The Eight Curious Cases of Inspector Zhang Read online

  “That will be on the bill, Inspector,” said Miss Berghuis. She went over to the trolley and picked up a small leather folder and took out a slip of paper. She studied it, and nodded. “The order was placed at nine thirty-six,” she said.

  “Excellent,” said the inspector. “So from that we can assume that Mr. Wilkinson was killed sometime between the placing of the order at nine thirty-six and the arrival of the order at nine fifty-five.” He frowned. “That does seem remarkably quick, Miss Berghuis.”

  The manager smiled. “Inspector, we are a five-star hotel. And Mr. Wilkinson ordered only a club sandwich and a pot of coffee. Hardly a challenge for our chefs.”

  “Very good,” said the inspector, as Miss Berghuis went back to sit on the sofa. “We can therefore rule out Mr. Wilkinson’s guest as the killer, as we know for sure that he was still alive at nine thirty-six.”

  Miss Xue nervously raised her hand. “Actually, Inspector, we know that he was alive after that because he spoke to his wife at about a quarter to ten,” she said.

  “How so?” asked Inspector Zhang.

  “She phoned at nine forty-five,” said Miss Xue. “I was on the desk and I was there when the call came through from America. Mrs. Wilkinson was on the phone to her husband for almost five minutes.”

  “Are you sure?” asked the inspector.

  “I am sure that it was his wife, and they spoke for several minutes,” she said. “Whether it was for three, four or five minutes I am not sure.”

  Inspector Zhang nodded. “So we therefore know that Mr. Wilkinson was alive just five minutes before the waiter arrived at his door. Yet we know for a fact that no one entered the room prior to the arrival of the waiter.” He drew himself up to his full height of five feet seven inches and looked in turn at the faces of everyone in the room. “That means that what we have here is what we detectives refer to as a locked room mystery.”

  He paused for several seconds, nodding wisely before continuing. “As I was explaining to my colleague earlier, there are basically seven explanations as to how a body can be found in a locked room. Explanations provided by the talented mystery writer John Dickson Carr. I think it would be helpful to run through them. The first possibility is that the murder is in fact not a murder, but a series of coincidences or accidents that give the impression that a crime has been committed. A man stumbles and hits his head on a piece of heavy furniture, for instance. Then we have a body, but no weapon and no killer.” Inspector Zhang paused to make sure that he had everyone’s attention before continuing. “In this case, an accident is unlikely, considering the nature of the wound and the fact that the body is lying down. Plus the blood is only on the bed. If he accidentally stabbed himself on, for instance, the lamp on the bedside table, we would see blood on it. There is no blood anywhere but the bed, so it is safe to say that it is on the bed that he died.”

  He turned to look out of the window and linked his fingers behind his back. His spine clicked as he straightened it, and he sighed. “The second explanation is that it is indeed a murder, but a murder in which the victim is compelled to kill himself. Or herself. A mind-altering substance can be used, a gas or a pill, LSD for instance. Mr. Carr suggested that a man might become so bewildered that he could strangle himself with his bare hands, but of course we know that is impossible.”

  “You think he was drugged?” said Mercier. “Or gassed? How could gas get into the room? We have central air-conditioning and the windows are sealed.”

  “If he was drugged, the Forensics Department would know,” said Sergeant Lee. “They could perform tests.”

  “He did not stab himself to death,” said Inspector Zhang quickly. “If he did, the weapon would be in his hands. Or on the bed. There is no knife; therefore he did not kill himself. And I see no evidence that the victim consumed food or drink in this room.”

  He went over to the mini-bar and opened it. It was full. “You see, nothing has been taken from the mini-bar, and there are no unopened bottles in the room.”

  He looked over at the room service waiter. “Mr. Wilkinson was dead when you got here? He was dead on the bed and you saw the blood?”

  The waiter nodded.

  “So he did not consume anything that the waiter brought into the room. We can rule out poison or drugs.” He went back to the window. “It is the third explanation that creates some of the most fascinating fictional locked room mysteries,” he continued. “That is where it is murder, and the killer uses some sort of mechanical device to carry out the killing. A gun concealed in a phone, for example. Or a knife that springs out of a suitcase. Or a pistol that fires when a clock is wound, or a weight that swings from the ceiling, a chair that exhales a deadly gas when your body warms it.” He waved a hand at the bedroom. “In this case we would be looking for some way of stabbing Mr. Wilkinson and making the knife vanish.” He smiled at his sergeant. “What do you think, Sergeant Lee? Do you think there is a mechanical device hidden in the bedroom?”

  “It is unlikely,” she said quietly, as if she feared giving him the wrong answer.

  “I agree,” said Inspector Zhang. “It is a hotel room, like any other.” The sergeant smiled with relief.

  “It is a suite, one of our best,” said the manager.

  Inspector Zhang nodded, acknowledging the point. “But nothing in the room has been changed, am I correct? Everything is as it should be?”

  “Other than the body on the bed, yes.”

  “Then we shall move on to the fourth explanation. Suicide.”

  “Suicide?” repeated the Sergeant. “But if he stabbed himself, where is the weapon?”

  “The point of the suicide is to make it look like a murder,” said Inspector Zhang. “Either to throw suspicion on someone or to defraud an insurance company. I assume that a wealthy person such as Mr. Wilkinson would have a lot of insurance. Perhaps he has an incurable condition. Cancer, perhaps. So he kills himself in such a way that his wife can still claim the insurance.”

  “Perhaps that’s it,” said Mercier. “Surely you check to see if he had any policies.”

  “But where is the weapon he used?” asked the Sergeant. “If Mr. Wilkinson took his own life, where is the knife?”

  “But that is the point exactly,” said Inspector Zhang. “To make it appear to be a murder and not a suicide, the weapon must disappear. Mr. Carr suggested a knife made of ice. The ice would then melt leaving only water behind. Or a gun could be attached to a length of elastic which would then whip the gun up a chimney or out of a window.”

  “There are no chimneys and as Mr. Mercier has already pointed out, the windows in our rooms are all sealed,” said the manager.

  “And I think ice is unlikely as he would have had to carry it in from outside and the Singapore climate does not lend itself to carrying ice around,” said Inspector Zhang. “And if Mr. Wilkinson wanted us to make it look like he had been murdered, I don’t think he would have positioned himself on the bed. The floor would be a more likely place. Plus, there is the matter of room service. He spent time with the fragrant Miss Lulu, then ordered a meal. Hardly the actions of a man who was about to take his own life.” He folded his arms. “So, that leads me to the fifth type of scenario discussed by Mr. Carr. A murder that derives from illusion or impersonation, where the victim is already dead but the murderer makes it appear that he is still alive.”

  “How would that work in this case, Inspector?” asked Miss Berghuis, frowning.

  “If, for instance, it was the prostitute who killed Mr. Wilkinson and she then arranged for someone else to make the call to room service,” said Inspector Zhang. “That would give her an alibi when in fact Mr. Wilkinson was already dead when she left the room.”

  “Do you think that’s what happened?” asked Sergeant Lee.

  “That’s simply not possible,” said Miss Berghuis. “When a call is made to our room service section, the number flashes up on the phone. An order would not be accepted if it came from outside the hotel.”
r />   Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully. “And of course he spoke to his wife after he had ordered from room service so I do not think that Ms. Lulu was the killer. We can assume that it was indeed Mr. Wilkinson that she spoke to,” he said. “I cannot believe that a wife could be fooled by an imposter. So, that then brings us to number six on Mr. Carr’s list. One of the more complicated of his explanations for a locked room murder, and one of the most successful in works of fiction. In such a situation we have a murder that although committed by somebody outside the room nevertheless appears to have been committed by someone inside the room.”

  Mercier scratched his bald head. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said.

  “Oh, Mr. Mercier, it makes perfect sense,” said Inspector Zhang. “Take, for instance, the icicle dagger that Mr. Carr spoke of. Suppose it could be fired through an open window or through a hole drilled into the door. Or a knife thrower in a room opposite the building who throws a knife through an open window but has it tied to a length of string so that he can pull the weapon back. It thus appears that the killer was inside the room when in fact he was outside all the time.”

  “But the windows are sealed and there are no holes in the door, and besides the main door opens into the sitting room, there is another door off that to the bedroom,” said the manager. “The ice dagger would have to turn through ninety degrees and pass through two doors.”

  Inspector Zhang sighed. “Madam, I am not suggesting for one moment that Mr. Wilkinson was killed by a weapon made from ice.”

  “Well you are the one who keeps mentioning it,” said the manager, flashing him a withering look. “And if the knife didn’t melt, where is it?”

  “Exactly,” said Inspector Zhang. “You have put your finger on the crux of the conundrum. Where is the knife? If indeed it was a knife.”

  “Do you know?” asked Mercier. “Why are you asking us if you know?”

  “I was being rhetorical,” said Inspector Zhang. He took off his glasses and began to methodically polish them with his handkerchief. “I am not sure where the murder weapon is, but I have my suspicions. However, let me first finish Mr. Carr’s list of explanations with the seventh, which is effectively the exact opposite of the fifth.”

  Everyone frowned as they tried to remember what the inspector had said was the fifth method. They all looked around, shrugging at each other.

  Sergeant Lee walked over to Inspector Zhang and whispered in his ear. “Inspector Zhang, I need to talk to you,” she said.

  “Sergeant Lee, I am in full flow here,” he said. “Can’t it wait?”

  “No, sir, it can not,” said the sergeant.

  Inspector Zhang sighed with annoyance then nodded at the door to the bedroom. “This had better be important,” he said.

  They went through to the bedroom and stood at the foot of the bed. “What is it, Sergeant Lee?” asked the inspector. “You seem concerned.”

  “Sir, we really should be calling in the Forensic Department,” she said. She looked at her watch. “It will soon be midnight.”

  “Not yet,” said Inspector Zhang. “I think we can solve this case without resorting to science.”

  “But it’s procedure, sir. And we have to follow procedure.”

  “Sergeant Lee, you know that I speak Japanese, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “It came in very useful when we were working on the case of the sushi chef who ran amok in his restaurant,” she said.

  “Exactly,” said Inspector Zhang. “But do you know why I studied Japanese?”

  The sergeant shook her head.

  “There is a famous Japanese writer named Soji Shimada who wrote thirteen locked room mysteries, only one of which – The Tokyo Zodiac Murders – was translated into English. I wanted to read his other stories, which is why I taught myself Japanese.”

  “I understand, Inspector Zhang.”

  “This is important to me, Sergeant Lee. This is a mystery that I can solve. I want to prove that to myself.” He smiled. “And perhaps to prove to you that even in the third millennium there is a need for real detectives.”

  “Like Batman?”

  “I was thinking more like Sherlock Holmes,” said Inspector Zhang. “We have an opportunity here that we may never have again in our lives. In Singapore we are lucky if we have one murder a year.”

  “Lucky, sir?”

  Inspector Zhang put up his hand. “You are right; lucky is not the right word. Murders are rare in Singapore. Our island state is the most tightly controlled place on the planet; our government knows everything there is to know about its citizens, so our crime rate is one of the lowest in the world.”

  “Plus we execute our murderers,” said Sergeant Lee. “Which does act as something of a deterrent.”

  “Exactly. So do you not see how special this case is, Sergeant Lee? Most detectives would give their eye teeth to work on a case such as this, yet all you want to do is to hand it over to the scientists.” He looked around as if he feared being overheard. “And what if we have a serial killer, Sergeant Lee?”

  “We have only one victim,” said the sergeant.

  “That we know of,” said Inspector Zhang, fighting to stop his voice from trembling. “What if there are more? What if we have on our hands a real live serial killer?” He shuddered. “Can you imagine that, Sergeant Lee?”

  The sergeant nodded, but didn’t reply.

  “You know that Singapore has only ever had one serial killer?” said the inspector.

  “Yes, sir. Adrian Lim.”

  “Exactly, Sergeant,” said the inspector. Every detective on the island knew of the case, of course. It was taught at the academy. The Toa Payoh Ritual Murders. The killings had taken place in 1981, the year that Inspector Zhang had joined the Singapore Police Force. Adrian Lim, who murdered two children as sacrifices to the Hindu goddess Kali. Lim and his two female accomplices were hanged in 1988.

  “But he was caught by forensic evidence,” said Sergeant Lee. “Police found a trail of blood leading to the flat.”

  “Exactly,” said Inspector Zhang. “Which is why I want to use deduction to solve this case. All the evidence we need is here, Sergeant Lee. All we have to do is to apply our deductive skills. Do you see that? Do you understand?”

  The sergeant nodded slowly. “Yes, sir, I understand.”

  He patted her on the back. “Excellent,” he said. “Let me now finish my questioning,” he said. “And you might give some thought as to what this case will be called, because I am sure that it will become the subject of much discussion so it will need a name.”

  “A name, sir?”

  “A title. The Locked Hotel Room Murder, for instance. Or The Vanished Knife. Inspector Zhang and The Mystery Of The Disappearing Knife. What do you think?”

  “I’m not sure, sir,” said Sergeant Lee.

  “Well give it some thought, Sergeant,” said Inspector Zhang as he headed for the door.

  Miss Berghuis was deep in conversation with her head of security when Inspector Zhang and Sergeant Lee walked back into the sitting room, but they stopped talking immediately and looked expectantly at the two detectives.

  Inspector Zhang walked over to the window and turned to face the hotel staff. “So, to continue, Mr. Carr’s seventh and final locked room scenario involves a situation where the victim is assumed to be dead before he or she actually is. That is the reverse of situation number five of course, where the victim is dead, but presumed to be alive.”

  “So that would mean that Mr. Wilkinson wasn’t actually dead when Mr. Chau went into the room?” asked Miss Berghuis.

  “He was,” said the waiter. “I’m sure he was dead.”

  “But you’re not a doctor, Mr. Chau,” said Inspector Zhang, “In the confusion, it might have looked as if he was dead but the actual murder was committed later.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Mercier. “He was definitely dead when I got here.”

  “And you were here soon after the waiter made the ca
ll to reception?”

  Mercier nodded. “You saw the CCTV footage. Everybody was there within a few minutes at most.”

  “He was definitely dead,” agreed the manager. “You only had to look at the body. At the blood.”

  “But there was a moment when the waiter was alone with the body,” said Inspector Zhang. “When he made the phone call. At that moment he was alone in the room with Mr. Wilkinson, and we have only Mr. Chau’s word that Mr. Wilkinson was dead.”

  “I didn’t kill him,” said Mr. Chau hurriedly, his eyes darting from side to side.

  “I didn’t say that you did,” said Inspector Zhang. “I merely stated that you were alone with Mr. Wilkinson and you had the opportunity of killing him if he hadn’t been dead already. It is one way of solving a locked room mystery. The room is locked, but the person who discovers the body is the killer. He kills the victim then calls for the police.” He shrugged. “It happens, but I do not think it happened in this case.”

  The waiter looked relieved and loosened his shirt collar.

  “Besides, if you did kill Mr. Wilkinson, where is the knife?” asked Inspector Zhang.

  “Actually, Inspector Zhang, we haven’t searched anyone yet,” said Sergeant Lee.

  “And there is no need to search Mr. Chau, Sergeant,” said the inspector. “What we need to do now is to go back downstairs to the security office; for it is there that the solution lies.”

  “All of us?” said the manager. “Surely we don’t all need to go?”

  “It is the tradition, Madam,” said Inspector Zhang. “The detective gathers together the cast of characters and explains the solution to them before unmasking the killer.”

  The manager laughed, and it was like the harsh bark of an angry dog. “Inspector Zhang, this is not some country house where the butler did it. Just tell us who the killer is.”

  “It is not a country house, that is true, but a five-star hotel is the closest thing that we have in Singapore,” said Inspector Zhang. “Now please humour me and accompany me down to the ground floor.”