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

by UD Yasha

  ‘The past few weeks, maybe months.’

  ‘I don’t know about months, but he took the entire last week off.’

  I leaned forward. He had been telling Sheila that he was going to work. ‘You didn’t think of telling us that first?’ I said.

  ‘I didn't know it was a big deal. Teachers need a vacation too. The kids are off enjoying their summer holidays, so the volume of work is comparatively less. A lot of teachers take holidays this time of the year, especially because the new academic year at the school begins in fifteen days.’

  ‘Since when did he stop coming in?’ Atharva asked.

  ‘Probably since last Monday.’

  ‘You can check with the admin in charge. I'll introduce you to her.'

  ‘Do you know why he hasn’t been coming?’

  ‘I don’t know to be honest.’

  ‘Can you also show us Manohar’s office?’ I said.

  ‘I’ll have to ask the school principal first. Manohar has a set of keys. The principal has the other,’ Madhura said and got up. ‘Come with me. I’ll try to get you what you want if it’s going to help Shaunak.’

  We followed her outside and went to the third and the topmost floor of the admin building.

  ‘Wait for a second here,' Madhura said, and then walked off to a lady sitting at the reception. She returned a minute later with a piece of paper in her hand. ‘This is Shaunak Manohar's attendance for the past six months. The system is pretty reliable as each teacher has to punch in their entry and exit using their fingerprints.'

  ‘Thanks for this,’ I said as she handed me the paper.

  ‘Let’s go to the principal’s office,’ she said and again set off walking fast one way, leaving us scrambling to not lose her.

  I glanced at Manohar's attendance sheet. Madhura was right. He was punctual and never missed work. At least for the most part. He took his first holiday in six months five weeks back—just when the school term had ended. Since then, he had taken a total of sixteen holidays, including the last full week. What had happened five weeks back?

  I texted Sheila, asking her about the last time Manohar had taken leave from work. Would she know or had Manohar lied to her about it as well?

  We waited outside the principal’s office while Madhura was inside. This time, she returned in a few minutes. Her face had turned white.

  ‘I’m sorry. He isn’t ready to hand over the keys to me. You’ll have to convince him,’ she said and then leaned closer to me. She whispered the next words. ‘He said he doesn’t want to see you, but I suggest you go in anyway. He can be a pain.’ She walked away from us before saying, ‘I’ll see you back at my office once you’re done.’

  Atharva and I exchanged looks, both of us wondered what was happening. Madhura was an interesting personality.

  ‘Let’s go in,’ Atharva said, nudging his head towards the principal’s office.

  ‘You should lead the way. You are much more experienced than me in seeing an angry principal,' I said, grinning.

  The principal was a man named Kailash Puri. He was in his late fifties and had a receding hairline. He looked up from his desk and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose when we entered. He squinted his eyes to get a better look at us.

  ‘I’m advocate Siya Rajput,’ I said. ‘I wanted to ask you a few questions about one of your employees, Shaunak Manohar. I’m defending him against charges of murder and kidnapping.’

  ‘I don’t have anything to say. Didn’t Ms. Madhura Patil tell you?’

  ‘We might have missed her,’ I said. ‘This is important. If you have two minutes, please?’

  ‘I’m well within my rights to not answer your questions. If you will, please don’t bother me. Close the door on your way out.’

  ‘Can you let us have a look in his office? We might find something useful in it.’

  ‘Do you have a search warrant?’

  Atharva stepped forward. ‘My eight-year-old niece is missing. She has a respiratory problem. She could die if we don't find her soon. There could be something in Mr. Manohar's office that might help us in that regard.'

  ‘I don’t like your tone.’

  ‘You also wouldn't like what I have in mind then. I know several journalists who would kill for stories like these. Especially when men in privileged positions like yours act tough. Do you want to continue as the principal of this school? If—'

  ‘Is that a threat?’

  ‘It is. Imagine what the school’s parents would think when they get to know a murderer and a child kidnapper taught their kids. It would destroy the school. The Board of the school will start looking for answers. To avoid a repeat show, they would first fire you.’

  Kailash narrowed his eyes. He whipped off his specs and wiped them with his handkerchief. His nostrils flared. His balding head was beaded with sweat. He did not break eye contact with Atharva as he got up, unlocked a drawer in his desk and pulled out a key.

  ‘I know which battles to pick,’ he said, his voice raging with anger. ‘I’ll show you Manohar’s office.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Manohar's office was on the ground floor and the layout was similar to that of Madhura's workspace, but that's where the similarities ended. Manohar's was more personalized. I saw at least three photo frames of his family—one with Sheila and two with all four of them. The office also had more bookshelves and an additional small desk.

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what is Shaunak Manohar’s monthly salary?’ I said.

  Kailash scoffed and shook his head. But he knew Atharva had a leash around his neck. I wondered if Atharva had faked having friends in the media. Even if he did, they would perhaps be more apt to break a story about a defence deal or a border skirmish as opposed to a school principal hiring a murder suspect.

  ‘He earns a lakh and a half rupees per month. That does not include bonuses.’

  That was a lot of money. I was surprised for a beat before I realized Ad Astra was a school for the rich. This teaching gig kept getting better.

  ‘How would you describe him?’

  ‘He was sincere and got along well with students. We didn’t have any complaints against him. In fact, parents and students always praised him at open house meetings.’

  ‘Do you know if anyone had access to his office?’

  ‘While he was gone?’

  ‘That, and also generally.’

  ‘Not while he was gone. When he was here, the cleaning staff would come and go in his presence.’

  ‘Alright, thanks for your time. If you don’t mind, can we have a look around alone?’ I said.

  I could almost hear the abuse he was hurling our way in his mind. But his hands were tied. ‘Sure,' he said in a deadpan voice and left.

  ‘That was good,’ I said to Atharva, pulling out gloves from my tote bag and handing them to him. I put them on as well.

  We were not sure what we were looking for. The key in such situations was to not have any bias while going through various objects. I started off with the bookshelf to the right of the desk, and Atharva with the one on the left. I looked for a deviation from normal. A book that seemed out of place, or that appeared newer. Most of the books were on science. There were some on leadership. A glance to Atharva's part of the bookshelf told me it had some science fiction and autobiographies. Manohar had pasted a post-it note on the bookshelf that had the names of the books he wanted to read next. I skimmed through it and realized Manohar read fast and read a lot. For the upcoming week, he had planned to read eight books, all of which were over three hundred pages.

  I plucked out the post-it note to inspect it closely. The date in the top left corner of the note was not of the ongoing week, but a date six weeks back. 10th April 2019. It was the same week in which the school term ended and Manohar started taking holidays. Was it just a coincidence? Or had something triggered the deviation from the norm?

  I remembered something else that Sheila had told me. Their daughter Kalindi had started feeling
scared around the same time. I checked my phone to see if Sheila had responded to my question. There was one unread message. She had replied.

  No, he did not take leave from work. As a matter of fact, he never missed work unless it was for an important reason. Why are you asking?

  So, Manohar had not told his wife about the holidays he had taken from school. He also had not taken the holiday to take care of his daughter when she had a fever. Sheila would have known about it otherwise. I made a mental note to check his daughter’s medical records as she had fallen sick at the same time as all the abnormal events had started happening. Was he consulting with Malini Sinha somehow? But why would he go back again to her if he believed her treatment had caused his wife’s miscarriage?

  I texted Madhura Patil to join us in Manohar’s office.

  ‘Found anything useful?’ I said, turning to Atharva.

  Atharva shook his head. He was almost done looking through the bookshelf.

  ‘Let’s search his desk and the cabinet where he kept exam papers,’ I said.

  The desk was well organized. I still did not know what I was looking for. However, I was now starting to wonder if we could find anything that would tell us what changed five to six weeks back in Manohar's life. The desk had a sleek desktop computer, several pamphlets of various workshops and exhibitions taking place across Pune, a pen stand and a stack of science textbooks. I flipped through their pages but came across nothing helpful. The dates on the brochures were also roughly six weeks back.

  Atharva was at my right elbow, searching the desk drawers.

  ‘They’re surprisingly well organized,’ he said. ‘So far, I have found exam question and answer papers, syllabus for the next term along with recommended readings for himself and students. A lot of them are marked unread using a note.’

  ‘When did the exams end?’ I said.

  Atharva referred to a sheet of paper in his hand. ‘They ended on different dates for different grades but from what I can make out, they finished seven weeks back. A lot of things seemed to have happened during that time.’

  A rap on the door. I turned to it and saw Madhura enter the office.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’ she said.

  ‘Can you tell me what happened at school around six weeks back?’ I said.

  ‘Lots. The exams ended, the term finished, we had an annual gathering in which students performed...’ her voice trailed off as she thought. ‘That’s about it. What’s the matter?’

  I was not comfortable discussing the facts of the case with Madhura. She could have been involved in this with Manohar or whoever took Rucha. She appeared helpful, but there had been innumerable cases in which the killer involved himself or herself in the investigation.

  ‘Wait, how could I forget?’ Madhura said. ‘Admissions for the next academic year started the day after the school term ended.’

  ‘Was Manohar involved in it?’

  ‘Yes, he very much was. All of us had to put in a set number of hours for admissions.’

  ‘What did that involve?’

  ‘Going through all the application forms. We have strict guidelines regarding the ideal student at Ad Astra. So, more than fifty per cent of students are eliminated in the first round. This is a year-round process. So, we're only left with the interview rounds once the term ends. We speak to the parents first if the prospective student is less than five years old. We speak to older students directly. The next step is a written test for the student followed by two more rounds in which we speak to the child and parents separately and then together.'

  ‘Seems robust.’

  ‘It needs to be. We're one of the most sought-after schools in the country. Various ambassadors and rich business families entrust us with their children. We have a reputation of teaching kids who go on to become torchbearers of our society. This process ensures we stay true to our tradition.'

  ‘How many applications does the school get every year?’

  ‘Roughly ten thousand. Two hundred are selected across various grades.’

  ‘With the number of days Manohar missed work, was he going to complete the required number of hours?'

  ‘I’m not sure. The attendance paper I gave you can help you with that. Can I have a look at it? I’ll talk you through it,’ she said, extending her arm.

  I handed it to her.

  ‘Look here,’ she said, showing me the paper and pointing out a date with her finger. ‘He was fully present the first three days. Then he took time off and got back for two more days before going again for three days.’

  That could be a coincidence. Or maybe it could be something else entirely. Probably the root cause of the change in Manohar's behaviour. I grinned, realizing that we might just have gotten our first major breakthrough.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I looked out the window as various scenarios ran through my head. ‘What was the date when he took his first leave?’ I said.

  ‘13th of April.’

  ‘So, he worked from 10th to 12th of April?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Can we get the records of the students he interviewed for admission at that time?'

  Madhura again seemed to think. ‘Yes, that’s easy,’ she said. ‘All the applicants are uploaded to the cloud and then they are assigned to us randomly. But, to make sure we don’t overshoot the intake limit, we can check in on the progress of other teachers’ lists as well. You’ll have to come to my office so I can log in to my account.’

  We crossed over quickly to Madhura's office. I made a quiet resolution in my mind that I liked Manohar's office more. It looked and felt homier. Madhura typed furiously on the keyboard. Within a minute, the printer in the room squeaked out five sheets of paper.

  ‘That’s approximately twenty students,’ Madhura said. ‘He spoke to all of them. I’ve also emailed the list to you so you can make copies of it if you want.’

  I read the list along with Atharva. It had the names of prospective students, their age, details about parents, addresses and a cumulative score and the status of their admission.

  ‘How do you calculate the cumulative score?’ Atharva said.

  ‘A number of factors. But essentially, the higher the score, the better the chances of getting in,’ Madhura said.

  One name in the list caught my attention. Natasha Gill. She was a student, six years old. Daughter of a single mother. Under status, I saw she had qualified for the final round of the process. Her score was fifty-six. Others with much higher scores had not been selected. I went through the rest of the scores of those who had been shortlisted for the final round. Amongst them, not a single score was less than eighty. If that itself did not draw my attention, no other applicant had a score lower than sixty.

  ‘Is the scoring out of a hundred?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘How important is the score? Is it supposed to be followed? Or can teachers rely on their instincts to select a student in whom they see potential?'

  ‘They say that the score is just a guideline. But in reality, it is used as a marker for elimination. Only twice in the school’s history have applicants with low scores been accepted. For that to happen, the concerned faculty has to convince the director and the other teachers involved in the process to select a student who has a low cumulative score. Only if there's a one-third majority amongst teachers is that applicant selected.'

  I thought back to my school. I had gotten in because I lived five minutes from it, not because of a score. Radha had got into the same school because she had a sibling who was already enrolled in the school.

  ‘Manohar selected a student with a score of fifty-six for the final,’ I said, showing the paper to Madhura pointing out Natasha’s name.

  ‘That's really low. I'm surprised she got through even to the third round. That's not the strangest part either. Natasha and her mother never came for the last round despite being selected. That almost never happens. Parents are desperate to get their kids into our school.
But a no-show, after being selected is extremely surprising.'

  ‘When was the final round?’

  ‘16th of April.’

  Madhura had a point. ‘Can we get in touch with her?’ I said.

  ‘Her file will have her contact details. But I should warn you. The principal wouldn’t be pleased to share it.’

  ‘Let me get it,’ Atharva said and started walking towards the door.

  Atharva returned five minutes later with a file in his hand.

  ‘I don’t know how you managed to do that,’ Madhura said, beaming. ‘It’s very hard to change his mind.’

  ‘We found his pressure point,’ Atharva said and handed the file to Madhura.

  I leaned over Madhura’s shoulder and caught a glimpse of Natasha’s picture stuck on the file’s first page. She was smiling in the picture. It reached her light brown eyes. She looked like any young kid. Innocent, carefree and neatly dressed by a parent.

  Flipping the pages of the file, Madhura said, ‘So, Natasha’s score was better before the final round. She did really badly in the test and that dragged her score down. I wonder why Manohar pushed her through. Despite that, she did not show up for the final round.’

  ‘Let’s call her and find out,’ I said.

  I punched the number in and put the phone on speaker. It rang and rang, but no one answered. I tried again. It rang out once again.

  ‘There’s an alternate number. Try that as well,’ Madhura said.

  The second number was of a landline phone. From the time the information technology revolution in India had taken over India in the mid-2000s, almost no one used landlines anymore. I punched it in. All of us leaned forward, zoning in on the mobile. The ringing echoed. No one answered.

  Atharva and I exchanged a look. We knew exactly what was going on in each other’s minds—we hoped the first thought in our minds was not true. We hoped that Natasha and her mother Sumeira were safe.