The Siya Rajput Crime Thrillers Books 1-3 (Where Are They Now / Finding Her / The Bones Are Calling)

by UD Yasha

  There was still a chill in the air, which made the steaming coffee that much better. That it cost just ten rupees made Rathod feel even better. A new Starbucks had opened further down on the same road, where a similar cup of coffee would cost thirty times more. He thought absently about everything that had happened since morning as he observed a few elderly people around him, sitting on metal chairs, reading the morning newspaper by a newspaper stand. Rathod felt much better with two cups of coffee in his system. He got back to his car and drove to Natraj Meadows, the crime scene for the three murders. It was less than five minutes away.

  Dr. Sonia Joshi was standing with her hands on her waist when Rathod rode up the shiny elevator, put on the plastic overalls and stepped into the apartment.

  ‘Bhalerao told me about your mother,’ Sonia said on seeing Rathod. ‘I’m glad everything is okay.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m relieved as well,’ Rathod said. ‘Can you brief me about what you have found?’

  ‘As you know three people have been murdered. All were shot. I’ll walk you through what we have found. Let’s go inside the room,’ she said, starting for the bedroom.

  Rathod followed her. The apartment now only had two crime scene technicians and Jadhav apart from him and Sonia. The technicians were dusting the rest of the place for fingerprints, clicking photographs and collecting all sorts of samples. Jadhav was by Rathod’s side.

  Rathod swept his gaze across the now empty bedroom. The bodies had been taken to the morgue and there were three chalk outlines of where they had been found. The room would be cleaned much later so there was still blood everywhere.

  Rathod put his hands in his pockets and wandered in the room. He wanted to get a feel of what it was like to be in the room. He stood behind the bed and tried to work out the angles. There was a large window next to him. Its curtains were drawn.

  ‘Was the rest of the house clean?’ Rathod said.

  ‘Yes, at least on the face of it. But I’ll have to analyse all the samples we took before saying anything.’

  ‘What was the time of death?’ Rathod said.

  ‘All the bodies are not at peak rigour mortis levels yet, so they were killed less than twelve hours back. Based on their body temperature when we got here, I would say they were killed between ten and twelve at night.’

  ‘Can you tell me what you know about the couple?’

  ‘As Bhalerao told you earlier, both of them were doctors. The man, Malhar Jathar was a gynaecologist while the woman, Niyati was a cosmetic surgeon. If my guess is right, I think Niyati herself has had her nose and cheeks done. I noticed some tell-tale signs when I saw her. My suspicion was confirmed when I…wait, I’ll show you’ Sonia said, and pulled out her phone to show Rathod Niyati’s photo on her Facebook page. She shuffled to an older picture from her marriage. ‘And now see this,’ she said.

  Rathod narrowed his eyes. He could see a clear difference between the two pictures. Niyati, in her recent pictures, looked more like the sibling of her older self.

  ‘You’ll be surprised but there hasn’t been much of a change in terms of her face or bone structure. In cosmetology, subtle changes can drastically change the way someone looks.’

  ‘How old are the Jathars?’

  ‘Bhalerao found their driving license, Aadhar cards and marriage certificate. Malhar is fifty-six and Niyati is fifty-three. They got married twenty-four years ago.’

  ‘Any update on identifying the third man?’ Rathod said.

  ‘Not yet. His fingerprints are not in the system so it will take time,’ Sonia said. ‘But from his bone structure, teeth and body I can tell you that he’s around forty years old. There are no other particularly distinguishing marks on his body but I will get to know more after conducting an autopsy.’ Sonia paused and referred to her report. ‘And one more thing. I almost forgot about it. There’s a large cut across his abdomen. I cannot certainly tell you what it is from, but my initial observation is that the man had gotten one of his kidneys removed.’

  ‘What?’ Rathod said and his eyebrows went up in surprise. He knew how big the black market of organ donation was. Could the murders be about some organ donation scandal? The other people murdered were both doctors. Some of the most eye-opening scams he had come across had been medicine related.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Sonia said. ‘I’ll be able to tell you more once I conduct an autopsy.’

  ‘Is there any way we can check if he has donated his kidney?’

  ‘Official records are sealed. It’ll be tough to get a judge to open those records. It will set a precedent and then soon there would be requests from a lot of people. Where do you draw the line?’

  Rathod went through a mental checklist. The lock on the house door had not been damaged and there was no sign of forced entry. The house had not been disturbed. At the same time, the Jathars were in their bedroom with another man. They might have been sitting in the room outside when the man had gone to the bathroom. All of it meant that they knew and trusted him. They had let him into their house. The thought of the man being a male prostitute occurred to him for a fraction of a second but he did not give it much traction. The man was in unclean clothes and had grease on his body. It was highly unlikely that some weird sexual fantasy was being played out. He nonetheless made a mental note to ask Bhalerao to check. The grease on his body told Rathod that he might have worked in a garage or car shop.

  ‘Based on what you saw, can you give me your initial impression of the unidentified man or John Doe’s lifestyle?’ Rathod said.

  Sonia said, ‘I can tell you that he was a long-term tobacco chewer. His teeth have stains and smelled like some paan masala. He also has stains on his right hand that he must have habitually used to put the tobacco in his mouth. He wasn’t well groomed and it appears he spent a lot of time outdoors as he has a distinct tan.’

  Rathod sighed. He knew it was a hard one. He called Bhalerao.

  ‘I was just about to phone you,’ Bhalerao said. ‘We have initiated a search on anyone matching the description of the unknown dead man. A sketch has been prepared and we’re showing it at local garages.’

  ‘That was quick,’ Rathod said. ‘Also search him against known and suspected male prostitutes.’

  ‘I will do that. Are you coming to the office?’

  ‘Yes, I’m almost done here,’ Rathod said and clicked off.

  He thanked Sonia for her time and then exited the apartment. He wanted to check the couple’s finances once. But he was almost certain that if they were involved in something illegal, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to use their own bank accounts. Money and paper trail were strong evidence and if they were into organ smuggling, they would be more sophisticated.

  As he got behind the wheel of his car and started driving to the CID office near Pashan, the clockwork of his mind began ticking.

  He once again wondered how John Doe could have managed to sneak into such a posh and well secured residential complex without being seen. If he had come in the same clothes he was wearing when he had died, then he had to have stood out. And that he would have changed into soiled clothes after entering the apartment did not make sense. The man’s greased face flashed behind his eyes.

  Rathod had an idea. He turned his car around and went back to the residential complex. He returned to the apartment that now had one hawaladar and two crime scene technicians. He found a key holder and saw two car keys. One had Honda’s insignia while the other had a Maruti Suzuki logo. He took both the keys and went to the underground parking lot. He found where the Jathars parked their cars.

  He unlocked the Honda City first. Its cabin light turned on. A fresh lavender smell greeted Rathod when he opened the car’s door. He ducked inside, unsure of what to expect. The front seat was pushed all the way back. Rathod wondered if it was Malhar’s car as he remembered him to be tall. He opened the glovebox. It had the usual stuff like the car’s registration, PUC certificate and insurance papers. He shut it and ducked to che
ck the back seat. A narrow rug had been placed on it. He lifted it. The seat under it was clean. He popped open the boot and then went around to check it. It was clean as well. No sign of anything suspicious. He double-checked the front and back seats to see if he had missed out on anything. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, he locked the Honda City.

  Next to the Honda sedan was a Maruti hatchback. A black Baleno. Its locks clicked open when Rathod pressed a button on the key. He went through the same motions. First the front row and the glovebox. There was nothing alarming in it. He got back out and opened the back door.

  That’s when he saw it.

  The seat covers were beige. So, the grease on it stood out. It was on the headrest and also the actual seat. Rathod dialled the number of one of Dr. Sonia’s technicians who was still upstairs and asked them to come down to collect samples. Apart from the grease, the back seat had a thick blanket. Rathod was sure that there would be grease on its fibres as well, but he didn’t want to soil any evidence so he waited for someone from the forensic team to arrive. In the meantime, he checked the car’s boot. It was empty except for some old newspapers from a year ago.

  Rathod’s suspicion was confirmed.

  John Doe had been brought willingly by Malhar and Niyati from somewhere. They had tried to keep his arrival a secret by hiding him on the back seat of their car. Rathod looked around the underground parking lot. He saw at least two CCTVs, one of which was right above the elevator. It would have captured the man entering the elevator with the Jathars. That would give Rathod a timeline of when and how the man had got there. All he knew right now was that the murders had been committed between ten and twelve at night.

  As Rathod thought about it, a crime scene technician stepped out from the elevator.

  Rathod said, ‘Check if the grease on the back seat is the same as that on the dead man. There’s a blanket inside as well which I think was used to cover the man when he was brought in.’

  The technician nodded and got to work. Rathod walked away, happy that he had found something that would advance the investigation, but still worried about what had happened exactly. He knew that the key to knowing what happened to Siya in the morning and who and why three people were killed in the apartment number 6 lay in identifying the people who were killed in both cases.

  Three minutes later, through a pair of binoculars, a bald man wearing a black leather jacket saw Rathod step out in the morning sun and get in his car. He had wondered where the police inspector had gone earlier in the morning. The timing was suspicious because of what had gone down before sunrise. Their plan had miserably failed. At least a part of it. But at the same time, they were sure that they could keep things under control. There was too much at stake.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rathod had sent a man named Harshvardhan Kuhad to take us to Stan Mills. I recognized him from the team that had helped us raid a warehouse six months back to rescue an eight-year-old girl.

  Kuhad was a robust man several inches above six feet. He must have weighed around ninety kilos. It looked like he had recently had a fresh haircut and shave. There were several threads tied around his right wrist. It reminded me of my nani (grandma) when she used to say the Hanumanchalisa, a prayer to Lord Hanuman, and tie a black thread around the wrists of Radha, Kunal and I to protect us in life.

  At that moment, Kuhad handed me something else to protect ourselves. He gave us two guns he had brought with him. He would have been licensed to own and carry them, as Indian law enforcement officers were legally permitted to own up to three firearms. But the amendment to the law was being tabled in the Parliament to restrict one person to one firearm.

  Rahul asked me several questions about what had happened since morning. I answered them all, knowing that he needed to know whatever I did as he was involved in the case now.

  On reaching Stan Mills, Kuhad pulled over next to my car. The three of us stepped out. The Stan Mills factory appeared smaller during the day. It was surrounded by a dense tree cover from all sides except the road leading up to it. I realized how easy it would have been for anyone to get away through the woods. As far as I knew, there was vast empty land on all sides beyond the tree cover. It would definitely join some road, making it easy to get away from the factory.

  Kuhad led the way and headed for the main door. It had a large padlock on it. He turned for the back door when I pointed it to him. Seeing the back door brought back the memories of the morning. Goosebumps crawled up on my skin. I walked slower, falling out of step with Rahul and Kuhad.

  ‘I lost consciousness and woke up here,’ I said, pointing at an area on the ground that had some blood, mostly transferred from my body. Rahul pulled out a brush and plastic cover from his bag and took samples from the area.

  ‘There has to be more blood somewhere else,’ he said.

  ‘Close to us as well,’ I said. ‘I can’t think of how I could have gone far off from here.’

  ‘I’ll go inside and see if I find anything,’ Kuhad said.

  I walked closer to the trees. I could see that they got dense in the distance. My eyes swept the ground, looking for any disturbance amid the scattering of dirt, grass and leaves. Everything seemed natural like no one had stormed off through the woods.

  ‘I wonder how the person who called me got here,’ I said.

  ‘We’ll check the approach road for fresh tire tracks that don’t match yours, Kuhad’s and Rathod’s cars,’ Rahul said. ‘Maybe the third person, if they were here, could have also used the same road to come and go.’

  Rahul and I scanned the rest of the ground around the factory but we couldn’t find anything. There were no footprints anywhere either. Rahul took samples of various bits on the ground and bagged them up. Just as he finished dusting the backdoor of the factory for fingerprints, Kuhad called for us.

  ‘Come in here,’ Kuhad yelled from inside.

  Rahul and I jumped in. Kuhad was in a corner, a few feet away inside to our left. There was blood on the ground next to him. It was like someone had dropped a bag full of it and it had burst on the ground.

  ‘I found something else too,’ Kuhad said and he walked right up the wall next to him. ‘Come here.’ He beckoned us to join him.

  We walked up to him. Kuhad pointed at a spot on the wall.

  ‘A bullet is lodged in the wall,’ he said.

  I clicked pictures of it on my phone. Rahul plucked it off the wall with tweezers and put it in a plastic bag.

  ‘There’s one more,’ Kuhad said and asked us to follow him to the adjacent wall. This one was stuck in the wall too.

  We walked closer to it to check it out. This bullet had lodged in deeper. Rahul put it in a fresh bag after I took a picture.

  The implications of bullets being fired started to dawn on me. I wondered. Was the caller shooting at me? Or was a third person, the shooter, also present in the morning? The bullets did not look like the ones that went in my Glock. They were not 9mm, but a smaller calibre, indicating that a smaller gun was used. So, I knew I wasn’t the shooter. The more I thought about it, I got more certain that I wasn’t the one being shot at. I thought about my chances of escaping from a shooter in pitch darkness when I had no idea of the layout. The woman who was now dead would have been the target. But in that case, who had stabbed her if not me? And why was she in the trunk of my car? I wondered if I was trying to take her away somewhere safe. But I wouldn’t have put a dying woman in a boot if I wanted to save her. I would put her in the back seat.

  My hands went cold at the thought of me leaving the woman in the boot to let her die. In that case, she was not on my side. In turn, if a third shooter was present, then that person was looking out for me. If that was the case, then why had they left me when I had become unconscious? If the point of shooting the woman was to save me, why didn’t they tell me who they were or something else about the entire situation?

  I needed to think about everything with a clear mind. I wanted to focus on getting as much as possible fr
om the crime scene.

  ‘Can you hand me a pair of gloves?’ I asked Rahul. I knew he carried extra pairs in his black bag.

  I put them on and leaned forward, putting an arm on the wall. I sniffed the area where the bullet had been lodged. The small cavity made by the bullet had a hint of a pungent odour. Like the air around a sugar factory.

  I knew what it was.

  Nitroglycerin. One of the components of gunpowder post the Second World War. It was also a common propellant used in missiles and rockets. The ironic part, which always amused me, was that nitroglycerin was given to heart patients to widen their blood vessels so more blood flowed through them when they experienced chest pain. Same chemical, used differently, saved thousands of lives across the world, probably killing the same number of people too.

  But its presence in the cavity told me that the bullets had been freshly fired. The pungent smell was a result of gunpowder and not the bullet, which meant if the bullets had been there for a longer time, the smell would fade away. Given what had happened at the factory since morning, I could make an educated guess that the bullets were fired around the time I was there.

  ‘I’m not an expert at this but I can tell you something about where the bullets were fired from,’ Kuhad said. ‘We learnt about firearm trajectory in our self-preservation training during a hostage-like situation. Knowing where bullets are coming from can be a massive advantage when you’re confined to an enclosed space.’

  ‘That’ll be super helpful,’ Rahul said, nodding.

  Kuhad stepped forward, his shoulders now broader and his chest pumped up. ‘The first bullet we saw was in the wall to the left of the back door. It was more or less perpendicular to the wall. It’s also very rare that bullets make something close to a circular hole on impact. So, I think the first bullet was fired from the back door. The second hit the wall at an angle, so it would have again been fired from the door.’