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

  The Complete Siya Rajput Crime Thrillers

  Books 1-4

  UD Yasha

  Copyright © UD Yasha 2020

  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

  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!

  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 back 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 at 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.

  Supriya Kelkar did not know she was being watched.

  The moon was full and a fuzzy red, hanging in a cloudless sky in the 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 schedule 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 broke step for 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 Spotfiy 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 the 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 the circumstantial 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 hung 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.

  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 what 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 last week as Karan had retreated from the border for a few days.

  ‘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 things like start-up contracts, marriage certificates and copyright issues. 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 and with a small but steady outflow from my savings, we had somehow gotten by. Now that I was teaching at a college, money has 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. My hands turned to ice. 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 must have smelled them because he 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 with an hour and a half to go for 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 had 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 lavish 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, sh
e 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 were eyes 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.