The Eight Curious Cases of Inspector Zhang (12 page)

Inspector Zhang held up his hand. “Then at this point we must consider the words of Sherlock Holmes in
The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet,
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. For in that book the great detective lays down one of the great truths of detection – once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

Sergeant Lee frowned. “But how does that help us if everything is impossible?”

“No, Sergeant. Everything cannot be impossible, because we have a victim and we have a crime scene and we also have a murderer that we have yet to identify. What we have to do is to eliminate the impossible, and that we have done. We know that he was killed on the plane. That is certain because he was alive for most of the flight. So it was impossible for him to have been killed before boarding. But we are equally certain that it was impossible for him to have been shot while he was sitting in the cabin.”

“Exactly,” said Sergeant Lee. “It's impossible. The whole thing is impossible.” She snapped her notebook shut in frustration.

Inspector Zhang smiled. “Not necessarily,” he said quietly. “We have eliminated the impossible, so we are left with the truth. If he was not shot on the plane, then he must have been shot before he boarded. That is the only possibility.”

“Okay,” said the sergeant hesitantly.

“And if he did not die before boarding, then he must have been murdered on the plane.”

The Sergeant shrugged.

“So the only possible explanation is that he was shot before he boarded and was murdered on the plane.” Inspector Zhang pushed his spectacles up his nose. “I know that those two statements appear to be mutually exclusive, but it is the only possible explanation.” He took out his mobile. “I must use my phone,” he said, and headed towards the rear of the plane.

The pilot came up to Sergeant Lee and they both watched as Inspector Zhang talked into his mobile, his hand cupped around his mouth. “Is he always like this?” asked Captain Kumar.

“Like what?” asked Sergeant Lee.

“Secretive,” said the pilot. “As if he doesn't want anyone else to know what's going on.”

“I think Inspector Zhang does not like to be wrong,” she said. “So until he is sure, he holds his own counsel.”

“Do you think he knows who the killer is?”

“If anyone does, it is Inspector Zhang,” she said.

They waited until Inspector Zhang had finished, but when he did put the phone away he turned his back on them and headed out of the door at the back of the plane.

“Now where is he going?” asked Captain Kumar.

“I have absolutely no idea,” said Sergeant Lee.

After a few minutes the inspector returned, followed by two brown-uniformed Thai policemen with large handguns in holsters and gleaming black boots.

“Is everything all right, Inspector?” asked the pilot.

“Everything is perfect,” said Inspector Zhang. “I am now in a position to hand the perpetrator of the crime over to the Thai authorities.” He strode past them and headed towards the front of the plane. Captain Kumar and Sergeant Lee fell into step behind the two Thai police officers.

Inspector Zhang stopped at the front of the cabin and looked down at the bodyguard, who was sipping a glass of orange juice. “So, Mr. Gottesman, I now understand everything,” he said.

The Israeli shrugged.

“The confrontation at the security checkpoint at Changi Airport was nothing to do with your client's watch, was it?”

“It was his watch; it set off the alarm,” said the bodyguard.

“No, Mr. Gottesman, it was not his watch. And you should know that I have only just finished talking to the head of security at the airport.”

The bodyguard slowly put down his glass of orange juice.

“Your client was wearing a bullet-proof vest under his shirt and he was told by security staff that he could not wear it on the plane. Isn't that the case, Mr. Gottesman?”

The Israeli said nothing and his face remained a blank mask.

“They made him remove the bullet-proof jacket and check it in to the hold,” said Inspector Zhang.

“If that happened, I didn't see it. I'd already left the security area.”

“Nonsense, you are a professional bodyguard. Your job requires you to stay with him at all times. No bodyguard would leave his client's side. And I also spoke to the hotel where Mr. Srisai stayed. There were reports of a shot this morning. A gunshot. At the hotel.”

The bodyguard shrugged carelessly. “That's news to me,” he said.

Inspector Zhang's eyes hardened. “It is time to stop lying, Mr. Gottesman.”

“I'm not lying. Why would I lie?”

Inspector Zhang pointed a finger at the bodyguard's face. “I know everything, Mr. Gottesman, so lying is futile. You were with Mr. Srisai when he was shot. The chief of security at the hotel told me as much.”

“So?”

“So I need you to explain the circumstances of the shooting to me.”

The bodyguard sighed and folded his arms. “We left the hotel. We were heading to the car. Out of nowhere this guy appeared with a gun. He shot Mr. Srisai in the chest and ran off.”

“Which is when you realised that your client was wearing a bullet-proof vest under his shirt.”

The bodyguard nodded.

“And that came as a surprise to you, did it not?”

“He hadn't told me he was wearing a vest, if that's what you mean.”

“The vest that saved his life.”

The bodyguard nodded but didn't say anything.

“Can you explain to me why the police were not called?”

“Mr. Srisai said not to. The shooter ran off. Then we heard a motorbike. He got clean away. He'd been wearing a mask, so we didn't know what he looked like. Mr. Srisai said he just wanted to get out of Singapore.”

“And he wasn't hurt?”

“Not a scratch. He fell back when he was shot but he wasn't hurt.”

“And you went straight to the airport?”

“He didn't want to miss his flight.”

“And he didn't wait to change his clothes?”

“That's right. He said we were to get into the car and go. He was worried that the police would be involved and they wouldn't allow him to leave the country.”

Inspector Zhang turned to look at Sergeant Lee. “Which explains why there was a bullet hole in the shirt and gunpowder residue.”

Sergeant Lee nodded and scribbled in her notebook. Then she stopped writing and frowned. “But if he was wearing a bullet proof vest, how did he die?” she asked.

Inspector Zhang looked at the bodyguard. Beads of sweat had formed on the Israeli's forehead and he was licking his lips nervously. “My sergeant raises a moot point, doesn't she, Mr. Gottesman?”

“This is nothing to do with me,” said the bodyguard.

“Oh, it is everything to do with you,” said Inspector Zhang. “You are a professional, trained by the Mossad. You are the best of the best, are you not?”

“That's what they say,” said the Israeli.

“So perhaps you can explain how an assassin got so close to your client that he was able to shoot him in the chest?”

“He took us by surprise,” said the bodyguard.

“And how did the assassin know where your client was?”

The bodyguard didn't reply.

“You were moving from hotel to hotel. And I am assuming that Mr. Srisai did not broadcast the fact that he was flying back to Bangkok today.”

The bodyguard's lips had tightened into a thin, impenetrable line.

“Someone must have told the assassin where and when to strike. And that someone can only be you.”

“You can't prove that,” said the bodyguard quietly.

Inspector Zhang nodded slowly. “You are probably right,” he said.

“So why are we wasting our time here?”

“Because it is what happened on board this plane that concerns me, Mr. Gottesman. Mr. Srisai was not injured in the attack outside the hotel. But he is now dead. And you killed him.”

The bodyguard shook his head. “You can't possibly prove that. And anyway, why would I want to kill my client?”

Inspector Zhang shrugged. “I am fairly sure that I can prove it,” he said. “And so far as motive goes, I think it is probably one of the oldest motives in the world. Money. I think you were paid to kill Mr. Srisai.”

“Ridiculous,” snapped the bodyguard.

“I think that when Mr. Srisai's former bodyguard was killed, someone close to Mr. Srisai used the opportunity to introduce you. That person was an enemy that Mr. Srisai thought was a friend. And that someone paid you not to guard Mr. Srisai, but to arrange his assassination. But your first plan failed because unbeknown to you Mr. Srisai was wearing a bullet-proof vest.”

“All this is hypothetical,” said the bodyguard. “You have no proof.”

“When Mr. Srisai passed through the security check he was told to remove his vest. Which gave you an idea, didn't it? You realised that if you could somehow deal him a killing blow through the bullet-hole in his shirt, then you would have everybody looking at an impossible murder. And I have no doubt that when you got off the plane you would be on the first flight out of the country.” He turned to look at Sergeant Lee. “Israel never extradites its own citizens,” he said. “Once back on Israeli soil he would be safe.”

“But why kill him on the plane?” asked Sergeant Lee. “Why not wait?”

“Because Mr. Srisai was not a stupid man. He would have come to the same conclusion that I reached – namely that Mr. Gottesman was the only person who could have set up this morning's assassination attempt. And I am sure that he was planning retribution on his return to Thailand.” He looked over the top of his spectacles at the sweating bodyguard. “I'm right, aren't I, Mr. Gottesman? You knew that as soon as you arrived in Thailand, Mr. Srisai would enact his revenge and have you killed?”

“I'm saying nothing,” said the bodyguard. “You have no proof. No witnesses. You have nothing but a theory. A ridiculous theory.”

“That may be so,” said Inspector Zhang. “But you have the proof, don't you? On your person?”

The bodyguard's eyes narrowed and he glared at the inspector with undisguised hatred.

“It would of course be impossible for you or anyone to bring a gun on board. And equally impossible to bring a knife. Except for a very special knife, of course. The sort of knife that someone trained by Mossad would be very familiar with.” He paused, and the briefest flicker of a smile crossed his lips before he continued. “A Kevlar knife, perhaps. Or one made from carbon fibre. A knife that can pass through any security check without triggering the alarms.”

“Pure guesswork,” sneered the bodyguard.

Inspector Zhang shook his head. “Educated guesswork,” he said. “I know for a fact that you killed Mr. Srisai because you were the last person to see him alive. You went over to him after the journalist went back to his seat and you must have killed him then. You went to the toilet to prepare your weapon and when you came back you leant over Mr. Srisai and stabbed him through the hole that had been left by the bullet that had struck his vest earlier in the day. You probably put one hand over his mouth to stifle any sound he might have made. With your skills I have no doubt that you would know how to kill him instantly.”

The bodyguard looked up at Captain Kumar. “Do I have to listen to this nonsense?” he asked.

“I am afraid you do,” said the pilot.

“I know you have the knife on your person, Mr. Gottesman, because you have been sitting in that seat ever since Mr. Srisai was killed,” said Inspector Zhang. He held out his hand. “You can either give it to me or these Thai police officers can take it from you. It is your choice.”

The bodyguard stared at Inspector Zhang for several seconds, then he slowly bent down and slipped his hand into his left trouser leg before pulling out a black carbon fibre stiletto knife. He held it, with the tip pointing at Inspector Zhang's chest, then he sighed and reversed the weapon and gave it to him.

Inspector Zhang took the knife between his thumb and finger. There was congealed blood on the blade. Sergeant Lee already had a clear plastic bag open for him and he dropped the knife into it.

Inspector Zhang stood up and the two Thai policemen pulled the bodyguard to his feet. He put up no resistance as they led him away.

“So the Thai police will take over the case?” asked Sergeant Lee.

“The victim was Thai, the murderer is Israeli. The crime was committed in Thai airspace. I think it best the Thais handle it.”

“And the Commissioner will be satisfied with that?”

Inspector Zhang smiled. “I think so far as the plane is allowed to fly back to Singapore, the Commissioner will be happy,” he said.

Sergeant Lee closed her notebook and put it away. “You solved an impossible mystery, Inspector Zhang.”

“Yes, I did,” agreed the Inspector. “But the real mystery is who

recommended Mr. Gottesman in the first place, and I fear that is one mystery

that will never be solved.”

“Perhaps you could help the Thai Police with the investigation.” Inspector Zhang's smile widened. “What a wonderful idea, Sergeant. I shall offer them my services.”

INSPECTOR ZHANG AND THE PERFECT ALIBI

Sergeant Lee frowned as she looked up from her pocket notebook. She had been scribbling in it for at least two minutes and now, as she read through her notes, her confusion began to show. “So he did not leave the cell?” she asked.

“How could he?” asked Inspector Zhang. “The walls are solid, the windows are glass blocks, and the CCTV footage shows that no one entered or left the cell from six o'clock in the evening until he was given his breakfast at seven-thirty.”

They were standing in the corridor that led to the holding cells in the Jurong West Police Headquarters. They had spent half an hour going over every inch of one of the cells, tapping on the walls, floor and ceiling. Everything was as it should be. Prior to checking the cell they had gone through the CCTV footage of the corridor to confirm what the duty officer had told them – that nobody had gone near the cell all night, other than at midnight when there had been a change of shifts.