The Eight Curious Cases of Inspector Zhang Page 7

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

  “The captain can explain,” she said, and flashed him a professional smile.

  Inspector Zhang looked across at Sergeant Lee. “I think you had better come with me,” he said. “It can only be a police matter.” He pulled his briefcase out from under the seat in front of him, put his book away and then followed the stewardess down the aisle with Sergeant Lee at his heels. There was a male steward wearing a dark grey suit standing at the curtain and he held it back for them to go through the galley to the business class section. Three stewardesses were gathered in the galley, whispering to each other. Inspector Zhang could see from their worried faces that something was very wrong.

  “What has happened?” Inspector Zhang asked the steward. He was wearing a badge that identified him as the Chief Purser, Stanley Yip.

  “The captain would like to talk to you,” said the steward. “He is by the cockpit.” He moved aside a second curtain and motioned for the inspector to go through.

  There were thirty seats in the business class section, two seats at each window and a row of two in the middle. A large Indian man wearing a crisp white shirt with black and yellow epaulettes was standing by the toilet at the head of the cabin, talking to a stewardess. He looked up and saw Inspector Zhang and waved for him to join him. “I am Captain Kumar,” said the pilot, holding out his hand. He was at least six inches taller than Inspector Zhang with muscular forearms and a thick moustache and jet black hair.

  Inspector Zhang shook hands with the pilot and introduced himself and his sergeant. The pilot nodded at the sergeant then turned back to the inspector. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “We have a problem, Inspector. A passenger has died.” The pilot pointed over at the far side of the cabin and for the first time Inspector Zhang noticed a figure covered in a blanket huddled against the fuselage. The window’s shutter was down.

  “Then it is a doctor you need to pronounce death, not an officer of the law,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “Oh, there’s no doubt that he’s dead, Inspector. In fact he has been murdered.”

  “And you sure it was murder and not simply a heart attack or a stroke? Has he been examined by a doctor?”

  “According to the chief purser he is definitely dead and there is a lot of blood from a wound in his chest.”

  “Who put the blanket over the victim?” asked Inspector Zhang.

  “The chief purser, Mr. Yip. He thought it best so as not to upset the passengers. He did it before he informed me.”

  “The body should always be left uncovered at a crime scene,” said Inspector Zhang. “Otherwise the scene can be contaminated.”

  “I think it was probably the first time he had come across a crime scene in the air, but I shall make sure that he knows what to do in future,” said the captain.

  “I still don’t understand why you need my services,” said Inspector Zhang. “We are on Thai soil. This is surely a matter for the Thai police.”

  “It’s not as simple as that, Inspector Zhang,” said the captain. “I have already spoken to my bosses back in Singapore and they have spoken to the Commissioner of Police and he would like to talk to you.” He handed the inspector a piece of paper on which had been written a Singapore mobile number. “He said you were to call him immediately.” He waved a hand at the door behind him. “You are welcome to use the toilet if you would like some privacy.”

  Inspector Zhang looked around the cabin. The four cabin attendants were watching him from the galley and there were seven passengers sitting in the first class section all looking at him. “I think you’re right,” he said. “Please excuse me.” He nodded at Sergeant Lee. “Sergeant, please make sure that no further contamination of the crime scene occurs and make sure that everyone remains seated.” He handed her his briefcase. “And please put this somewhere for me.”

  “I will, sir,” said Sergeant Lee as Inspector Zhang pushed open the door to the toilet and stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and looked around. The room had been recently cleaned and smelt of air freshener.

  Inspector Zhang took out his mobile and slowly tapped out the number that the captain had given him. The Commissioner answered on the third ring. Inspector Zhang had never spoken to the Commissioner before, and had only ever seen him at a distance or on television, but there was no mistaking the man’s quiet authority on the other end of the line. “I understand that there is a problem on the plane, Inspector Zhang.”

  “Yes, sir, there is a body.”

  “Indeed there is. And from what the captain has said, it is a case of murder.”

  “I can’t confirm that, sir, as I have not done anything in the way of an investigation. But the pilot tells me that the man is dead and that there is a lot of blood. Sir, we are on Thai soil and as such any investigation should properly be carried out by the Thai police.”

  The Commissioner sighed. “I wish that life was as simple as that,” he said. “There are a number of issues that require resolving before the case is passed over to the Thais, not the least the fact that we need to know exactly where the plane was when the murder was committed. If it was in international air space then it will be a case for us to handle in Singapore. We also need to take into account the nationality of the victim, and the perpetrator.”

  “The perpetrator?” repeated Inspector Zhang. “Are you suggesting that I solve the crime before allowing the Thai police on board?”

  “I am told that you do have a talent for solving mysteries, Inspector Zhang. And from what I have heard, it is a mystery that confronts us.”

  “But we have no forensic team. I am not even sure of the cause of death.”

  “If a murder has been committed, the one thing we can be sure of is that the murderer is still on the plane. So long as the doors remained closed, the murderer has nowhere to go.”

  “So I am to conduct an investigation before anyone can leave the plane?”

  “Exactly,” said the Commissioner.

  “But this is a Boeing 777-200, sir. There must be more than two hundred people on board.”

  “All the more reason to get started, Inspector Zhang. I have already spoken to my opposite number in the Royal Thai Police Force and he is happy for us to proceed. To be honest, Inspector Zhang, they would be content for you to solve the case and for us to fly the killer home to stand trial in Singapore.”

  “But if we don’t solve the crime then the plane remains a crime scene and will have to stay in Bangkok for the foreseeable future?”

  “Exactly,” said the Commissioner. “And nobody wants that. The last thing we want is for the world to believe that our national airline was somehow tainted by what has happened. Inspector Zhang, I am assured that you are the man who can handle this smoothly and efficiently.”

  “I shall do my best, Commissioner,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “I am sure you will,” said the Commissioner, and he ended the call.

  Inspector Zhang put away his mobile and stared at his reflection as he drew back his shoulders and took a deep breath. He exhaled slowly, then took out a plastic comb and carefully arranged his hair, then removed his spectacles and polished them with his handkerchief. He was fifty-four years old and had served the Singapore Police Force for almost thirty of those years, but he could count on the fingers of one hand the true murder investigations that he had been involved with. Most murders, especially in Singapore, were committed by relatives or co-workers and generally investigations required little in the way of detecting skills. But what he now faced was a true mystery, a mystery that he had to solve. He put his spectacles back on and tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket. He took another deep breath, then let himself out of the toilet.

  “So what is happening?” asked Captain Kumar. “Can we let the passengers off?”

  “I am afraid not,” said Inspector Zhang. “I have been authorised to carry out an investigation. Until then, the doors remain closed.”

  “What assistance can I offer you?”
asked the pilot.

  “I will first examine the body, then I need to speak to the chief purser and to whoever discovered the body.” He nodded at Sergeant Lee, who was already taking out her notepad and pen. “Come with me, Sergeant,” he said.

  He stood in the middle of the cabin and held up his warrant card. “Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Inspector Zhang of the Singapore Police Force,” he said. “As you are no doubt aware there has been an incident on board this flight. I would be grateful if you would all stay in your seats until I have had a chance to examine the scene.”

  “You can’t keep us here against our will!” shouted a Chinese man in a suit sitting at the rear of the cabin. There were thirty seats in the Raffles cabin, but only eight were occupied. The man who had spoken was sitting on the opposite side to where the body was, in a seat next to the window.

  “I’m afraid I can,” said the inspector. “You are?”

  “Chia Chai Hin,” said the man. “I have an important meeting to go to.” He looked at his watch. “Immigration in Bangkok can take up to an hour, and then there’s always heavy traffic. Really, I have to get off this plane now.”

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but the doors will not be opened until the investigation has been concluded.”

  A heavyset man in a tweed jacket sitting in the middle of the cabin next to an equally large woman in a pale green trouser suit raised a hand. “I agree with that gentleman,” he said in a slow American drawl. “My wife and I are tourists and we’ve got a limo waiting for us outside. What’s happened obviously can’t have anything to do with us. We don’t know anyone in this part of the world.”

  Inspector Zhang pushed his spectacles up onto his nose. “Again, I understand how you feel but the sooner I get on with my investigation the sooner we can open the doors and get on our way.”

  The American groaned and folded his arms as he glared at the inspector.

  “Sergeant Lee, would you get the names, addresses and passport details of all the passengers, and do me a floor plan with seat numbers.”

  Inspector Zhang walked to the front of the cabin and headed along the bulkhead towards the blanket-covered body. A short man in a black leather jacket and impenetrable sunglasses moved his legs to allow the inspector to squeeze by. Inspector Zhang thanked him and the man nodded.

  The pilot followed Inspector Zhang over to the body. It was in seat 11K. Inspector Zhang slowly pulled the pale-blue blanket away. The victim was a Thai man in his thirties, wearing a dark suit with a white shirt and a black tie. The front of the shirt was stained with blood that had pooled and congealed in the man’s lap.

  “This was how he was found?” asked the inspector. “With the blood?”

  “Nothing has been touched,” said the captain.

  “And who discovered that he was dead?”

  “It was one of the flight attendants.”

  “Could you get her for me, please?” said Inspector Zhang. He leant down over the body, taking a pen and using it to slide the jacket open. There was a small hole in the shirt just below the breastbone and the shirt was peppered with tiny flecks of black. He leant closer and sniffed. Gunshot residue. The man had been shot.

  As he straightened up, the pilot returned with a young flight attendant. “This is Su Min,” said the pilot. “She was the one who discovered that the passenger was dead.”

  Inspector Zhang smiled at the flight attendant. “What time did you realise that there was something wrong?” he asked.

  “I was checking that passengers had their seatbelts fastened so it was just as we were starting our approach. That would have been about fifteen minutes before we landed.”

  “And what made you realise that something was wrong?”

  “I thought he was asleep,” said the flight attendant. “I leaned over to fasten the belt and I moved his jacket. That’s when I saw the blood.” She shuddered. “There was so much blood.”

  “What did you do then?” asked the inspector.

  “I went to get the chief purser and he checked for a pulse and when he didn’t find one, we covered him with a blanket.”

  “Did you inform the pilot right away?”

  “No, Mr. Yip said we should wait until we had landed.”

  “And did you hear anything at all unusual during the flight?”

  The flight attendant frowned. “Unusual?”

  “A gunshot? A loud bang?”

  The stewardess laughed nervously and put a hand up over her mouth. “Of course not,” she said. She looked at Captain Kumar. “A gunshot?”

  “There was no gunshot,” said Captain Kumar. “I was sitting in the cockpit with the first officer just ten feet away. We would have heard a shot if there had been one. As would the rest of the passengers. There was no shot.”

  “Well I can assure you that there is a bullet hole in the body and gunshot residue on the shirt,” said Inspector Zhang. “He was shot and at close range.”

  “But that’s impossible!” said the pilot.

  “Yes,” agreed Inspector Zhang. “It is. Quite impossible.” He reached into the dead man’s inside pocket and took out a Thai passport. He opened it and compared the picture to the face of the victim. They matched. “Kwanchai Srisai,” read Inspector Zhang. “Born in Udon Thani. Thirty-seven years old.” He closed the passport, handed it to Sergeant Lee and turned to look at the cabin. “The cabin appears to be almost empty,” he said to the pilot. “Have some passengers moved to the rear of the plane?”

  The pilot shook his head. “At this time of the year the Raffles Section is rarely full,” he said. “The business class fare is quite expensive and the flight from Singapore to Bangkok is short so most of our passengers choose to fly economy.”

  Inspector Zhang did a quick head count. “Eight passengers in all, including the victim.”

  The pilot looked across at the flight attendant. “Is that what the manifest says?”

  “That is correct,” she said. “Eight passengers.”

  “And during the flight, did any passengers from the economy section come forward to this part of the plane?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “I need to know for certain,” said Inspector Zhang.

  The flight attendant nodded. “You will need to ask the other members of the cabin crew,” she said. “I was busy in the galley for some of the flight, and twice I had to clean the toilets and I had to go to the cockpit with coffee for Captain Kumar and the first officer.”

  “She did,” said the captain. “I always have a cup of coffee mid-way through a flight.”

  “Then I will need to talk to the rest of the cabin crew at some point,” said Inspector Zhang. “So tell me, Miss Su Min, was everything okay with Mr. Srisai during the flight?”

  “In what way, Inspector?”

  “Did anything out the ordinary happen? Before you discovered that he was dead, obviously.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “He ate his meal?”

  She nodded. “Yes, and he drank a lot of champagne. He was always asking for champagne.”

  “And he went to the bathroom?”

  “Just once. About halfway through the flight, just after I had cleared away his meal things.”

  “But nothing unusual?”

  “No, Inspector. Nothing.”

  Inspector Zhang turned to Sergeant Lee. “So, Sergeant, run through the passengers for me, please.”

  “As you said, there are seven passengers in addition to the victim,” said Sergeant Lee. She turned and pointed to a young Thai girl who was listening to music through headphones, bobbing her head back and forth in time to the music. “The lady in 14A is a Thai student, Tasanee Boontaisong. She studies in Singapore and is returning to see her parents.”

  Inspector Zhang frowned as he looked at the girl. “I see that there are no rows numbered one to ten and that the front row of the cabin is row 11,” he said. “She is in the third row. That would make it Row 13, would it not?”


  “There is no row 13,” said Captain Kumar. “In some cultures the number 13 is considered unlucky.”

  Sergeant Lee looked up from her notebook. “Clearly on this flight it was number 11 that was unlucky,” she said.

  Inspector Zhang looked at her sternly but she didn’t appear to have been joking, merely stating a fact.

  “Two rows behind Miss Boontaisong in 16A is Chia Chai Hin, the Singaporean businessman you spoke to,” she continued. “He says he is a friend of the Deputy Commissioner and that he will sue our department if we continue to hold him against his will.”

  Inspector Zhang chuckled softly. “Well I wish him every success with that,” he said.

  “Those are the only two passengers sitting on the right hand side,” said Sergeant Lee. “Mr. Chia and Miss Boontaisong.”

  “Port,” said Captain Kumar. “That’s the port side. Right and left depend on which way you are facing so on planes and boats we say port and starboard. As you face the front, port is on the left and starboard is on the right.” He smiled. “It prevents confusion.”

  “And I am all in favour of preventing confusion,” said Inspector Zhang. “So, Sergeant Lee, who is sitting in the middle of the cabin?”

  The sergeant nodded at the man in sunglasses sitting in 11F. He was sitting with his arms folded, staring straight ahead at the bulkhead. “The man there is Mr. Lev Gottesman, from Israel. He is Mr. Srisai’s bodyguard. Was, I mean. He was Mr. Srisai’s bodyguard.”

  “And why would Mr. Srisai require the services of a bodyguard?” asked Inspector Zhang.

  “I didn’t ask,” said Sergeant Lee. “I’m sorry. Should I have?”

  “I shall question Mr. Gottesman shortly,” said the inspector. “Please continue.”

  Sergeant Lee pursed her lips and looked at her notebook. “In the row behind Mr. Gottesman, in seat 14A, is Andrew Yates, a British stockbroker who works for a Thai firm. He was attending a meeting in Singapore.” Inspector Zhang looked over at a man in his early forties wearing a grey suit. His hair was dyed blonde and gel glistened under the cabin lights as he bent down over a Blackberry, texting with both thumbs.

  “Directly behind Mr. Yates are Mr. and Mrs. Woodhouse from Seattle in the United States. They are touring South East Asia. They were in Singapore for three days, they have a week in Thailand and then they are due to fly to Vietnam and then on to China.”