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

by UD Yasha

  UD Yasha is a pen name. ‘Yasha’ is derived from my mother’s name Yashashri, while UD is taken from my first name Udayan. I wanted to have my mother’s name on the covers of the books I wrote as I owe a lot to her. Ten years ago, when I was thirteen, my father had a medical accident (we suspect it was the doctor’s mistake) due to which his brain got less oxygen for a few minutes, leading to brain hypoxia; a fancy term for brain damage. The road to his recovery has been long. He’s improving now but needs our attention and care throughout. We are glad to still have him in our lives. We hope to see him walk on his own one day. Given all of this, my mother, whom I call ‘maa’, has been the light that all my family members have looked up to and taken energy from. None of us would have been even half of what we are, if it had not been for her relentless positivity and courage. The pen name is my small way of tipping my hat to her.

  It was a pleasure to write Her Mother’s Grave. It is set in the city of Pune, in which I have stayed all my life. The science and technology written about in the book is real.

  I love to hear from my readers. You can write to me at udyasha.author@gmail.com .

  February 2019

  UD Yasha

  Little Girl Gone (The Siya Rajput Crime Thrillers Book 2)

  Chapter One

  It had been more than three years since a man had looked me straight in the eye and told me that he was innocent, and not guilty of the murder he had been accused of committing. In this case, it was four murders. A family had been killed in their house. A shot had been fired at each of their heads. Execution style. Clean and as cold-blooded as it could get. They would have been dead even before they would have realized what had happened.

  The man accused of the murders was sitting across the table from me. The first thing I noticed about him was his scar. It was not fresh but recent; still pink, and it ran from his mouth to his ear. The man’s name was Shaunak Manohar. He was thirty-six. Married with two kids. He seemed to be a normal person, the kind who doesn’t go around killing people. But in my experience, the most brutal killers are like your husband, father and son.

  I had a look at the file the CID had compiled on Manohar just before coming in. I was impressed with how much they had gotten on him in such a short time. What I read did not look good. The evidence was stacked against him. He had been taken into police custody just an hour and a half back. The evidence was strong enough to move him to Yerwada Jail, the city prison, pending investigation.

  Manohar had been found in a house in which he had no business being. The CID had caught him with a gun in his hand and blood on his clothes and face. The blood was being analysed for DNA, and that would take a while. However, the test results would be moot. Because Manohar had himself admitted that the blood on him belonged to the people who lay dead in the living room of the house. But he said he had not killed them. Why was he then holding a gun when the police came in? And why did he have their blood on his clothes?

  Many questions swirled in my mind. Whether Shaunak Manohar was innocent, was not one of them. I was there for something else.

  The air conditioner hummed ever so softly in the interrogation room of the CID. I sat back in the chair and turned to my right. I set my bag on the floor next to me. I flicked my hand twice. A sign for the CID officers present behind the magic one-way mirror wall to turn off the CCTV cameras and other recording devices in the room. I waited for two beats.

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  Manohar leaned forward on the table. I leaned forward on the table as well. A subconscious maneuverer. A classic technique. One that I had used hundreds of times on killers and even potential lovers, though the latter had been non-existent in my life for a while now.

  I gauged Shaunak Manohar. He was calm for someone who had just been arrested for murder. His gaze was sharp on me. I gave nothing away. There was something in the way his eyes flickered.

  I could not quite place what it was. But I stayed silent.

  In criminal defence, a lawyer does not care whether a client is innocent or guilty. It does not matter. In fact, most lawyers don’t even want to know the truth. Any judgement plants a bias. And not just that, but not knowing is also easier. I don’t have a kid, but I’m sure it helps not knowing if the person you helped evade a jail term actually committed the crime, while putting your own child to sleep. No knowledge, no pricking of the conscience. And they say lawyers don’t have morals.

  Less than an hour and a half ago, my phone had rung just as I had finished making dinner. I thought it was Radha, my sister, calling to inform me that she was running late for dinner. But it was not her. Seeing the name of the caller surprised me.

  I double checked my phone screen to confirm if I was reading it correctly. Atharva Mehta. He was my first boyfriend. We were together for two years from the age of seventeen to nineteen. We had last met more than twelve years ago at the National Defence Academy's Passing Out Parade when my brother Karan was graduating. Post that, Karan had joined the Indian Army while Atharva had joined the Indian Air Force. Atharva was thirty-one, the same age as me and two years younger than my brother. We had been friends for a long time before we had started going out. Radha, Karan, Atharva and I used to play together while growing up, especially during the summer holidays. Our fathers were colleagues in the police department.

  We had just gone our separate ways in life. I had gone to law school and he had joined the Air Force. The breakup had been cordial and I always remembered our time together very fondly. In the past ten years, our correspondence had been limited to wishing each other on our birthdays. Even that was sporadic, and if I remembered correctly, we had missed wishing each other last year.

  ‘Siya, I’m sorry to call you like this, but I urgently need your help,’ Atharva said as soon as I answered the call. His voice was high pitched and he spoke fast. ‘I didn’t know who else I could go to.’

  I would have been taken aback by the statement, but I knew he trusted me by the virtue of our two-year relationship and a longer friendship. We both thought we were more in touch with each other than we really were because Karan was a common factor between us.

  ‘Sure,’ I said, keeping aside the rice cooker in my hand. I walked out of the kitchen and crossed to the garden of our bungalow. ‘What happened?’ I could sense panic in his voice.

  ‘Someone killed my sister’s family. All of them. I just got to know. They’re all dead,’ Atharva said.

  His voice was trembling. I did not know Atharva’s sister that well. She was older than us so she used to rarely play with us as kids. Her name came to me just then. Malini. They’re all dead.

  ‘How? Tell me what happened exactly,’ I said, my instincts kicking in.

  ‘I got a call from the CID. I was told that a man shot all of them in their house. Malini was not home then. But the man killed the rest of them. The police could not reach Malini right away. She is in Mahabaleshwar to conduct a workshop. So, the CID called me. I am listed as my brother-in-law’s emergency contact. They finally managed to get through to Malini after they spoke to me. She is on her way back to Pune as we speak.’

  Atharva's words kept echoing in my mind. They’re all dead. Her family included her husband, their two children and her in-laws. Five murders, two dead children. A chill ran up my spine.

  I waited. I did not know the facts yet. If there was one thing that I had learned being a lawyer and private detective, it was that listening is more important than anything else. A sense of trepidation loomed. I heard Atharva’s deep breaths across the line.

  He continued. ‘I returned from our evening workout ten minutes back. I had missed three calls from the same number. When I called it back, a CID officer told me what had happened. This was before they could get in touch with Malini. So, they wanted me to confirm the identity of her family.’

  I heard more loud heaves across the line. I remembered Atharva having the happiest face. He could never stop grinning. I used to be the same. My mother used to even joke about ho
w if we got married, our kids would never know how to cry. Seeing Atharva in this state was gut-wrenching. I could make out that he had been shaken up.

  He went on. ‘I want to come down to Pune. I’ll soon get to know if my leave has been approved.’

  I let Atharva talk. My heart went out to him. But I still had not understood why he had called me. Or how I could help him. I was not a practising lawyer anymore. I made a mistake three years ago and it still haunts me. I walked away from the field overnight. To aid my job back then, I had also taken a private detective's license which I had stopped using as well. From what Atharva had told me, this matter was serious. Multiple homicides. Even if I wanted to help him, the local police or CID would not entertain me interfering. They never liked private detectives. They despised criminal lawyers. I was both.

  ‘They caught the guy who did it,’ Atharva said.

  ‘So fast?’ I said, surprised.

  ‘He was at the crime scene when the CID arrived. They have him in custody now.’

  ‘And he confessed?’

  ‘No, he’s denying all charges. He says he is innocent.’

  Silence.

  ‘I want you to meet him as his lawyer,’ Atharva said.

  I was confused. Why was Atharva asking me to defend a person who had been arrested for killing his sister’s family? ‘You think he’s innocent?’ I said.

  ‘The CID thinks he’s guilty.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Why do you want me to defend him?’

  ‘I want to know why—’

  ‘That’s not how it works,’ I cut in, my defence mechanism kicking in. Even thinking about defending another accused person sent shivers through my body. The wounds of my mistake three years back were still raw. I said, ‘I cannot just go in as his lawyer to find out why he did it.’

  ‘You misunderstood me. I don't want to know why he did it. There's something else. There should have been five bodies at the house. My brother-in-law, his two children and his parents. But instead, there are just four. The family's youngest member my niece—Rucha—is missing. She's just eight years old.'

  My heart raced. I realized why Atharva had called me. I knew where he was going with this. His next words rang in my ears.

  He said, ‘Siya, I want you to represent the man who killed them and find out the truth. I want you to find Rucha. He'll tell his lawyer what happened at the crime scene. Rucha is just eight years old and I have no idea where she is. She was a premature child. Even now, she needs special care and attention. She keeps falling ill otherwise. I can't even imagine what she would be going through right now. I spoke to Malini before calling you. She’s absolutely stunned. She doesn't know what to do. Her family has been murdered and her daughter is missing. Siya, I need to find Rucha and I need your help with that.'

  Right then, I knew deep down that my plans for a calm and relaxing night had gone for a toss. What I couldn’t have known then was the magnitude of horror that was about to hit me.

  Chapter Two

  Atharva’s words played in my mind over and over again. I need your help, Siya. I remembered seeing Rucha’s baby photos. She was the smallest baby I had ever seen. She was thirteen hundred grams at birth. I had seen her recent photos that Atharva had shared on social media. Rucha still appeared weak and small for her age but she always had a beaming smile on her face. But now she was gone.

  I had a decision to make. I had to consider two factors.

  First, cases involving children had always been close to my heart. I would have jumped at the chance to help Atharva in any way I could, but I also had to consider something else—defending a potentially guilty client.

  In my days of being a criminal defence lawyer, I only used to take on innocent clients. But then, three years ago, one case changed my life. I wrongly defended Kunal Shastri—the most twisted and pathetic killer I knew. He and his wife killed six children together. I had defended him, thinking he was innocent, falling for the false testimony of his wife and the fake evidence they had produced. I did not know then that even his wife killed with him. After I had successfully defended Kunal, they had almost killed another girl. Suhana Kulkarni had been saved just in time. But not before she had suffered brain damage. Three years on, she was still battling for her life. Every day she spent in a coma pushed her closer to the point of no return. The weight of my mistake had crushed me down every moment since then, making it hard to even breathe at times. From that day onwards, I had turned my back on practising law.

  I closed my eyes to stop the memories from engulfing my mind. A face flashed behind my eyes. It was an image that had haunted me every night for three years. It was of Kunal Shastri’s face. He was smiling at me with his cold dark eyes after just telling me he had killed all those kids.

  But more than that, I wanted to protect my mother. We had just gotten her back after she had been held captive for over sixteen years. Taking this case would mean exposing maa to the thoughts of murders and kidnappings once again. Dr. Pande, her therapist was satisfied with her progress. I did not want to throw it all away. She had experienced the very worst of humanity for sixteen years. She had suffered from something called the ‘Stockholm Syndrome’. It was a psychological response in which a captive person developed a bond with the captor over days and weeks. Maa had been gone for sixteen years so her Stockholm Syndrome was so severe that she could not recognize me we had rescued her. She had now recovered from it fully but the scars of being held captive for so long played out in different ways.

  But a little girl was in danger. There was a chance that I could save her. Help her come back home. Just like I had done with my mother. There was hope to reunite her with her mother. I knew how good that felt. A piercing pain shot through my head.

  ‘Siya, are you there?’ Atharva said.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘So, what do you think? Can you help me?’

  ‘Yes. I meant yes, I’ll do it,’ I said, surprising myself. ‘I’ll speak to the suspect the CID has in custody. I’ll take him on as a client,’ I said and heard a sigh of relief across the line escape Atharva’s mouth.

  ‘I’ll send you the details they have shared with me. Thanks, Siya. This means a lot. I’ll tell you if my leave is approved,’ Atharva said and hung up.

  I pulled down the phone from my ear and stood silently. The sun had long set. It was eight-fifteen on a hot and dry summer night. A bead of sweat trickled down from my forehead. I wondered whether I had made the right decision. Would maa be okay? I had a plan to shield maa from all of this. I would keep her away and not tell her much. Would that even work? I began to shiver thinking about it all.

  I was also not trying to seek redemption or forgiveness for putting Suhana Kulkarni’s life in danger. Finding Atharva's niece or even a hundred other missing girls was not going to undo my mistake. Never. One thing the past three years had taught me was to own my actions—both the bad and the good. I had messed up. I still looked at everything in my life through the lens of my mistake.

  Knowing deep down that I could play a role in saving a girl’s life made me feel better. But it also filled me with apprehension. What if I make a mistake again? My hands went cold as I realized what was at stake.

  I inhaled deeply.

  I knew I had to take on the case when I realized I was already thinking of ways in which I could find Rucha. At the same time, as the clouds of my own insecurities began to lift, I realized the graveness of the situation. Four people had been killed and a girl was missing. The suspect was already in police custody, denying all charges. I wanted to know more about the case.

  I pulled my phone out to dial the number of the person I trusted the most in the CID. Senior Inspector Kapil Rathod. I knew I could always count on him to do the right thing. He had helped me in every possible way ever since I had started practising law. He had come to my rescue hundreds of times. But I was considered an outsider by the police and the CID, and that often put Rathod at crossroads. Yet, he continued to do whatever h
e could to assist me from inside the system. We trusted each other because of one thing. At the end of the day, we had the same aim—the innocent must be protected and the guilty must be punished. That alone was good enough for us to have an almost blind faith in each other. And in times when the difference between life and death is a mere picosecond, blind faith helps you continue breathing.

  But then I hesitated.

  I did not want my opinion to be clouded by the CID’s interpretation. I would just look at the preliminary case file they would have compiled on their suspect. It would just have the facts, which were exactly what I needed then. I would speak to Rathod after speaking to the suspect they had in custody.

  Just as I turned to go back inside the house, I heard my sister Radha’s two-wheeler at the gate. With one motion, she pushed the gate open and pulled over in the parking lot. She knew something was up with just one look at me. She took off her helmet and pulled her curly hair into a loose bun.

  People kept saying we looked similar. It was mostly because we had the same curly hair and green eyes. We had gotten both the traits from our mother. We were both around five feet ten inches in height and that had been passed down to us by our father.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Radha said and hugged me tightly.

  Radha had been my deepest source of strength since I had left practising law. She was exactly the person I needed to see at that moment.

  ‘Do you remember Atharva Mehta?’ I said, seeing Radha nod her head as I pulled out of the embrace. ‘His sister’s family has been murdered. And his eight-year-old niece is missing.’

  Radha did not need to hear the rest. She knew where I was going with this conversation.