The COMPLETE Siya Rajput Crime Thrillers (Books 1 to 4)

by UD Yasha

  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 i
n 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 the staircase.

  The moment of truth.

  The metal staircase had turned black but was still intact. I climbed one step at a time. It was dead silent, but for the echo of my footsteps on the hard metal. I knew the person waiting for me would hear me approaching.

  As I reached the platform on the staircase, I was scared for the first time. I had no idea who this person was. I also did not know their real motive for calling me. All these scenarios had run through my head before. Why had they waited so long to tell me about dad? The promise of knowing more about his disappearance had gotten me this far. I was determined to find out. But I needed to take adequate precautions to protect myself and my family.

  All this while I had not told Radha or maa because I wanted to keep them safe. I had not realized that if something were to happen to me, they would be crushed. Both of them were recovering from trauma.

  I needed to let someone know where I was. And even why. The first name that came to my mind was Kapil Rathod. I used to work with him when I still practiced law. But I hesitated for a fraction before telling him. Not because I did not trust him. Ever since I had quit practicing law, we had had a strange relationship. He had been supportive when I had told him why I had left the field of law. But even then, I had taken him for granted in many ways and it was pricking at my subconscious. However, I had no choice then. I decided that I would explain everything to him.

  I opened WhatsApp on my phone and typed a message for Rathod.

  I am at the Stan Mills’ factory that burned down. Here to meet someone who claims to have information about dad’s disappearance. They first made contact on the day we rescued Rucha Sinha. They called me again today. Jay Parikh has as much information on them as I know. Which is not much. Thought I should tell you because I did not know where else to go. Talk soon. PS- Come here only if I don’t text you within 30 minutes.

  I gulped hard before pressing send.

  I had no idea if Rathod was even awake, or would read the message in time if I needed help. But there was no one else I could go to.

  I held both my phone and gun tightly and took the next flight of stairs. My heart beat faster. Anticipation swelled inside me when I got to the top of the stairs. I looked around. There was more darkness. Silence resounded. I turned off the flashlight on my phone. I did not want to give my location away.

  The ash smell was not as strong on the first floor, or maybe I had gotten used to it. I let go of my T-Shirt

  I walked several steps to my left and dialled the number from which I had gotten the phone call.

  ‘I’m here,’ I whispered.

  ‘I saw your flashlight go off,’ the person said, their voice still masked.

  ‘Where should I come?’

  ‘Are you sure no one followed you here?’

  I paused before answering. Usually, even without noticing, I could pick up a tail. ‘Yeah, I am alone,’ I said.

  ‘Alright, good. Turn your flashlight on and start walking to the right from the staircase. I will tell you when to stop. Put the phone on speaker, and stay on the line.’

  I battled the thoughts in my mind that kept saying that all this was a setup. But, this was my only, and probably, last chance to know something about dad. So, I obeyed the instructions and began walking in the direction I was told to go.

  My ears were alert, trying to pick up the faintest of sounds. But it was dead silent. I reached the stairwell. I glanced at my phone’s screen. It was lit up and the call was still on. There were no further instructions from the person across the line either. I moved forward, slower now, wondering how close I was. But close to what?

  Just then, when I was six steps and twelve seconds away from the staircase, the way the light emanated from my phone’s screen changed. I looked at it, and realized that the call had gotten disconnected.

  I stopped moving and instinctively turned off the flashlight.

  Was something wrong?

  I looked around. Everythin
g was as still as it had been three seconds before. Maybe I was scared unnecessarily. Call dropping had become a nuisance in India over the past year because of a number of problems that had plagued the telecom sector. Maybe the call just dropped.

  I reduced the brightness of my screen, hid it under my sweater and called the number back. The chill in the air started biting me as the call kept ringing without being answered.

  The call going unanswered was not a good sign. Maybe the call did not drop, but was cut.

  What had happened?

  I wondered if I should return to my car.

  The words of the person echoed in my mind. Turn your flashlight on and start walking to the right from the staircase. I will tell you when to stop.

  Something had to be wrong. The person would not just cut the call. I stepped back, thinking I had to head back to my car. I felt my body shrink.

  I turned around and started running for the staircase. I felt the car keys in the pocket of my jeans and pulled them out as I jumped down two stairs at a time. Not a single second could be wasted. I hope my car is okay.

  The ashy smell returned as I reached the ground floor. I turned to my phone once again. I knew I had come this far, and wanted to try once again. It was already ten minutes past four. Fifteen minutes since I had texted Rathod. If he had read it, he would be coming for me if I did not tell him everything was okay in another fifteen minutes.

  I called the unknown person’s number again as I slowed down after reaching the ground floor. It seemed like the ringing kept getting louder the longer it rang. Again, no response. I knew I had to get out of there.

  Moonlight shined through the door from where I had entered. I ran for it like my life depended on it because I kept thinking it did. I cursed myself to not have done my due diligence. But it was about learning something new about dad.