Inspector Zhang and the Perfect Alibi Read online

  Inspector Zhang and the Perfect Alibi

  Stephen Leather

  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.

  “But while he was in the cell, his fingerprints appeared on the knife that was used to kill Miss Chau and he managed to bite her on the arm,” said Sergeant Lee. She was wearing a dark green jacket over a pale green skirt and had tied her hair back into a ponytail making her look much younger than her twenty-four years.

  “You have summed up the facts most succinctly,” said Inspector Zhang. A smile played across his lips.

  “Inspector Zhang, if Mr. Yip was in the cell all night, how could he have killed Mrs. Chau?”

  “How indeed?” said Inspector Zhang.

  “Inspector Zhang, this is an impossible case,” said Sergeant Lee and she sighed in exasperation.

  Inspector Zhang could see that his sergeant was using all her restraint to stop herself from stamping her foot and his smile widened. “But Sergeant Lee, it is the impossible cases that are the most fun, don’t you think?” he said. “Almost every murder in Singapore is solved within hours. Isn’t it refreshing to have a case that exercises ze little grey cells?” It was his very best Hercule Poirot impression and he made a point of twiddling an imaginary moustache.

  “Sherlock Holmes?” said Sergeant Lee hopefully.

  “Hercule Poirot,” said Inspector Zhang. “The famous Belgian detective, created by the wonderful Agatha Christie. She was an English lady who wrote more than ninety books and is renowned as the best-selling novelist of all time. More than four billion copies of her books have been sold. Can you imagine that, Sergeant Lee? Four billion books?”

  “That is an awful lot of books,” admitted Sergeant Lee. “But how would Hercule Poirot solve such a case?”

  Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully.” He would interview all the witnesses and the suspects, then he would compare what everyone had told him and he would look for inconsistencies. Then he would gather everyone together in the drawing room and reveal the culprit.”

  “A drawing room?”

  “The main social area in a country house or hotel,” said Inspector Zhang. “But the room isn’t important.”

  “But in this case there are no witnesses,” said Sergeant Lee. “And our one suspect has a perfect alibi.”

  “Exactly,” said Inspector Zhang. “So if our one suspect has a perfect alibi, we have no choice other than to find another suspect.”

  Sergeant Lee’s eyes opened wide. “A twin brother!” she said excitedly. “Mr. Yip has a twin brother with identical fingerprints and teeth. The twin brother killed Mrs. Chau while he was in the cell.” She nodded enthusiastically. “Have I solved the case, Inspector Zhang? Have I used ze little grey cells?”

  “Perhaps,” said Inspector Zhang. “You should check with the Registry of Births and Deaths. But first we need to speak with Mr. Yip and then we must visit the crime scene.” The crime scene was the townhouse where Miss Sindy Chau had lived until her untimely death. It was on a small gated estate two miles from Changi Airport. Miss Chau worked as a flight attendant with Singapore Airlines. She had been due to fly to London on Monday and when she hadn’t turned up for work a colleague had gone around to her house and discovered her dead in the kitchen.

  Inspector Zhang hadn’t been the first detective to handle the case, but twenty-four hours after the body had been discovered he had been summoned to police headquarters. The Deputy Commissioner had kept him waiting for half an hour and had appeared flustered when Inspector Zhang was finally ushered into his office. “We have a problem, Inspector Zhang. A problem that requires your particular skills.”

  Inspector Zhang said nothing. He removed his spectacles and methodically polished them with his pale blue handkerchief.

  “You have impressed us all with your deductive skills, the way you seem to have a knack getting to the heart of seemingly impossible situations.” The Deputy Commissioner sat back in his high-backed leather chair and steepled his pudgy fingers under his chin. The Deputy Commissioner had put on a lot of weight in recent months and his expanding waistline strained at his tunic and the top button of his shirt threatened to pop off at any moment. “The reason I’ve called you in is that we have what initially appeared to be a simple case which has in fact become an impossible situation. And unless we resolve this impossible situation promptly, we run the risk of having the Singapore Police Force appearing to be a laughing stock.”

  Inspector Zhang put his spectacles back on. “I am, of course, at your disposal,” he said.

  The Deputy Commissioner leaned forward, opened a manila file and took out an eight by ten colour photograph. He slid it across the desk to Inspector Zhang. “Miss Sindy Chau was murdered in her home two days ago,” he said. “The pathologist put her death in the early hours of Monday morning.”

  Inspector Zhang picked up the photograph. A young woman lay face up on what appeared to be a kitchen floor, blood pooling around her head. He looked closer and saw a gaping wound in the woman’s throat. Close to the woman’s left hand was a bloody kitchen knife. She was wearing a pink nightgown.

  “There was a broken window which suggested an intruder,” said the Deputy Commissioner. “It looked as if she had heard a noise and come downstairs where the burglar grabbed a knife. There was a struggle, during which the attacker bit Miss Chau on the arm, and then she received a fatal wound. The attacker then fled.”

  “Leaving the knife behind, I see,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “The knife came from a set owned by Miss Chau,” said the Deputy Commissioner. “The attacker must have grabbed it when he was disturbed. We assume Miss Chau found him in the kitchen and he panicked and killed her.” He took the photograph back and slid it into the file. “You should take this,” he said, passing the file to Inspector Zhang. “At first we thought the case to be a very simple one,” she said. “We do not have a major burglary problem in Singapore, and we know most of the criminals who specialise in such crimes. The forensics team discovered fingerprints on the knife and they proved to belong to a well-known burglar. Yip Kam-ming. Our detectives went to arrest Mr. Yip, and that is when the situation became impossible. Mr. Yip had been in police custody since Saturday evening. At the time Miss Chau was murdered he was in a police cell at Jurong West Police Headquarters.”

  “On what charge?” asked Inspector Zhang.

  “He assaulted a police officer,” said the Deputy Commissioner. “Neighbours had complained about Mr. Yip playing music late at night and when two officers went around to his apartment to talk to him, he lashed out. He broke the nose of a sergeant and was arrested for assault. “

  “And he was not granted bail?”

  “He remained belligerent and was remanded in custody in order that he could be put before a Judge first thing on Monday morning.”r />
  Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully. “Miss Chau was bitten, you said?”

  “On her arm. There is a photograph in the file. It appears that she grabbed for the knife with her left hand and tried to push him away with her right hand. He bit her close to the elbow.”

  “And comparisons were made to Mr. Yip’s teeth?”

  “Our detectives visited Mr. Yip’s dentist this morning and the dental records he has are a perfect match to the bite on Miss Chau’s arm.”

  “That is interesting,” said Inspector Zhang.

  The Deputy Commissioner frowned. “It is more than interesting, Inspector,” he said sternly. “It calls into question the standards of our CID investigators and casts doubt on our forensic dentistry department. Our forensic experts are certain Mr. Yip bit Miss Chau during the course of the robbery. But Mr. Yip was supposedly in our custody at that time. So either Mr. Yip managed to get out of his cell or our forensic scientists have made an error. Either way, it looks bad for the Singapore Police Force.”

  “And that we cannot allow to happen,” said Inspector Zhang.

  The Deputy Commissioner leaned forward, his eyes narrowed as if he suspected that Inspector Zhang was being sarcastic. But the inspector was nodding seriously and the Deputy Commissioner realised that Inspector Zhang was not being ironic or sarcastic. He was merely expressing an honest opinion. “Indeed,” he said. “That is why we need your particular skills. You have something of a reputation for solving mysteries, and that is what we have here. If Mr. Yip managed to get out of a locked cell to commit this murder, we need to know how he did it. And if he did indeed remain in his cell, we need to know who killed Miss Chau.”

  “I am on the case, Sir,” said Inspector Zhang.

  Sergeant Lee drove them to the Jurong West Police Headquarters in her three-year-old Toyota. She was a good driver, calm and unflustered, and kept well below the speed limit, which Inspector Zhang appreciated. Even though Singaporean motorists were among the best in the world, there were still almost two hundred deaths on the island state’s roads every year.

  The first thing he did was to speak to the Custody Officer who had booked Mr. Yip into the cells. He was a sergeant in his late forties with a lazy eye which was so off-putting that Inspector Zhang tried to avoid looking at the man’s face as much as possible. Sergeant Kwok was a worried man who clearly believed he was going to be somehow blamed for what had happened, and the more questions Inspector Zhang asked, the more nervous he became. At one point he produced a large white handkerchief and mopped the sweat from his brow. “He was in the cell the whole night, Inspector, I am sure of that.”

  “Were you on duty all the time?” asked Inspector Zhang.

  “I was on the afternoon shift; I started work at 4pm and finished at midnight.”

  “So you processed him and placed him in the cell?”

  Sergeant Kwok nodded. “He was brought in at just before six o’clock. Mr. Yip has been here several times in the past so he knew the procedure and he was compliant.”

  “He was happy to be kept overnight?”

  “Not happy. But cooperative.”

  “And how often was he seen in the cell?”

  “He was given food at seven thirty, and his tray was removed at eight. I left at midnight.”

  “Who took over from you?”

  “Sergeant James Song.”

  “Do you have his phone number? I will need to talk to him.”

  Sergeant Kwok consulted a notebook and gave the number to Sergeant Lee. She wrote it down and repeated it back to him to check that she had written it down correctly. Inspector Zhang nodded his approval at her thoroughness.

  “Did Sergeant Song check on the cells when he relieved you?” asked Inspector Zhang.

  “Of course. Look Inspector, can you tell me what time this murder was committed. The one that Mr. Yip was supposed to have done.”

  “According to the file, the time of death has been put at between one o’clock and two o’clock in the morning.”

  Sergeant Kwok smiled with relief. “Then it was not my responsibility,” he said.

  “No one is looking to apportion blame,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “Of course, of course. But as I finished my shift at midnight, Mr. Yip was not in my charge.” He folded his arms. “You should speak to Sergeant Song. The responsibility was his.”

  “I will do that, of course,” said Inspector Zhang. “And can you tell me how many people were in the holding cells overnight?”

  “Four,” said Sergeant Kwok. “Mr. Yip and three others.”

  “And did anyone leave the cells while you were on duty?”

  Sergeant Kwok shook his head. “They did not.”

  Inspector Zhang smiled. “Excellent,” he said. “So now I need to do three things. I need to see the CCTV footage of the custody suite from the time Mr. Yip was brought in to the time his cell door was opened. I need to examine the cell he was held in. And then I need to talk to Mr. Yip himself. I assume he is still here?”

  The sergeant nodded. “Oh yes,” he said. “He won’t be going anywhere until this has been resolved. And the Deputy Commissioner has made it clear that he has to be under observation at all times.”

  Inspector Zhang and Sergeant Lee were shown to an interview room. It was equipped with two CCTV cameras and a voice recording system, but Inspector Zhang did not feel it necessary to record the interview. All he wanted was information at this stage.

  He and Sergeant Lee sat down on one side of a grey metal table and a few minutes later a uniformed constable showed Mr. Yip into the room. Inspector Zhang knew from the file he’d read that Mr. Yip was fifty-five, but the inspector felt that he looked a good ten years older. He was bald and his arms and hands were marked with liver spots and his face was weather-beaten and wrinkled. He was wearing the clothes he’d had on when he was arrested – a stained vest, baggy shorts and flip-flops. Inspector Zhang waved at the seat opposite him. “Please sit down,” he said.

  Mr. Yip did as he was told while the uniformed officer closed the door and then stood with his back to it.

  “You can wait outside,” said Inspector Zhang but the officer shook his head.

  “I am under orders to keep him under constant observation,” said the officer.

  “Even when I go to the toilet,” complained Mr. Yip.

  Sergeant Lee took the police file out of her bag and placed it on the table, then took out her notepad and pen and began taking notes.

  “I am Inspector Zhang,” said the inspector. He nodded at his assistant. “And this is Sergeant Lee. Have you been informed that you are now a suspect in a murder investigation?”

  Mr. Yip nodded. “I didn’t kill anyone, Inspector Zhang. I don’t hurt people. That’s not what I do.”

  “You are entitled to have a lawyer present, but at this stage I am just trying to find out what happened. You have not yet been charged with murder and this conversation will not be recorded.”

  “I don’t need a lawyer. I didn’t do anything,” said Mr. Yip.

  “Excellent,” said Inspector Zhang. “Now, it is fair to say that you are a thief?”

  “I am a burglar, Inspector Zhang. And a good one.”

  Inspector Zhang smiled. “If that were true, you would not have served three sentences in Changi Prison. And how many lashings have you received over the years?”

  Mr. Yip looked down at the table and winced at the memory of the beatings that he had received. “Almost a hundred,” he said quietly.

  “Eighty-six, according to your file,” said Inspector Zhang. Singapore was one of the few countries that still believed in corporal punishment, in particular the use of a rattan cane. “Of course now that you are aged over fifty, caning is not an issue,” said Inspector Zhang. “But the lashings and sentences you received do suggest you might have been better seeking an alternative career.”

  Judicial caning was introduced to Singapore and Malaysia during the British colonial period and was still
used for many offences under the Criminal Procedure Code including robbery, rape, illegal money-lending, hostage-taking, drug-trafficking and house-breaking. In fact, over the years, the Singapore Government had increased the number of crimes that could be punished by caning and had raised the minimum of strokes. There were strict rules about the way that the caning was carried out, including the stipulation that the person being punished had to be male, above the age of eighteen and below the age of fifty, and no one should receive more than twenty-four strokes at any one time. The criminal had to be certified medically fit by a medical officer and the law decreed that the cane should not exceed half an inch in diameter and not be longer than 1.2 meters. The cane was soaked in water to make it heavier and more flexible, and was wiped down with antiseptic before use to prevent infections. If the offender was under eighteen then the maximum number of strokes was just ten and a lighter cane was used. For some reason that Inspector Zhang had never understood, a criminal who had been sentenced to death could not be caned.

  “Mr. Zhang, I am a burglar, I am not denying that. But you’ve seen my file. Have I ever hurt anyone before?”

  “You hit the police officer who came around to your apartment on Sunday evening.”

  “That was different. He assaulted me and I was defending myself. He wanted to enter my apartment and I said he couldn’t without a warrant. But that’s not the point, Inspector Zhang. The point is that in all the years I have been a thief I have only ever broken into empty homes. I would never break into a house if there was someone there.”

  “Perhaps you did not know that Miss Chau was at home. Perhaps she surprised you, which is why you killed her.”

  “But I was in the cell when she was murdered. If I was in the cell, how could I have killed her?”

  “Your fingerprints were on the knife.”

  “That doesn’t mean I killed her. Maybe I had touched the knife at some other time.”

  “And there was a bite mark on her arm, a bite mark that matches your teeth.”

  Mr. Yip shook his head. “That is impossible,” he said, emphatically.