IZ SSC The Inspector Zhang Short Stories Page 4

  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 y
our 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.”

  THE END

  INSPECTOR ZHANG AND THE DISAPPEARING DRUGS

  The Second Inspector Zhang Short Story

  Inspector Zhang smiled fondly at his wife as she placed his kaya toast in front of him. Kaya could be bought in a bottle in any supermarket but Mrs. Zhang made it herself, slow cooking coconut milk, eggs, sugar vanilla and a hint of pandan leaves, using a recipe that had been handed down from her grandmother. She spread it on a slice of wholemeal toast with a little butter and served it with a soft-boiled egg, just the way he liked it. “You make the best kaya toast in Singapore,” he said.

  “You can buy it in McDonald’s these days,” she said.

  “You can buy many things in McDonald’s but nothing they sell comes close to your cooking,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “Such sweet talk,” she said, blushing prettily and sitting down opposite him. She poured more coffee into his cup.

  Inspector Zhang took a bite out of his toast and sighed with contentment. “I would have married you for this toast alone,” he said.

  Mrs. Zhang giggled and put her hand over her mouth. She’d done that on the first date, more than thirty years earlier and it was one of the many things he loved about her.

  His mobile phone rang and he sighed. It was in the pocket of his suit jacket, hanging on the back of the sofa.

  “I’ll get it,” said his wife. “You finish your breakfast.”

  She went over to the sofa, retrieved his phone, and took the call. She pulled a face and took the phone over to him. “It is the Senior Assistant Commissioner,” she said. “He wants to speak to you.”

  Inspector Zhang swallowed and took the phone from her. “This is Inspector Zhang,” he said.

  “Inspector, I am sorry to bother you so early, but I need to see you this morning,” said the Senior Assistant Commissioner. “Can you come to office at the start of your shift today?”

  “Of course, Sir,” said Inspector Zhang. “Can you tell me what it is in connection with?”

  “It is of a highly confidential nature, Inspector. I shall explain when I see you.”

  The line went dead and Inspector Zhang frowned at the phone.

  “He sounds different,” said Mrs. Zhang. “Not like the man we used to know.”

  “He is Senior Assistant Commissioner now,” said Inspector Zhang. “He is a very important man.”

  “He is your friend.”

  Mr. Zhang put the phone down next to his plate. “We haven’t been friends for a long time,” he said.

  “I don’t think he remembered me,” said Mrs. Zhang.

  “It has been a long time since we socialized. More than twenty years.”

  “Twenty-five,” she said. “We had a celebratory drink, do you remember, when he was promoted to sergeant.”

  “Was that twenty-five years ago?” mused Inspector Zhang. “You know, I think you are right.” He looked at his watch, finished his coffee, and picked up his phone.

  Mrs. Zhang helped him on with his jacket, then kissed him on the cheek. “I shall cook you fish head bee hoon tonight,” she said.

  “You spoil me,” said Inspector Zhang, but he was already looking forward to his favourite dish.

  He drove to police headquarters at New Phoenix Park. The block that housed the police was next to a twin block occupied by the Ministry of Home Affairs. The Senior Assistant Commissioner’s office was on the sixth floor, a corner office with a huge desk and a wall full of framed commendations.

  Inspector Zhang had to wait for fifteen minutes on a hard chair until a secretary showed him into the Senior Assistant Commissioner’s office. The Senior Assistant Commissioner seemed much older than the last time that Inspector Zhang had seen him. As he sat down Inspector Zhang tried to remember when he’d last seen the Senior Assistant Commissioner and decided that it had been almost five years when they’d both attended the funeral of a former Deputy Commissioner. The five years had not been kind to the Senior Assistant Commissioner. His hair was thinning and he’d put on weight and there was an unhealthy pallor to his skin.

  There was a cup of tea in front of the Senior Assistant Commissioner and he stirred it thoughtfully as he looked at Inspector Zhang. “Was that May-ling I spoke to this morning? Your wife?”

  “Yes it was,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “How long have you been married now?”

  “Thirty years.”

  “That is a long time,” said the Senior Assistant Commissioner.

  “It feels like only yesterday,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “You are a lucky man,” said the Senior Assistant Commissioner. “May-ling was a beautiful woman.” He sipped his tea.

  “She still is,” said Inspector Zhang. “The most beautiful woman in Singapore. And the best cook.”

  “I am divorced,” said the Senior Assistant Commissioner., putting down his cup.

  “I am sorry to hear that,” said Inspector Zhang.

  The Senior Assistant Commissioner shrugged. “This job puts a strain on relationships. The hours. The nature of the work.” He sighed. “Anyway, I did not ask you here to complain. I asked you here because I have a problem. A problem of a sensitive nature.”

  “You can of course rely on my discretion,” said Inspector Zhang.

  The Senior Assistant Commissioner frowned and then nodded slowly, “Yes, I know that, Inspector Zhang. You are one of the most conscientious officers on the force. Not a blemish on your record. Not a single black mark.” He sat back in his executive chair. “And you have the reputation of being a detective who can solve mysteries.”

  Inspector Zhang smiled but said nothing. He could see that the Senior Assistant Commissioner was troubled, and he had learned over the years that people said most when they were not interrupted.r />
  “I have a case which could be considered as a mystery. A mystery that…” The Senior Assistant Commissioner shrugged. “Well, frankly Inspector Zhang, it has stumped me.” He sighed and placed his hands face down on his highly-polished desk. “Have you come across Inspector Kwok. Inspector Sally Kwok.”

  “I don’t believe so,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “She is something of a high-flyer, marked for great things,” said the Senior Assistant Commissioner. “She is currently on attachment with the Drugs Squad. I personally assigned her what should have been a very straight-forward drugs case but somehow it has turned into a…” He shrugged and sighed. “A mystery. That is the only word for it. A mystery.” He stood up and walked around behind his chair and leant his arms on the back. It was, Inspector Zhang realised, a very defensive posture.

  “A Customs team discovered a consignment of heroin in a container that had arrived at the port,” said the Senior Assistant Commissioner. “It was a chance thing, a drugs dog was on the way to a job when he walked by a container that had just come off a ship and he indicated that there were drugs inside. The container was opened and a hundred kilos of Burmese heroin was discovered in cardboard boxes. Ten boxes, each of ten kilos. The street value in Singapore would be about thirteen million US dollars. It was a huge haul. We had the heroin but we wanted to catch the men who had imported it. That is when I called in Inspector Kwok.”

  Inspector Zhang nodded but said nothing. It was indeed a big haul, and the Senior Assistant Commissioner must have had a reason for giving such a big case to a mere inspector.

  “The container had been hired by an import-export company who were acting on behalf of customers who were bringing in goods from Thailand, but who didn’t need a complete forty-foot container,” continued the Senior Assistant Commissioner. “Basically the import-export company paid for the container and then found customers who wanted to bring in goods. It was a mixed consignment. Along with the boxes of drugs there was furniture, soft goods, toys, and foodstuffs. The container was to be taken to the warehouse of the import-export company where it would be opened and the goods delivered to the various customers. The plan was for Inspector Kwok’s team to follow the boxes of drugs to the customer who had paid for them. It should have been a simple enough case but that’s not how it worked out.”