS 1-4

UD YASHA

Copyright © UD Yasha 2021

The right of UD Yasha to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or transmitted into any retrieval system, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Cover design copyright © UD Yasha

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UD Yasha is the pen name of Udayan Adhye. All rights mentioned here belong to Udayan Adhye.

All four Siya Rajput crime thrillers have all been dedicated to members of lovely family, namely my mother, my grandma and my sister. Thank you for everything. I love you all!

THIS MEANS A LOT TO ME…

Thanks so much for picking up my book. It means the world to me. Readers are what makes books so incredible! In fact, it was my love for reading that prompted me to start writing.

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That’s why I also enjoy talking to my readers. If you want to say hello, point out an error or simply just talk about something in the book, please reach out to me at [e-mail].

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Hopefully you will enjoy all the novels in this collection. I had a blast writing them!

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-UD Yasha

HER MOTHER’S GRAVE (THE SIYA RAJPUT CRIME THRILLERS BOOK 1)

CHAPTER ONE

The killer had been waiting inside the roof of her house for weeks.

He had been observing her every move. He knew his time would come. Over the past few days, he had come to know so many things about her. He knew she snored at night and lazed in the bed for ten minutes in the morning before she got up. He knew the time at which she left for work, the time at which she got back and the brand of toothpaste she used. Hell, he had even handed it over to her with a smile on his face five days ago at a grocery store. He also knew what she had for breakfast–pohe, upma or toast on most days along with fruits–and how she double-checked the locks of her house every night. He loved the way she smiled while checking herself out in the mirror after having a bath and the way her toes curled while having sex with her husband.

But there were still so many things he wanted to know about her. Like how the veins on her neck would stand up when his hands wrapped around her throat and her lungs started screaming for oxygen. Or if her eyes would light up the same way on seeing him the way they did on seeing her husband.

He smiled, knowing he would find out soon.

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Supriya Kelkar did not know she was being watched.

The moon was full and a fuzzy red, hanging in a cloudless sky on a cold January night. Supriya pulled over in front of her house and got out of her car. The main gate of the bungalow creaked when she pushed past it. She groaned, promising herself she would oil it the next day. She veered her car into the parking spot of her house.

With one smooth motion, she slipped into a long jacket, slung her purse across her body and walked straight for the door of her house, the hard soles of her shoes echoing in the night's stillness.

He heard her from the shadows and watched her from a slit in the window. Anticipation crept up inside him. He had the entire night and the next day to himself with her. He knew her family was away. The stars had aligned; he thought. Not that he believed in luck, or thought he needed it. His preparation was always top-notch. Knowing how much time he had with her excited him thoroughly. He heard her enter the house. He stayed in the shadows.

Supriya made herself a cup of hot chocolate. She sank into an armchair. She closed her eyes and thought about the next day. She was looking forward to getting a well-deserved rest after working non-stop for an entire month. She was already excited to laze around in her bed for most of the next day. She thought she would pick up a cheesy romance novel in the afternoon and order in some noodles—her comfort food. Then, as her husband and kids were away, she was going to have dinner with a few friends. Yet, at the same time, she missed her family. She could not wait to see them. They were supposed to be back from her parents’ house in Mumbai in a couple of days. The thought of seeing them kept her warm even as the temperature dropped to single digits.

She was consumed in her own world as she dragged herself upstairs. She thought of sleeping on the couch itself. But the cosiness of her bed made it a more tempting prospect. She glanced at the door once to make sure it was locked. Satisfied, she went to her bedroom.

A chill ran up her neck.

Maybe I have left a window open.

She went back and checked the windows. All were shut tight. Having come close to the kitchen, she decided she would treat herself to a Cassata, her favourite ice-cream. She put on a Kishore Kumar song on Spotify as she waited for the ice-cream to melt just enough so she could slice it onto her plate. She was glad she would be in the comfort of her bed in a few minutes, spending an evening in blissful solitude. She sang out loud the chorus of Pal Pal Dil Ke Paas as she went upstairs.

Once in her bed, she texted her husband she missed him. She turned on the TV while devouring her Cassata. A news channel came on. Supriya grimaced. She hated watching the news but she was pulled in by the headline. ‘In today’s headlines, the notorious serial killer Kishore Zakkal’s mercy plea was rejected by the President of India. Three months ago, the Supreme Court had handed Zakkal a death penalty for kidnapping and killing seven women,’ the curly haired news anchor said. ‘But the most interesting part is that the bodies of the women Zakkal has been accused of killing have not been found so far, except for his first murder. No one knows where these women are even now. Sources close to the case have told us that the evidence gathered by the police was overwhelming to hand Zakkal a death penalty, making it one of the few cases in the world where a murderer has been found guilty even when dead bodies have not been found. Right now, Zakkal is in Chamber Number 12 of Pune’s Yerwada Jail. It is next to the cell where the 26/11 terror attack accused Ajmal Amir Kasab was kept for two days before he was hanged till death seven years ago. Now, Zakkal and his lawyers have almost no options left…’

Before the anchor got into any more details, Supriya switched the channel and turned on a mindless sitcom. She watched it as she ate her Cassata and then turned out the lights once she was done.

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He had been listening to her throughout from outside her room. He could not wipe the smile from his face. How could he? She had no idea he was there, counting down her life. He casually walked inside her dark room. Like every time she was alone at home, she had left her bedroom door open. Six strides got him near her bed.

He saw her bosoms rise and fall, rise and fall. He dropped to his knees next to her bed. Watching her sleep was a meditative experience. He watched her for almost an hour. He raised his hand and put it on her forehead extremely slowly. Electricity flowed through him. The smile on his face turned into a grin. He did not remember the last time he had felt so alive.

Supriya moved in her bed. She put a hand to squat away the fly near her head. She hated it when they buzzed in her ear while she was sleeping. Her fingers brushed against his. He held her hand like they were lovers walking through a park.

She took a beat to realize it was not a fly. And then one more to know what it was.

A hand on her mouth stifled her scream.

She turned around, her eyes popping out with fear. He continued grinning. It was finally happening. He withdrew his hand just for a fraction to hear her scream. Oh, it is so much more bloody sweeter than I had imagined. His heart beat faster, seeing her eyes turn red. His hands itched, wanting to get a piece of her soon.

Supriya went numb in fear. She tried to move. But he had pinned her down. She froze. Then, he let her go. She was surprised. What the hell was happening? She jumped out of the bed and pushed backwards, running from him, running for the door–her only escape.

They always thought they had a chance to get away. He loved to see them believe they could continue to live after he had decided otherwise. He leapt forward and pulled Supriya by her hair.

She fell down. He gagged her with a pillow cover and tossed her on the bed. Her body shuddered. Next thing she knew, she could not breathe. His hands are on my neck. She tried to push them away. She gripped his hands, her fingernails digging into the leather gloves. Her vision faded out.

Suddenly, she could breathe.

She heaved loudly, sucking in as much air as she could. Just when her breathing evened, he pressed into her throat once again. He applied more pressure this time and tightened his grip. He saw her skin change colour. It turned red first and then a lighter shade of blue. He again released his grip. Her body trembled. Her breaths turned into a sharp wail. He knew each breath would cause pain. She would soon wish that she would die instead.

And who was he if not a granter of wishes?

He gripped her neck again. She put her hands on her neck. Even now she thinks she can live. She kept trying…trying…until the light behind her eyes went out.

He smiled, knowing he was just getting started.

CHAPTER TWO

My thirtieth birthday was just four hours away and I wondered what I wanted from the coming year. I was in my armchair by a window, reading a book. A quilt kept me warm and the hot coffee in my hand was satisfying my taste buds while jolting just the right amount of dopamine in my body. Suddenly, my mouth went dry and my stomach turned to ice as I thought back to what had happened earlier in the day—the President’s rejection of Kishore Zakkal’s mercy plea.

Fortunately, before that thought led to anything more, I was distracted by Shadow as he came up to me, wagging his tail, smelling his treat that I had left on the floor. He licked it off in one sweep of his tongue and then looked at me with hopeful eyes, wanting more. I stroked his head twice which was a sign for him to know he would not get any more food. I was glad to have him in my life.

‘We should get a dog,’ my sister, Radha, had said last year. The two of us had always wanted one, and it seemed like a good time to get one then. For the first time in years, I had a set routine with my new college teaching job. Radha had just graduated from business school and had started working at a stock trading firm. She could also help me with raising him in his early years. Our only challenge was convincing Shama, my sister-in-law. She had finally agreed a few days after Radha kept sending her dog pictures and videos on Instagram. She also promised Shama that our dog would not jump on her, something that she was most afraid of then. As it so happens, Shama has been the most playful with Shadow ever since we got him.

Shama stayed with us as my brother is in the Army, stationed in Kashmir. Every time he was placed near the border, the Army did not encourage families to move, and so Shama had been staying with us for the past year and a half. But Shama had left for Kashmir a few days ago as Karan had been assigned a temporary admin post as a part of a usual internal rotation. He was still in Kashmir but away from the border.

‘We should get a male dog,’ I had said, owing to the already heavy presence of oestrogen in the house.

Radha and Shama had liked my idea and so we took in Shadow, and that's how he became the only male member of our household. He was a rescue dog. To date, we do not know his breed. All we know is that he looks regal in his golden coat and wavy fur and that he is the most adorable cuddle partner.

My mind drifted again. My fingers tingled. I was not big on birthday resolutions. But I had one agenda. It was regarding my license to practice law in India. It was up for renewal in a week's time. It should have been a non-agenda, to be honest. I knew I was not going to renew it, but a heavy knot tugged me from inside every time I thought about it. At times, the mere act of not doing something is harder than doing it. It had been three years since I walked away from that life. I was not going to go back to it. I had made a grave mistake, one that caused me pain every day. Even the thought of it made my breathing unsteady. I tried to push away the uneasiness that crept up on me.

I had used the license sparingly in the past three years, mostly the previous two, and only to earn money by providing legal advice on minor issues like start-up contracts, marriage certificates and copyright matters. A pang of pain spurted inside me every time I saw any legal document but with Radha’s college fees and the household expenses, I had no other choice.

That income coupled with a small but steady outflow from my savings, we had somehow gotten by. Now that I was teaching at a college, money had started coming in again. Nothing too big, but enough to sustain ourselves. I settled deeper into the armchair and resumed reading my book. But my mind wandered. Once again, I began thinking about the mistake I had made. My face burnt. Will the guilt ever go away? I closed my eyes. I wished for the thirty-first year of my life to be quiet, one in which I made more progress in rebuilding my life.

Just then, I heard Radha’s two-wheeler pull over in front of our house. I peeped out from the window and saw her fiancé, Rahul, sitting behind her, holding a big box that I guessed was my birthday cake. Shadow leapt from the bed and rushed downstairs to give them a hearty welcome. Within the next beat, the doorbell was ringing.

I set aside my coffee cup, whipped away the quilt and started for the door. My license renewal was coming up at the worst stage. For the first time in three years, I had started to feel normal. I could breathe more freely and a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

All I wanted for my thirtieth birthday was a quiet year–the same old boring, as at times, the monotony of a routine is all you require to get your life back on track. Happy birthday, Siya, I wished myself an hour and a half before my birthday.

CHAPTER THREE

Senior Investigating Officer Kapil Rathod’s phone buzzed on the dashboard of his car just as he pulled out of the parking lot of the Pune Branch of CID. He stopped halfway and put the phone on speaker.

‘We’ve got an emergency,’ a voice he recognized said. It belonged to his partner, Senior Investigating Officer, Mahesh Bhalerao. ‘A young woman has been murdered in her house. It looks like a bloody mess. First responders on the scene can see marks around the neck. Lots of blood everywhere from what I hear. I’m going there right now.’

‘I’ll be there. Send me the location,’ Rathod said.

‘I sent it across right before I called you. The house is in Lane Number Six of the North Main Road in Koregaon Park,’ he said and paused. ‘Oh God, why did this have to happen today? My wife and I were going to go out for our anniversary dinner. We had made plans to celebrate. Instead of all that, I must now deal with a dead body.’

Rathod shook his head, laughing. People would have found Bhalerao’s quip humourless. But Rathod knew all too well that if you spent a long enough time around dead bodies, even the softest tickles can spark toe curling laughter.

‘The forensic team is already there,’ Bhalerao said and clicked off.

The address Bhalerao sent was in Koregaon Park, an upmarket area in Pune. The construction of the metro line in the city meant that even night driving was a pain. Curses and honking greeted commuters. Rathod took half an hour to get to the location of the crime, a lane with big and lavish bungalows on either side and trees that were much older than anyone living on the street.

Three police cruisers were already parked outside. Two officers manned the main gate of the bungalow. A news van was already present. He wondered how they got their information. The officers saluted Rathod as he walked in.

The bungalow was huge. From outside, Rathod could count at least three floors. It had a lush garden and creepers climbed the bungalow walls. Investment in plants and shrubbery was often a sign of immense wealth more than anything else in Rathod’s experience. Who else would have the will to spend money or time on them in today’s world? However, his own mother was an exception to the rule. Despite belonging to a modest household, she had always spiced up their house with new flowering and medicinal plants.

The forensics team bagged Rathod’s shoes with plastic. He slipped into a white plastic coat. He put on a tight cap. There were two golden rules in securing a crime scene. First, nothing from outside should be introduced to the crime scene that originally did not belong there. And second, nothing should be moved in the crime scene without carefully registering its position. They could use every small clue to find the criminal. The smallest grain of sand or the tip of anyone’s hair could lead the police to the criminal. Losing that to contamination would be a pity.

Once armed in the plastic coverall, an officer guided Rathod to a bedroom on the second floor of the house. The room had at least six people in it, doing their own bit. Bhalerao was in a corner, talking to Dr Sonia Joshi, CID’s medical examiner.

Rathod’s attention was drawn to the bed. He broke step for it, narrowing his eyes. A woman lay on it. Her eyes were open but she was dead and naked. There were marks around the woman’s neck, suggesting she had been strangled. The cause of death would only be confirmed once the autopsy was performed.

On a closer examination, Rathod realized the woman’s body had been arranged in a particular way. She lay on her back. Her hands were by her side. Her legs were straight. Her head rested completely on a pillow. If anyone put a blanket on her, it could very well appear that she was sleeping, dreaming the kind of dream that she was excited about after getting up but forgot the ending when she told it to her friends. But, the woman was strangled. The bed should have been disturbed. The sheets should not have been clean and crisp. Rathod reckoned that the killer had moved her body to the bed after killing her.

Bhalerao broke step for Rathod. He said, ‘Sonia said her preliminary examination suggests that the woman was raped.’

Rathod noticed the woman's body was not stiff from rigour mortis, which told him she had been dead for over twelve hours because that's how long it takes for muscles to stiffen and then relax again from lack of oxygen after dying.

‘What do we have?’ Rathod said, looking around the room.

‘Victim's name is Supriya Kelkar. She's thirty-four years old. Married with two children. The husband and kids are visiting the grandparents in Mumbai. They'll be here tomorrow morning. The wife could not go with them because she had some important stuff happening at work.'

‘Who found her?’

Bhalerao paused. ‘Hold that thought. You’d first want to see this. Come with me,’ he said and beckoned Rathod towards the bathroom.

Rathod followed him.

The bathroom was a slaughterhouse. The walls had been splashed red with blood. In some areas, the blood had trickled down, painting streams on its way. It was also all over the floor. Something about the bathroom sparked Rathod’s lizard mind. He found himself grimacing on seeing blood everywhere, but his mind was thinking about something else. The bathroom, despite being horrific, seemed familiar. Why? What was it? The answer came to him and the hair on his body stood up.

Rathod had to step out for a moment. The coppery, ironically almost inhuman smell of blood made him nauseous. Even the most experienced murder detectives felt funny in the stomach at times. He counted to ten. The moment passed.

He went back in.

Rathod stared at the bathroom wall. It all came back to him. Another crime scene from sixteen years bore a chilling resemblance to the bathroom he was looking at. Back then, a woman named Naina Rajput had disappeared. She was still missing and presumed dead by most. The bathroom of her house looked similar the day she disappeared. The person accused of taking her, a killer named Kishore Zakkal, was caught five years back and was in jail, serving his sentence. In fact, Naina’s daughter, Siya Rajput, a lawyer and private detective, had played a big role in capturing him. Rathod had worked unofficially with Siya for several years until she had stopped working three years ago.

Because of the rumbling in his mind, Rathod only noticed what was bang in the middle of the bathroom when Bhalerao pointed it out to him. A circle was drawn with blood on the floor. Something was placed in the middle of the circle.

‘Wait…,’ Rathod said. ‘That can’t be right.’ He stepped forward, going as close as he could without disrupting the splatter on the ground. ‘Is that a…a lock of hair?’ he said.

The lock of hair was thick. For something associated with beauty, Rathod had not felt more petrified and numb as he looked at it.

The shock of the sight slowed Rathod for a beat. He pictured the dead woman on the bed. He peeped out and double checked.

Bhalerao read his partner’s mind. He said, ‘I checked our victim’s hair and it doesn’t look like it was cut.’

The horrific implication of that hit Rathod. He said, ‘What the hell? That means it is someone else’s hair.’

‘I can only confirm if that hair came from Supriya Kelkar—our victim—after testing it,’ a woman’s voice said.

Rathod turned around. It was Dr Sonia Joshi.

‘When are you performing the autopsy?’ he asked.

Sonia referred to her watch. ‘It’s ten thirty right now. I’ve got more autopsies to do but because of the gruesome nature of this murder, I will put this on the top of my list. I’ll try to get it done by noon tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I’ve finished taking samples from the bedroom. My team has swept everything. I’m almost done with the bathroom as well. We might take more time to get all the samples. I’ll give you their analysis by tomorrow noon as well,’ she said and put her bag down to get to work.

Rathod and Bhalerao went out again. They examined the woman’s body. Rathod could not help but think about Siya Rajput’s mother—Naina. He knew that Kishore Zakkal’s mercy plea was rejected by the President of India earlier in the day. The timing of this murder told Rathod that this was going to be anything but a straightforward case.

Two thoughts kept getting louder in his mind: First, was there a connection between Naina Rajput’s disappearance and this murder? Second, where the hell was Siya?

CHAPTER FOUR

‘We’ve got your favourite cake,’ Radha declared and ran towards me. She opened the box to show the cake to me. It was my favourite pineapple flavour. ‘Happy birthday to the best ever sister, Siya,' Radha read the message on it out loud. ‘I couldn’t stop myself from being cheesy.’

I could not help but marvel at my little sister. At twenty-six, she had already turned into a magnificent young woman. Rahul followed her in, holding paper bags in both his hands. ‘And I’ve got some Chinese food as well,’ he said with a grin.

I felt ecstatic. I was grateful to have Radha and Rahul in my life. Things were finally getting better and falling into place. It had all started two weeks ago. I had accidentally picked up Rahul's phone, thinking it was mine and had seen that he had been looking at wedding rings. I had put the phone away very quickly, feeling bad about invading his privacy while at the same time bursting inside with happiness. Later that day, he had asked me on his own, in confidence, if he could marry Radha. I had not been happier at any point in my life than I was then. In fact, that day marked a new phase in my recovery. In the coming days, I shared Radha's ring size with Rahul and told Shama about the planned proposal after getting his permission. Then, the three of us went out several times to look for a ring for Radha. We had finally found one we all loved. Rahul was going to buy it once he got his month's salary in a few days.

Radha set up the table while Rahul got the plates. Just as I went to the small bar cabinet, Radha said, ‘Tell us what you want. You’re going to be treated like a queen today.’

I laughed and said, ‘But my birthday is yet to start.’

‘Sit back and enjoy,' Radha said, setting the burnt garlic noodles, chicken manchurian, hot and sour gravy and schezwan rice on the table.

Over-ordering ran in our family. We never thought of it as ordering extra food though. It was more like planning for the next day’s dinner that we would enjoy while watching a movie.

Radha clicked her fingers and Shadow ran towards her. She set one bone on the ground. Shadow grabbed it with his teeth and sat at his usual spot – on a rug near the dining table.

By the time we were done, it was a minute to midnight. Radha and Rahul scampered to the kitchen. They came out a minute later, singing happy birthday with a cake in hand, complete with three candles on top. Radha placed it in front of me.

She hugged me tightly and whispered in my ear, ‘I love you the most.’

I closed my eyes to make a wish. I knew I was too old to make birthday wishes but it was a compulsory tradition in the Rajput household, put in place by our mother and encouraged by our father. We kept doing such seemingly childish things to honour their memory. We had remembered them every day for the past sixteen years. On occasions like these, we missed them even more. Our life had changed completely sixteen years ago when both of them had disappeared within a span of three months. First, our mother was taken by a serial killer and then our father had vanished without a trace.

I opened my eyes and hugged Radha tightly. With Zakkal’s mercy plea rejected by the President, we were finally going to get justice for our mother. Radha and I hadn’t talked about it much while Zakkal’s case was being heard in the courts. We didn’t because while Zakkal’s death sentence meant justice for Maa and the other women, no one knew what had happened to them after Zakkal had taken them. While the killer had been caught, innocent women and their families had been ripped apart forever.

CHAPTER FIVE

Kapil Rathod returned to the bedroom and stood next to the bed.

Sonia had told them her team had finished photographing the bedroom. Samples from everywhere had been taken. He could move the body now. He could verify his hypothesis. He bent down and lifted the woman's body by the shoulder. Her skin was pale but bruised dark purple under her neck, a result of livor mortis – a process in which blood settles to the lowest point in the body due to gravity. It was useful to determine if a body had been moved post-death. He then lifted the woman's back. It had the same pigmentation across the surface of the back. He moved further lower and lifted her pelvis. The pigmentation was darker there, suggesting more blood had settled behind her pelvis and she was probably sitting when she had died.

Rathod suspected the killer moved the woman’s body after she died to make the bed. He did not know why. His small test proved that her body had been moved after she had died. The luminol test could probably reveal a bloody area somewhere in the room.

Rathod’s mind went back to the hair in the bathroom. The way it was arranged, it was almost as if the purpose of murdering the woman outside was to showcase the hair. He went back to the bathroom where Sonia was collecting samples from the blood inside. He waited for her to finish. In the meantime, he looked up Naina Rajput’s old case file in the central registry of all cases in the state of Maharashtra.

Sonia walked out eventually.

Rathod said, ‘Can you run tests on the hair and see who it belonged to? I can’t help but feel that’s crucial to this case. Also run everything you find against all the evidence from Naina Rajput’s case from sixteen years ago. I’ve emailed you the case number.’

‘Do you think there’s a connection?’

‘The bathroom of her bedroom looked exactly this on the day Naina Rajput had disappeared,’ Rathod said, flicking his head towards the bathroom while showing Sonia a picture from the case file.

‘I’ll do that on priority,’ Sonia said. ‘I’ll partially test the DNA on both so you can have the test results in the next hour.’ She turned around and went back in.

‘One more thing,’ Rathod said. ‘When are you going to conduct the luminol test?’

‘We’re almost done with the bathroom. So, let’s say five to ten more minutes.’

Rathod returned to the bedroom. He looked around to get a feel of the dead woman’s life. Like the house, the bedroom was decorated with an expensive taste. The bedroom, itself, was huge with two distinct sections. The first had a bed while the other had a dressing table, a study table, a book rack and two armchairs. A glass chandelier hung over the second section. There were abstract paintings on the walls, every corner had a lamp, and large French windows lay in both sections.

Except for the dead woman and the blood in the bathroom, the house was clean. Rathod was even more curious to know which areas would light up blue in the luminol test.

‘What sort of security is in place here?’ Rathod said to Bhalerao.

‘Nothing too sophisticated; what you’d find in most houses in this neighbourhood. There’s a simple push and self-locking mechanism on the main door. The husband confirmed that they also put a padlock on the door from inside.’

‘What about the windows?’

‘All were closed barring the ones in this room.’

‘Ask the husband if it was normal for his wife to keep the windows open at night. It has gotten pretty cold over the last week.’

‘I will do that. I know the husband will be in shock, but I’ve told him we’ll have to interrogate him tomorrow morning.’

Rathod knew that murder investigations were brutal. But they could not afford to waste time, for if the husband was guilty, he was a threat to society. Every murder tested the courage of police officers who were investigating it. Their first duty was towards the safety and well-being of the public. Everything else was secondary. So, he held back his tongue regarding the matter. ‘He was with his parents. He would’ve had an alibi, right?’ he said instead.

‘He does. Both his parents and kids vouched for his presence the entire day yesterday and today.'

Rathod walked out of the room. ‘Who found her?’ he said.

‘A friend from work. They were heading out for dinner. She’s downstairs right now. Her name is Sanjana Suman.’

Bhalerao guided him to a smaller living room apart from the main one. Inside, a woman, visibly shaken with smudged mascara and puffy eyes, was sitting on a large armchair. She was dressed well in an expensive looking floral dress.

Rathod went to the kitchen and got a glass of water. ‘Senior Inspector Kapil Rathod,’ he said, offering her the glass.

He sat on the armchair next to her. She nodded her head once and sipped the water. Rathod could make out her face relax a tad.

‘I know this is hard, Sanjana. But it’s important we talk to you as soon as possible,’ Rathod said. ‘Can you tell us about what happened earlier in the evening?’

Sanjana set the glass on the side table. Her voice shivered when she spoke. ‘I was supposed to meet Supriya for dinner today. I came to her house to pick her up at eight thirty. I rang the bell and called her phone several times. She did not answer either. We were really looking forward to the night out. We had booked a table at our favourite restaurant. When she didn’t respond initially, I thought she might have stepped out to get something. But then I got worried. I knew her husband was away. I had met him a few times as well because everyone at work is like family. I called him. He was surprised when I told him that I wasn’t able to reach Supriya. He tried her number as well but could not connect with her. He was not initially afraid but after twenty minutes or so of trying, he panicked. He told me to get keys from their neighbours and go inside the house. I went inside and called out her name. But she still did not answer. Eventually, I went to her bedroom and found her on the bed. I thought she was sleeping but then I saw all the…’ her voice trailed off and she covered her mouth with her hand to avoid breaking down.

Rathod let her take a moment.

‘Did you notice anything abnormal about the lock on the front door?’

Sanjana’s eyes wandered as she tried to remember. She shook her head.

‘How long have you known Supriya?’

‘It would have been five years in a week’s time. She was already working at Smart Tech when I joined.’

The name did not strike anything in Rathod’s mind. ‘What does Smart Tech do exactly?’

‘We're into the Internet of Things. We make smart devices and wearables. We're heavily into research and development. Our products and services are used by big multinationals across the world. They either build their products on our platforms or use our technology in some way. You wouldn't have heard of us as we don't directly sell to customers, in most cases at least.'

‘Where’s this company located?’

‘We have offices in Pune and Hyderabad. Pune is our research centre and Hyderabad is the corporate office. We also have a branch in San Francisco in Silicon Valley.’

‘What was Supriya’s role at Smart Tech?’

‘She was the Lead Engineer. She joined Smart Tech when it was still in its infancy. I am a neural network scientist. I worked under her. We were supposed to head out and relax. We had a big product launch yesterday and we deserved some time off because the work that had gone into it was crazy.’

‘Does the founder stay in Pune?’

‘Yes,’ Sanjana said. She rummaged in her purse and plucked out a card. ‘That’s him. Vivaan Deshpande.’

Rathod accepted the card. He made a mental note to meet Vivaan. He gauged Sanjana. She looked better as if speaking about the incident that had rattled her, had eased the burden of it. He held out his card and said, ‘Sanjana, thanks for your time right now. We'll be in touch. Please call me if there's anything you think that'll be useful to our investigation.'

Rathod and Bhalerao returned upstairs.

‘You’re back on time,’ Sonia said. ‘We’re preparing for the luminol test. We should start in two minutes.’

As promised, in the next two minutes, two crime scene analysts were drawing the curtains and closing the door to make the room as dark as possible. They hung darkening curtains on the two windows as well as the room and bathroom doors.

The room went pitch black. Sonia turned on a dim battery-operated light to guide her analysts as one began spraying luminol and the other was ready to photograph it using a long exposure camera. The concept of luminol ia simple. Luminol reacts with the iron in the haemoglobin and the oxygen and iron-carrying protein in red blood cells. The moment it comes in contact with anything containing iron, copper, cyanides or specific proteins, it glows blue-green. It can detect one in a million parts of trace blood.

The analysts began spraying the luminol. They started from the wall next to the bed and moved leftwards, inch by inch covering the area from floor to ceiling. The floor began to light up blue. The walls were clean. The floor lit blue uniformly. Not in patches and spurts, like the way it does usually with blood. Rathod was confused. They moved sideways, spraying the luminol. The entire floor turned blue.

There was only one explanation. The floor had been cleaned with bleach. The oxidizing agent in bleach was reacting with the luminol. The killer had used bleach to wipe all DNA evidence.

Then it happened.

In the second section of the room, the tiles stopped turning blue. As the analysts moved further, everyone gasped in unison when they noticed that a circular area on the floor had no luminol. The analysts went inside the circle and sprayed luminol in it. A pattern appeared. It was not a splatter.

Instead, there were letters inside the circle. They lit up one by one, left to right. Sonia indicated to her technician to focus on that area. More luminol was sprayed. All the letters were visible. Silence resounded in the bedroom. Everyone was shocked to see what they were reading. The killer had left behind a message.

It read:

Hello again. There will be more.

P.S. - Tell Siya Rajput I said hi.

CHAPTER SIX

I was about to blow the candles when my phone started ringing. It was on the table next to the cake. Its screen lit up. Was someone calling to wish me for my birthday?

I did not recognize the number. But instincts are not forgotten easily. Provide the right cue to the brain and even after years, neurons on a previously learned pattern are fired, triggering the same thoughts and the same feelings. When my phone rang, I knew something was not right. I forgot about my birthday cake and answered the call.

The person across the line started speaking right away. I went cold. Even though I had not been able to recognize the number, I knew the voice far too well.

And right then, I knew my wish for the new year was not going to come true.

‘Siya, are you there?’ the voice across the line said.

The voice belonged to Senior Inspector Kapil Rathod. I knew him from my time of practising law. He used to assist me in whatever way possible, often putting himself into jeopardy with the CID for helping out a criminal lawyer and private detective. But we had a similar understanding of justice. Rathod was also my brother, Karan's, childhood friend. That's how I had reached out to him in the first place. I had not spoken to him in the past three years. I could not muster the courage to tell him that I had made a mistake. Something else had also happened between us after which I thought it was best for us to keep our distance.

‘Siya, hello?’ Rathod said again.

‘Yes, Rathod. I’m here.’ I felt a trepidation build inside me.

‘Where are you?

‘I’m at home.’

‘In Pune?’

I realized he would not have known anything about me since I left practice. ‘Yes, in Pune,’ I said.

‘I need to meet you.’ His voice was urgent.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘It’s about your mother. There’s a new development in her case.’

I felt my heart beat in my head. Maa had gone missing sixteen years back. She had been presumed dead by everyone. As per Indian law, if a person is missing for more than seven years, then they are considered dead. Yet, somehow Radha, Karana and I knew there was always a chance, even if the odds were one in a million, that our mother, and even father would return one day. There was only a slim chance, a miracle almost, that she was still alive.

I said, ‘What? Is she…?’

Rathod cut in. ‘Yes, she’s alive.’

I shivered. My expression and demeanour must have changed drastically because Radha asked me with hand gestures about what was happening. I shook my head. I felt too overwhelmed to say anything to her then.

‘At least she was alive twelve hours ago,’ Rathod said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I can’t tell you about it over the phone.’

‘Meet me at our usual place in thirty minutes,’ I said, referring to the restaurant we used to meet to discuss the cases we worked on together.

‘The usual place? You’ve been gone for three years,’ Rathod said.

Silence.

‘Thirty minutes. Be there,’ I said and clicked off.

‘Who was it?’ Radha said.

‘Kapil Rathod. He’s a CID officer I used to discuss cases with,’ I said and paused. ‘He said he wanted to speak about Maa. He said she’s alive...or at least she was twelve hours ago.’

Radha’s face went white. Very few situations fazed her. Anything about our mother was one of them. The second was our father. She regained her composure the next beat.

‘What does he mean by that?’ Radha said.

‘I don’t know. He wants to meet me.’

‘We’ll come with you,’ she said, taking a step for the door.

I could not say no. The truth was that I needed Radha at that moment. Just like I had needed her for the past three years. ‘Alright, let's go,' I said and grabbed my pullover from the hook behind the main door and tossed Radha her hoodie as Rahul slipped into his sweater.

We stepped out in the cold night. I could sense the life I was trying so hard to get away from was screaming my name out loud.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hope is dangerous to flirt with. We had gone through the pain of losing our parents too many times. Every time the doorbell rang, someone we did not recognize called out our name, we received a call from an unknown number, we felt someone's eyes in a crowded place or a lonely road, every time a reported missing person was found—we wished it was our mother or father returning to our lives. Each time, we came close to believing they were alive. We had clung to the hope of them coming back, however minuscule it may have seemed. But hope can be a bitch. We had become accustomed to not taking such calls at absolute value. But this time the bearer of the information was Kapil Rathod.

He was a man of integrity in a world that tempted him with corruption every day. Not only did the Pune CID have to deal with gruesome crimes from murders to rapes, but they had to work hard for a considerably lower pay than others, who worked the same or even less. Staying honest and turning down tempting bribes was hard for most. But Rathod had never fallen for it. Not even when his father had been diagnosed with Stage Three Blood Cancer and the medical bills had mounted.

I had first-hand experience of Rathod’s strong moral code when I was investigating a Bombay High Court Judge for corruption. I had then worked with Kapil Rathod for the first time. Several cops were under the payroll of different mafias operating in the state. That was my first case out of law school under a lawyer named Santosh Wagh, a man who eventually went on to become my mentor and shape much of my world belief.

After we exposed the HC judge, both the mafia and media were confused about who had conducted the investigation. We were doing everything from the shadows because even one wrong foot would have resulted in a bullet in our heads. To date, no one knew the people behind [e-mail]. Even then, Kapil Rathod had not buckled under the threats that were made to his family—his wife, old parents and three siblings.

When I eventually became a criminal lawyer seeking innocent clients and later a private detective, I knew I would get along with Rathod. It had been a decent ride. My work was often his release, especially when he felt hamstrung by the system.

Thinking about the old times, I felt guilty about how we had left things when we had last seen each other. He had no idea about why I had left practising law. My mind wandered again, as his words echoed in my ears. Yes, she’s alive.

As we drove to meet him, I realized I was once again free falling into a world that had no compassion, where hellos were as common as curses and everyone held a knife under their namastes.

We drove in silence. The air in the car was tense. No one dared to speak a word. I was not sure what I was afraid of any more. My birthday celebrations seemed a distant memory.

We were going to a restaurant called Shelly’s Smokes. It served all kinds of barbecues, kebabs and sizzlers. Rathod and I had chosen it eight years ago as it was then towards the outskirts of the city, past an area called Pashan. So, the chances of any cop bumping into us were slim. Also, both Rathod and I lived fifteen minutes from it on either side. But because Pune was expanding so fast, Shelly’s was now very much a part of the city. We had seen her business grow over the years.

I pulled over in the almost empty parking lot. The last orders for the night would have started being accepted. I was coming to Shelly’s after three years. I used to go there only to discuss cases with Rathod. I felt a pit in my stomach as I walked down the stone walkway and up the shallow stairs to enter the open-air part of the restaurant.

I saw Kapil Rathod sitting at what used to be our usual spot, holding a cup of hot coffee in his hand. He had not changed one bit in three years. He was still lean, his hairstyle was the same buzz cut, his signature thin moustache was still intact, he still wore crisply ironed clothes and had an impeccable posture.

He saw me as well. He set his cup on the table, and then immediately got up and walked towards me, extending his arm for a handshake. I afforded a smile and shook his hand. It felt good to see a familiar face, one that I could trust.

‘How are you?’ he said and I could sense genuine concern in his voice.

‘I’m alright,’ I said and turned back. ‘This is Radha, my sister and that’s Rahul,’ I paused, almost saying her fiancé. ‘He’s Radha’s boyfriend.’

Rathod acknowledged them with a nod of his head. I could tell he was confused and had many questions, probably about where I had been since we had last spoken. He had reached out to me a few times after the last time we had met, asking about me. But he did not know what mistakes I had made and why I couldn’t stay in my career. I decided that I would tell him eventually but not now. I needed to know why he had called me. I needed to know about Maa.

I sat at the table and said, ‘What’s the matter?’

Rathod jerked his head towards Radha and Rahul. ‘Are you sure?’ he said.

I nodded.

‘Alright. Like always, I’m talking to you in absolute secrecy,’ Rathod said, resting his hands on the table and leaning forward.

Silence.

Rathod continued. ‘A woman was murdered in Koregaon Park. We found her some hours back. It was a brutal way to die. The crime scene was probably the nastiest I’ve ever seen. The reason I wanted to see you was because we found something there that connected your mother to it.’

What?

‘I don’t know how to say this,’ Rathod said. He poured himself a glass of water and took a sip. ‘We found a lock of hair at the crime scene. Not a strand. But an actual lock. Left behind purposely.’

My stomach sank suddenly. Panic gripped me. I realized I was not the only one going through this. I turned to Radha. I moved my chair closer to her and held her hand. Despite the chill in the air, I felt sweat gather on my forehead and palms.

‘I know this is hard,’ Rathod said, unsure himself of how to tell them.

‘We analysed the lock of hair. The forensic pathologist just called me with the results. The lock of hair belongs to your mother.’

‘And she… –’

‘Yes, she is alive. Or at least she was when the hair was cut. Forensics confirmed that.’

Rathod's words hung in the air. Radha's grip tightened around my hand. I put an arm around her. We feared this day would never come. Everyone around us had told us that she would be dead by now. Radha, Karan and I secretly wished that our mother would show up somewhere. I had heard of several cases where people who were missing for years suddenly showed up one fine day. They had no memory of what had happened or their kidnapper had a change of heart or they had managed to escape from their captor…. the possibilities were endless. All of which we had run in our minds, hundreds of times.

But I had never expected a lock of Maa's hair to end up at another crime scene.

After all these years. We now know she is alive. I could not believe it. But reality bit me like the cold air around me. Maa was still missing. She was still being held captive by a killer. The thought sent shivers through my body.

‘I thought I should tell you before the police contact you,’ Rathod said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Where is Kishore Zakkal?' I asked. I had caught Kishore Zakkal five years ago for killing one woman and abducting seven more, one of whom was my own mother.

‘Still in jail. Chamber Number Twelve in Yerwada.’

‘So, there’s someone out there copying him. And not just that, but Zakkal must have told him where he had hidden my mother for all those years.’

‘Siya,’ Rathod said.

A heartbeat of silence.

I knew what was coming next.

‘Your father’s disappearance will also be brought up. You know he was a suspect in your mother’s kidnapping. There will be talk,’ Rathod said.

‘I thought that talk was put to rest after I got Zakkal.’

‘You know how these things work. I saw a media van at the crime scene today. It’ll only be a matter of time before they start talking. I have also heard whispers within the CID. They believe there’s an outside chance that this could be your father.’

‘But Zakkal has been caught for that crime,’ I said.

‘I know. Zakkal was caught. The President even rejected his mercy plea today. He will soon be hanged till death. But this new murder might change everything. Zakkal’s lawyers will argue that there is a hint of doubt that Zakkal did not abduct and kill all those women. They’ll argue that the real killer is still outside. They would want to know how this killer got hold of your mother when Zakkal had taken her. There’s also another theory floating around. This new killer might not be a copycat at all, and might be the original deal.’

‘So, they would believe Zakkal is innocent?’ I said in disbelief.

‘I know that’s not true. But there are some in the CID who will go down that path as well.’

‘That’s absurd. This new killer is clearly a copycat and only linked to Zakkal somehow. Zakkal had pleaded guilty to taking those women and my mother. We had caught him red-handed.’

‘I know, but you know how these things work, Siya. Apart from this, your father’s angle is ripe news for everyone to get more eyeballs and advertisement money. Just be prepared for it.’

Anger flared my nostrils as I said, ‘My father disappeared three months after my mother vanished. He was a victim as well. He would’ve never hurt Maa. He also would’ve never left his children, especially after Maa wasn’t there as well.’

‘I know. I believe you. I’m just warning you. It’s bound to come up.’

‘I’ll deal with it.’

Silence.

‘I know this is tough,' Rathod said. ‘I'm on your side. I believe you. I thought I could warn you so it wouldn't shock you. You'd want to be a part of this investigation. And you won't be able to do that if you piss off the wrong people. You know Zakkal the best. You'll be welcome to join any team that's investigating one of his cases. But that will only be possible if you don't lose your cool when your father is brought up. Remember, I'm on your side.'

I had not thought that far ahead—of being a part of the investigation. It was only natural for Rathod to assume. He did not know. But investigating the murder would mean going back to a life that had driven me insane. A life I had quit three years ago. Did I still have it in me? Am I capable?

Those thoughts faded fast because I thought of something else. I said, ‘Maybe the other women he abducted are also alive.’

‘I’ve thought of that as well. It scares me, Siya. We know Zakkal is a mad man. We don’t know why he’s doing this. Or even how.’

‘Does he get visitors in the jail?’

‘I am going to visit him tomorrow morning in the jail. The last I checked, he was still in solitary confinement. There’s no reason for that to have changed, especially after what happened today.’

Correspondence of all inmates with the outside world is supposed to be monitored. Yet, somehow all kinds of objects and information in jails across the world manage to evade the eyes of authorities.

‘The timing cannot be a coincidence,’ I said, shaking my head a tad, realizing the bigger picture. Maa was alive, but a nasty killer had her.

Radha squeezed my shoulder. A minute back she had the biggest grin I had ever seen on her face. Now, it had disappeared quickly. In the past three years, she had given me everything she could offer, she had been strong and not even one tear had escaped her eyes. But now, her eyes were watery. The tears trickled down when I looked at her. She buried her face in my shoulder and broke down.

Radha hugged me tightly for a long time. She stopped sobbing halfway through. We thought we were prepared for this day to come. But now that we knew she was alive, the initial wave of relief and happiness had washed over, only to be replaced by a tsunami of worry. Bigger than ever this time as we knew Maa could die again.

Rathod was patient. He let our emotions play out. He rummaged in his bag for a file. He pulled out a pen drive from the pocket of his jacket and kept it on the table. He did not say what it was because I knew. The pen drive would have photos of the crime scene, a report made by one of Rathod’s associates and other details about the murder that had taken place.

‘That’s not it,’ Rathod said, fishing out his mobile phone.

He manipulated its screen and turned the phone around for me to see it. He had opened a photo on it. I took the phone to get a closer look.

‘It’s from the crime scene,’ Rathod said.

The photo was of a luminol highlight. A message was written on the floor with blood. Left behind purposely. Lit up in blue. Radha leaned forward and peered at the phone to get a look as well.

I could not believe what I was reading. A shiver ran through my body and goose bumps crawled up my skin. I read the message.

---

Hello again. There will be more.

P.S. - Tell Siya Rajput I said hi.

---

‘It was written in your mother’s blood,’ Rathod said.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I felt bile rise up my throat. The killer had my mother. He had murdered another woman. And he was rubbing it in. He was showing off, telling the world of his accomplishments.

I read the message over and over again. Seeing it, knowing the killer had written it with his own hands, made me angry. I wanted to channel the rage productively. I realized something.

Hello again. This again implied that we knew the killer. Tell Siya Rajput I said hi. There was a nonchalance in the statement. Like I was a long-lost friend. Maa’s connection to the murder certainly had something to do with it. There will be more. He was going to kill again. What was triggering him? Why now?

I knew Kishore Zakkal probably better than anyone living right now. Maybe apart from