The Eight Curious Cases of Inspector Zhang (24 page)

Inspector Zhang went over to the bathroom door and squeezed past the body, taking care not to touch it. He looked around the bathroom, then went back to the bedroom and opened the door. The two detectives were standing there with the manager behind them.

The detective in the grey suit frowned at Inspector Zhang. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in this room?”

“I am Inspector Zhang of the Singapore Police Force,” said Inspector Zhang. He took out his wallet and showed them his warrant card, but the detective ignored it.

“What are you doing here?” repeated the detective.

“Inspector Zhang said he wanted to make sure that evidence wasn't disturbed,” explained the manager, wringing his hands.

“It is important to preserve the crime scene,” said Inspector Zhang.

“Crime scene? I was told Mr. Hyde had killed himself,” said the detective.

“That is certainly what it looks like,” said Inspector Zhang, opening the door wide. The two English detectives walked into the room and looked at the body hanging from the bathroom door. “But one can never be too careful when one has a sudden death.”

“You haven't touched anything?” asked the detective.

Inspector Zhang shook his head. “Of course not.”

The detective nodded as if he wasn't sure Inspector Zhang was telling the truth. “I'm Chief Inspector Hawthorne,” he said. He nodded at the younger detective. “This is Sergeant Bolton.”

Inspector Zhang shook hands with the two men. “Have you had a chance to talk to the chambermaid?” asked Inspector Zhang. “She discovered the body.”

The two detectives looked at the manager. He nodded. “Maria. She's down in the housekeeping office. She's a bit shocked, obviously. She was in the corridor outside the room and remembers hearing a thump, probably the chair falling over. But there was no other sound so she thought nothing of it.”

“What time would that have been?” asked the chief inspector.

“She went in to clear the room at two-fifteen. She said she heard the thumping sound a few minutes before that.”

Chief Inspector Hawthorne walked over to the bathroom door and looked up at the body.

“His name is Sean Hyde, he's one of the writers who was appearing at the conference,” said Inspector Zhang. He saw that the sergeant was about to tread on the handkerchief and he hurried over to him. “Be careful please, Sergeant. I think that handkerchief was in Mr. Hyde's mouth at some point.”

The chief inspector walked over and looked down at the handkerchief. “Are you sure?” he said, taking a pair of blue latex gloves from his pocket.

“It was damp, and screwed up,” said Inspector Zhang.

The chief inspector took a polythene evidence bag from his pocket, picked up the handkerchief and placed it inside. He went back to the bathroom door and carefully pushed it open so he could examine the end of the rope that was tied to the handle.

“There is no note,” said Inspector Zhang.

“Suicides don't always leave notes,” said the chief inspector. He walked out of the bathroom and examined the chair. Then he turned to look at the body. He frowned, then peered behind the body. “Handcuffs?” he said.

“Handcuffs?” repeated the sergeant, looking up from his notebook.

“They were given to everyone attending the convention,” said Inspector Zhang. “A promotional gimmick. I have a pair myself.”

“So he stood on the chair, put the noose around his neck, handcuffed himself and then rocked the chair until he fell. Suicide.”

“I am not so sure,” said Inspector Zhang.

“Why not?' asked the chief inspector. “Mr. Hyde was in the room alone when he died. It can only have been suicide.”

“He was certainly alone in the room,” said Inspector Zhang. “But that doesn't mean it was definitely suicide.”

The chief inspector frowned. “I don't follow you, Inspector Zhang.”

The Singaporean detective shrugged. “There are suicides that look like murder, and murders that appear to be suicide,” he said.

The sergeant laughed. “You're saying he was murdered? Just because you are at a mystery writers' convention doesn't mean this is a mystery to be solved.”

“I'm merely suggesting things are not always as they seem,” said Inspector Zhang. “As I said, there is no note. That is always a red flag for me.”

“Not all suicides leave notes,” repeated the chief inspector.

“But most do,” said Inspector Zhang. “And it seems to me that a man who made his living from words would take the opportunity for one final page. Also, when I spoke with Mr. Hyde yesterday he didn't strike me as the type to kill himself.”

“The type?” queried the chief inspector.

“He didn't seem the least bit depressed,” said Inspector Zhang. “In fact when he was on the panel he told us all the plot of the new book he was working on. He certainly wasn't suicidal at that point.”

“So if he didn't kill himself, who did?” asked the chief inspector.

“There are several suspects,” said Inspector Zhang. “Indeed, there was one man who threatened to kill Mr. Hyde in front of a room full of witnesses.”

The sergeant looked up from his notebook. “Really? Who?”

“Another writer called Archibald Dumbleton. Frankly I think he might be unbalanced. He interrupted one of the panel discussions, accused Mr. Hyde of all sorts of things and then threatened to kill him.”

“Is this Mr. Dumbleton still here?” asked the chief inspector.

“I saw him downstairs at the Murder Mystery lunch,” said Inspector Zhang.

“And you said there were other suspects, Inspector Chang?” asked the chief inspector.

“It is Zhang,” said Inspector Zhang. “Not necessarily suspects, but there were certainly others who were unhappy with Mr. Hyde. He appeared to have inspired considerable jealousy and hostility in quite a few people.”

“Oh really? And how did he manage that?”

“I gather that Mr. Hyde had been very successful at publishing cheap eBooks. Several members of the audience seemed to think he was selling them too cheap, and others disagreed strongly with his views on marketing.”

“Anyone in particular come to mind?” asked the chief inspector.

“There was an author on the panel with Mr. Hyde. A Mr. Sebastian Battersby, I think his name was. He had one of those punk rocker haircuts. He was very aggressive and at one point I thought he was going to strike Mr. Hyde with his pen.”

The sergeant chuckled. “They do say it's mightier than the sword,” he said.

The chief inspector flashed him a warning look and the smile disappeared from the sergeant's face. “Why was that?” the chief inspector asked Inspector Zhang. “What were they fighting about?”

“Mr. Hyde pointed out how few books Mr. Battersby was selling and suggested he wasn't likely to get a new deal from his publisher. Mr. Battersby took offence to that. But it couldn't have been Mr. Battersby. He was at the table next to mine at lunch and I didn't see him leave at any point.”

“Anyone else?”

“There was an agent on the panel. I forget what his name was. But Mr. Hyde told him that agents didn't have much of a future and they got into quite a heated argument.”

“So basically this Mr. Hyde wasn't exactly winning friends and influencing people?”

Inspector Zhang frowned, not understanding the reference.

“He was making enemies, that's what you're saying,” said the chief inspector.

“I think so. Yes.”

“But do you really think any of these people were angry enough to kill Mr. Hyde?”

“Who knows what drives a person to kill?” said Inspector Zhang. “Sometimes it can be the slightest thing.”

The sergeant put away his notebook and folded his arms.

“The thing is Inspector Zhang, we have what looks like a suicide and no real motive for it to be anything other than that,” said the chief inspector.

“The handcuffs worry me,” said Inspector Zhang. “Why would he handcuff himself?”

“To make sure that he couldn't help himself?” said the sergeant. “He could have handcuffed his own hands behind his back then kicked away the chair, knowing that with his hands cuffed it would be a sure thing.”

“Have you ever known someone to kill themselves in such a manner? Handcuffing themselves first?”

“I've seen a man cut his wrists and hang himself,” said the sergeant.

Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully, then looked across at Chief Inspector Hawthorne. “And what about the handkerchief?” he said, nodding at the evidence bag in the detective's hand. “Why would he put that in his mouth and then spit it out?”

“We don't know for sure it was in his mouth,” said Chief Inspector Hawthorne. “We'll have to wait for the DNA results, and the way the lab is backed up that could be a week or more?”

“Backed up?” repeated Inspector Zhang. In Singapore all forensic tests were completed within twenty-four hours, and usually the results came back on the same day.

“They're busy. Even if I put a rush on it, it'll take a week or so. But here's the thing, Inspector Zhang. If Mr. Hyde did indeed have the handkerchief in his mouth, why did he spit it out?”

“I have been asking myself the very same question.” Inspector Zhang shrugged. “I do not know.”

“And if it was in his mouth, why didn't he call for help once he had spat it out?” He looked over at the manager. “Did the chambermaid hear anything?”

The manager shook his head. “No shouting. Just a thump, she said. Probably the chair falling over.”

“But no shouts?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“And did she see anyone entering or leaving the room?”

“I asked her that and she said no, no one,” said the manager.

The chief inspector looked at Inspector Zhang and shrugged. “So Mr. Hyde was alone in the room, and at no point did he cry out for help.”

“I agree, it is a mystery,” said Inspector Zhang.

“In Singapore you might describe it as a mystery, but here in England we call it suicide, plain and simple.”

“If you say so, Chief Inspector.”

Chief Inspector Hawthorne sighed and shook his head. “It isn't a matter of what I say, it's about looking at the facts,” he said. “I don't know how you go about things in Singapore but in England we base our conclusions on facts and not feelings. And the facts in this case are that the door was closed, as was the window. No one left the room by the door and the window is locked. The window and the door are the only way into the room, therefore Mr. Hyde was alone when he died. If he was alone, then it can only have been suicide.”

Inspector Zhang shrugged but said nothing.

The chief inspector held up the evidence bag. “Whether or not Mr. Hyde's DNA is on this handkerchief doesn't change anything. Nor does the fact that there was no note.”

“I understand,” said Inspector Zhang. “But bearing in mind the threats made by Mr. Dumbleton yesterday, I wonder if it might be worth interviewing him.”

“Do you now?”

Inspector Zhang smiled, took a red handkerchief from his pocket, removed his spectacles and began to polish them. “I am being a nuisance, I understand that. And I know I am simply a visitor to your country.”

“I appreciate your professionalism,” said the chief inspector. “And your enthusiasm. But sometimes things are exactly as they seem.”

“I wonder if I might ask you to grant me the professional courtesy of at least asking Mr. Dumbleton a few questions,” said Inspector Zhang.

“I'm not sure that's appropriate,” said the chief inspector.

“Considering the threats that Mr. Dumbleton made, he must surely be considered a suspect. And I was a witness to those threats.”

The chief inspector rubbed his chin and sighed. “I suppose it couldn't hurt,” he said. “But as an observer only, is that clear?”

“As crystal,” said Inspector Zhang. He put his glasses back on and smiled amiably.

“Then let's go and talk to him. You said he was at a lunch?”

“The Murder Mystery Meal. In the banqueting hall on the ground floor.”

The chief inspector opened the door. There were still half a dozen people in the corridor. “Please, will you all go downstairs,” he said. “There is nothing here to see.” He turned to his sergeant. “You'd better stay here until the doctor arrives,” he said. The sergeant closed the door, stood with his back to it and folded his arms.

The chief inspector went downstairs with Inspector Zhang and the manager. When they got to the ballroom they found it was almost empty, though Mrs. Zhang was still sitting at her table. She waved and came over to him.

“What happened?” asked Inspector Zhang. “Where is everyone?”

“When they heard that Mr. Hyde had killed himself, they decided to bring the lunch to an end,” she said. “He had a lot of friends here and everyone was a bit shocked.”

The chief inspector turned to the manager. “See if you can find out where Mr. Dumbleton is now,” he said. The manager nodded and hurried off to reception.

“Is it true? Did Mr. Hyde kill himself?” asked Mrs. Zhang.

“It seems that way,” said the chief inspector.

“I'm sorry, this is my wife,” said Inspector Zhang.

The chief inspector shook her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Zhang. My name is Chief Inspector Hawthorne.”

“I'm sure my husband will be a big help in your investigation,” she said. “He is the best detective in Singapore.”

Before the chief inspector could reply, the manager returned. “Mr. Dumbleton is in his room.”

“Let's go and have a word, then,” said the chief inspector. He and Inspector Zhang followed the manager up to the top floor and along the corridor to Mr. Dumbleton's room. Chief Inspector Hawthorne knocked on the door and after a few seconds Dumbleton opened it. The chief inspector showed Dumbleton his warrant card and he let them into his room. The manager waited in the corridor and Inspector Zhang left the door ajar.