IZ SSC The Inspector Zhang Short Stories Read online

  “Indeed,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “Do you have children, Inspector?” asked Mr. Yin.

  “I do not,” said Inspector Zhang. “But I am as concerned as you about the perils of drugs. As is our government. Which is why we execute drugs smugglers in Singapore.”

  “Which is as it should be,” said Mr. Yin. He interlinked his fingers. “So how can I help you today?”

  “We have a problem at the apartment where the drugs were left,” said Inspector Zhang. “We seem to have mislaid them.”

  Mr. Yin’s forehead creased into a frown. “Mislaid?” he said.

  “They have vanished,” said Inspector Zhang. “Into thin air it appears.”

  “But that’s impossible.”

  “I quite agree,” said Inspector Zhang.

  The secretary appeared with a tray of tea things. She poured them each a small cup of jasmine tea and then went back to her files. Inspector Zhang inhaled the perfumed fragrance and then sipped his tea.

  “Now I gather that you had made similar deliveries before,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “Not me personally,” said Mr. Yin. “But our company has.”

  “Why did you handle the delivery yourself on this occasion?”

  “We thought it would be safer to have as few people involved as possible,” said Inspector Kwok. “Mr. Yin owns the company so he offered to help rather than send one of his delivery staff.”

  “So Inspector Kwok had explained to you that there was heroin in the boxes?”

  Mr. Yin nodded. “So you can imagine how horrified I was,” he said. “To have my company used in that manner, by drug smugglers. How dare they? I run a reputable business, Inspector Zhang, we pay our taxes, we obey the rules and regulations and believe me in this business there are more rules than you can shake a stick at.”

  “I am sure there are,” said Inspector Zhang. “Now please tell me, this was the first time that you had delivered boxes to this particular apartment?”

  “It was a different apartment for each delivery,” said Mr. Yin. “But always in Geylang.”

  “And what did you think they contained?”

  “It was always industrial coatings. In powder form.”

  “And is it normal to deliver industrial coatings to an apartment?”

  “A lot of small businesses are run from home,” said Mr. Yin. “And this was a relatively small delivery.”

  “And always the same arrangement for the deliveries? The key under the mat?”

  Mr. Yin nodded. “We were emailed instructions each time. We were given an address and told to leave the boxes inside.”

  “Isn’t that unusual?” asked Inspector Zhang.

  “As I said, delivering small consignments to apartments is not unusual,” said Mr. Yin.

  “But leaving keys under mats. Is that not unusual?”

  “I suppose so,” said Mr. Yin. “Though we often leave deliveries with neighbours.”

  “Even so…”

  “You have to understand, Inspector Zhang. We handle dozens of deliveries every day, from single boxes to full containers. This was a relatively small job for us, the paperwork was all in order and they were a regular customer who also paid promptly. We had no reason to suspect that something untoward was going on.”

  “I understand that,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “Obviously if we had known…” Mr. Yin shrugged and left the sentence unfinished.

  “I am sure,” said Inspector Zhang. He looked at his wristwatch. “I wonder if I might ask you for just a little more co-operation, Mr. Yin.”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Would you mind coming back to the apartment so that we can run through what happened?”

  “I don’t understand.” Mr. Yin looked over at Inspector Zhang. “I thought you just needed my help to deliver the boxes.”

  “It will not take very long,” said Inspector Zhang. “We can drive you there. We have a Lexus.”

  “If it’s absolutely necessary, I suppose I could spare the time,” said Mr. Yin, reluctantly. “But I am very busy. This is our busy time of the year.”

  “We will not take too much of your time, Mr. Yin,” said Inspector Zhang. He stood up and waved at the door. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll be finished.”

  They went outside and this time Inspector Zhang got into the back of the car with Sergeant Lee while Mr. Yin climbed into the front with Inspector Kwok. They drove back to Geylang in silence. Inspector Kwok parked the car and they walked together into the apartment block.

  “This is the way you came on that day?” asked Inspector Zhang.

  Mr. Yin nodded. “Yes. We had trolleys. One trolley each.”

  “And on each trolley there were five boxes?”

  “Yes.”

  Inspector Kwok opened the door and they went through to reception and up to the eighth floor.

  “So you and your assistant arrived here and pushed the trolleys to the apartment?”

  Mr. Yin nodded. “I went through all this with Inspector Kwok.”

  They walked to the door of the apartment. “Do you have the key, Inspector?” asked Inspector Zhang. Inspector Kwok produced the brass key and Inspector Zhang nodded at the mat. “If you would be so good as to put it where it was that day.”

  Inspector Kwok put the key under the mat and then stood up.

  “Now, proceed exactly as you did on that day, Mr. Yin.”

  “But I don’t have the trolley so it cannot be the same.”

  “Please do as best you can,” said Inspector Zhang. He stood back and folded his arms.

  Mr. Yin sighed, then bent down and retrieved the key. He inserted it into the lock and turned it twice antic-clockwise to open the door. He took out the key, pushed open the door and walked into the apartment.

  The three detectives followed him.

  “And then you closed the door?”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “So please do that now.”

  Mr. Yin closed the door.

  “And where did you leave the boxes?”

  Mr. Yin pointed at the side of the sofa. “There,” he said.

  “And then you left the apartment?”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Yin. “Is that all you need from me?”

  “Just bear with me a little while longer, Mr. Yin,” said Inspector Zhang. He walked around the sitting room, deep in thought.

  “Inspector Zhang, I really think we have imposed on Mr. Yin’s public spiritedness quite enough,” said Inspector Kwok. “He has a business to run.”

  “Soon,” said Inspector Zhang. “We are almost there.”

  He walked into the bedroom and Sergeant Lee followed him. “Inspector Zhang, what are you looking for? We know that the drugs are not in the apartment.”

  Inspector Zhang smiled. “I am not looking for the heroin, Sergeant Lee. I am looking for the boxes, and that is quite a different matter.”

  “The boxes?”

  “Yes, the boxes. They are key to this.” He smiled. “If you will forgive the pun.”

  “Pun? What pun?” Sergeant Lee frowned in confusion.

  Inspector Zhang sighed as he looked around the bedroom. “The bed was examined, of course. That only leaves the wardrobe.”

  “The wardrobe is empty, Inspector Zhang,” said Sergeant Lee. She opened the doors to show him. “Coat hangers and dust, nothing else.”

  “Mr. Yin, come in here please,” called Inspector Zhang.

  Mr. Yin walked into the bedroom. He looked annoyed. ““I really must protest,” he said. “I have a business to run.”

  “Would you be so kind as to help me move the wardrobe,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “You want me to do what?”

  “The wardrobe. Just help me move it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I suspect there is something beneath it.” He smiled. “I can hardly ask the ladies, can I?”

  He took hold of the left side of the wardrobe and waited until a reluct
ant Mr. Yin took hold of the right hand side. They both lifted and moved the wardrobe forward a couple of feet. Sergeant Lee gasped when she saw what had been hidden by the wardrobe. Flattened cardboard boxes. She bent down and picked them up. There were ten of them. “The boxes,” she said.

  “Yes,” said Inspector Zhang. “The boxes.”

  “But how can that be?” asked Inspector Kwok.

  Inspector Zhang let go of the wardrobe and looked over at Mr. Yin. “Why don’t you explain, Mr. Yin?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes you do, Mr. Yin. The drugs were never in the boxes. Not by the time you brought them up to the apartment. They might well have been in the boxes at the warehouse but at some point between there and here you and your assistant took the drugs out and it was empty boxes that you brought into the apartment.”

  “Nonsense,” said Mr. Yin.

  “There is no other explanation,” said Inspector Zhang. “You and he were the only people to enter the apartment. It can only have been you.”

  “You cannot prove anything,” said Mr. Yin.

  “I think I can,” said Inspector Zhang. He pointed at the collapsed boxes. “When you and your assistant entered the apartment neither of you were wearing gloves. Therefore if you did indeed conceal the boxes under the wardrobe, your fingerprints and DNA will be on the cardboard.”

  Mr. Yin glared at Inspector Zhang for several seconds, then his shoulders slumped. “I have been a fool,” he said.

  “I agree,” said Inspector Zhang. “When you were approached by Inspector Kwok you realised that she was providing you with a golden opportunity to cover your crime. You were the one bringing the drugs into the country, but of course she didn’t know that. You put the boxes in the van but on the way to the apartment you removed the heroin and resealed the boxes. The boxes on the trolleys were empty. And once inside the apartment out of sight of the surveillance camera you simply flattened the boxes and hid them under the wardrobe.” He turned to Inspector Kwok. “You may arrest Mr. Yin now,” he said. “The mystery is solved.”

  Inspector Kwok had been staring at Mr. Yin with her mouth wide open and she jumped when Inspector Zhang spoke. She took out her handcuffs, fastened then to Mr. Yin’s wrists, and took him out.

  Sergeant Lee was scribbling in her notebook.

  “What are you writing, Sergeant Lee?” asked Inspector Zhang.

  “Everything,” she said. She looked up from the notebook. “You knew he was guilty before you even brought him here, didn’t you? Before you even found the boxes.”

  Inspector Zhang smiled. “Yes, that’s true. I did.”

  “How?” asked Sergeant Lee.

  Inspector Zhang tapped the side of his head. “By using ze little grey cells,” he said, in his best Hercule Poirot impersonation.

  “Something he said at the warehouse?”

  “Before then,” said Inspector Zhang. “When I watched the surveillance video footage at New Phoenix Park, I knew he was our man.”

  “But all we saw was him delivering the boxes and leaving,” said Sergeant Lee. “Nothing else happened.”

  “He unlocked the door,” said Inspector Zhang.

  Sergeant Lee’s frown deepened.

  “It was his first time at the apartment,” said Inspector Zhang. “But he knew that the key had to be turned twice to open the door. He unlocked the door without any hesitation, but how could he have known that it was a security lock and required two turns of the key?”

  “He couldn’t,” said Sergeant Lee. “Unless he had already been to the apartment.”

  “Exactly,” said Inspector Zhang. “You saw the problems that Inspector Kwok had when she tried to unlock the door the first time. But Mr. Yin had no such problems. Because he had already been to the apartment.”

  “You solved the case, so why didn’t you arrest Mr. Yin? Why did you let Inspector Kwok arrest him?”

  “It is her case,” said Inspector Zhang. “I was only brought in to assist.”

  “You have saved her career,” said Sergeant Lee. “She will take the credit.”

  “I solved the mystery, that is all that matters to me,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “You are a wonderful detective, Inspector Zhang.”

  Inspector Zhang smiled but said nothing.

  Later that night, Inspector Zhang’s wife served him fish head bee hoon, a creamy vermicelli noodle soup with chunks of fried fish head, one of his favourite dishes. They were sitting at the dining table and the television was on, with the sound down low. Mrs. Zhang poured red wine into her husband’s glass and he smiled his thanks. On the television, a beaming Senior Assistant Commissioner was standing next to Inspector Kwok who was being interviewed by a reporter from Channel News Asia. Behind them were the ten cardboard boxes that had been opened to reveal the drugs inside. Mr. Yin had obviously given the drugs to the police, probably hoping to escape the death penalty.

  “Isn’t that the case you were working on?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Inspector Zhang, watching as Inspector Kwok flashed the reporter a beaming smile. “Yes it is.”

  “So why aren’t they interviewing you?”

  Inspector Zhang took a sip of his wine. “I suppose I’m not handsome enough for television,” he said.

  “You’re much more handsome than the Senior Assistant Commissioner,” said Mrs. Zhang.

  “They eye of the beholder,” said Inspector Zhang.

  Mrs. Zhang watched as the reporter continued to interview Inspector Kwok. “She’s very pretty,” she said.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Is she a good detective?”

  Inspector Zhang looked a little pained. “She will do very well in the Singapore Police Force,” he said. “She is destined for great things.”

  “But she is not a good detective?”

  “My own Sergeant Lee is better,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “But not as pretty.”

  Inspector Zhang raised his wine glass to her. “No, my dear. Not as pretty. And neither of them hold a candle to you.”

  “Is there something going on between the Senior Assistant Commissioner and the pretty inspector?” asked Mrs. Zhang quietly.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just they way they stand together, the way that he keeps looking at her and once I saw him rub his wedding ring as if it was troubling him.”

  Inspector Zhang chuckled softly. “My dear, you would make a great detective,” he said, reaching for his chopsticks and spoon.

  THE END

  INSPECTOR ZHANG AND THE FALLING WOMAN

  The Third Inspector Zhang Short Story

  Mrs. Zhang slipped her hand inside her husband’s as they walked together away from the seafood restaurant. “That was a lovely evening,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

  Inspector Zhang smiled and gently squeezed her delicate hand. “It isn’t over yet,” he said. “It isn’t every day that I get to celebrate thirty years of marriage to the most wonderful girl in Singapore.”

  Mrs. Zhang giggled. “I’ve not been a girl for a long time,” she said.

  “You will always be my girl,” said Inspector Zhang.

  Mrs. Zhang stopped walking and turned to face him. She put her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the lips. “I will love you until my last breath, and beyond,” she said.

  “That’s probably the lobster and the champagne talking,” said Inspector Zhang.

  Mrs. Zhang laughed. “It was very good lobster,” she admitted. She released her grip on his neck and slid her hand into his again.

  The restaurant that Inspector Zhang had taken his wife to was on a quay overlooking the Singapore River, with cute little tables and candles in old wine bottles and a chef who cooked the best lobster in the city. The chef was known to have a predilection for the ladyboys of Orchard Towers but his culinary skills were such that everyone turned a blind eye to his weakness.

  As they walked slowly towards where he
had left his car, they saw a group of three Indian men looking up at a twelve-storey apartment block. One of them was pointing up at the top of the building. Inspector Zhang craned his neck to see what they were looking at and gasped when he saw a Chinese woman standing on the roof of the block, holding onto a railing.

  “I’m jumping!” the woman shouted. The wind whipped her black dress around her legs. “I’m going to jump!”

  “Oh my goodness,” said Mrs. Zhang, covering her mouth with her hand.

  Inspector Zhang walked towards the building, reaching for his mobile phone. He called headquarters, explained the situation and asked for a negotiating unit to be despatched. He put his phone away, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted up at the woman. “This is the police, please go back inside, Madam!”

  The three Indians looked over at Inspector Zhang. “Are you really with the police?” said the youngest of the group, a teenager wearing combat trousers and a T-shirt with a Nike swoosh across the front.

  “I am Inspector Zhang of the CID, based at New Bridge Road,” he said. “Can you please move away, if she does fall it could be dangerous.”

  “For her, sure,” laughed the Indian.

  Inspector Zhang was about to scold the teenager for his insensitivity but before he could so the woman shouted again. “I’m going to jump!” she yelled.

  Inspector Zhang cupped his hands around his mouth. “Please stay where you are!” he shouted. “We can talk about this.”

  “I’m going to jump!” screamed the woman. “Don’t try to stop me!”

  “What’s your name?” shouted Inspector Zhang.

  The woman shouted something but the wind whipped away her words.

  “What did she say?” asked Inspector Zhang’s wife.

  “I didn’t hear,” he said. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted up at the woman again. “What is your name?”

  “Celia!” shouted the woman..

  “Okay Celia, please step away from the edge. I will come up and talk to you.”

  “I’m going to jump!”

  More passers-by were stopping to look up at the building and cars were stopping in the road, drivers trying to see what was going on. Inspector Zhang waved at the cars to keep moving but no one paid him any attention. Suddenly he heard screams and he turned around just as the Chinese woman slammed into the ground with a sickening thud. Blood splattered across the pavement. The spectators scattered and one of the Indian men began to wail.