The Eight Curious Cases of Inspector Zhang Page 9

  The bodyguard was sitting in his seat, staring at the bulkhead. He didn’t look up as Inspector Zhang sat down next to him in seat 11D. “You are Mr. Lev Gottesman,” he said.

  The man nodded but said nothing.

  “From Israel?”

  “From Tel Aviv.”

  “And you were employed by Mr. Srisai, as a bodyguard?”

  The man turned his head slowly until Inspector Zhang could see his own reflection in the impenetrable lenses of the man’s sunglasses. “Is that some sort of a wisecrack?” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  “I am merely trying to ascertain the facts in this case,” said Inspector Zhang.

  The man’s lips formed a tight line and then he nodded slowly. “Yes, I was hired to be his bodyguard. And yes, the fact that he’s dead means I did not do a good job.” He folded his arms and stared at the bulkhead again.

  “Mr. Gottesman, I would like you to remove your sunglasses please.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like to see a man’s eyes when he is talking to me. The eyes, after all, are the windows to the soul.”

  The Israeli took off his glasses, folded them, and put them into the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

  “Thank you,” said Inspector Zhang. “And if you would be so good as to give me your passport.” The bodyguard reached into his pocket and handed the inspector a blue passport. “How long have you been in Mr. Srisai’s employ?”

  “About eight weeks.”

  “And your predecessor was killed?”

  The Israeli nodded. “There was a car bomb. The bodyguard was driving. Bodyguards should never drive. Drivers drive and bodyguards take care of security. Mr. Srisai did not take his own safety seriously enough.”

  “Your predecessor was Thai?”

  The Israeli nodded again. “They are not well trained, the Thais. They think that any soldier or cop can be a bodyguard, but the skills are different.”

  “And your skills? Where do they come from? You were a soldier?”

  The bodyguard sneered. “All Israelis are soldiers. Our country is surrounded by enemies.”

  “More than a soldier then? Mossad? Did you use to work for the Israeli intelligence service?”

  The Israeli nodded but said nothing. Inspector Zhang flicked through the passport.

  “So you are a professional,” said Inspector Zhang. “As a professional, what do you think happened?”

  “He died. I failed. And as for being a professional, I doubt that anyone will employ me again after this.”

  Sergeant Lee appeared at Inspector Zhang’s side, taking notes. “And you saw nothing?” asked the inspector.

  The bodyguard turned to stare at Inspector Zhang with eyes that were a blue so pale they were almost grey. “If I had seen anything, do you think I would have allowed it to happen?” he said.

  “Obviously not. And equally, you heard nothing?”

  “Of course I heard nothing.”

  “So what do you think happened, Mr. Gottesman? Who killed your client?”

  “He had many enemies.”

  “So I gather. But are any of those enemies on this plane?”

  “He didn’t see any while we were waiting to board.”

  “But you would have been in the VIP lounge, would you not? So you wouldn’t have seen everyone.”

  “True,” said the Israeli. “But the only people in the forward cabin are those with business class tickets. It couldn’t have been any one from the rear of the plane, could it?”

  “I agree,” said Inspector Zhang. “Now when was the last time you saw him alive?”

  “I went to the toilet shortly before landing. I came back to find that journalist pestering Mr. Srisai. Then I read a magazine, then the flight attendant came around to tell us to fasten our seat belts and when she checked Mr. Srisai she realised something was wrong. She fetched the guy in the suit and he said he was dead and covered him with a blanket.”

  “You didn’t check for yourself?”

  “They told me to stay in my seat. They said there was nothing I could do.”

  Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully. “Was he an easy man to work for?”

  The bodyguard shrugged. “He liked to do things his own way.”

  “So he was difficult?”

  “I wouldn’t say difficult.”

  “There was an argument at security back at the airport, I’m told.”

  “It was nothing. A misunderstanding.”

  “About what?”

  “The metal detector beeped. They searched him. I think it was his watch that set it off. He wears a big gold Rolex.”

  “And there was an argument?”

  “He didn’t want to be stopped. Men like Mr. Srisai, they are used to getting their own way.”

  “And while you were in Singapore, where did you stay?”

  “We moved from hotel to hotel, changing every few days. Last night we stayed at the Sheraton.”

  “Because Mr. Srisai was concerned for his safety?”

  The bodyguard nodded. “He said there were people who still wanted him dead, even though he had left Thailand.”

  “But nothing happened during the flight to give you any cause for concern?”

  “That’s right. I was stunned when they said he was dead. I don’t know how it could have happened.”

  Inspector Zhang handed the bodyguard his passport. “You say that you have only worked for Mr. Srisai for two months.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “But I see from the visas in your passport that you only arrived from Israel two months ago.”

  The bodyguard put away the passport. “That’s right. I was hired over the phone and flew out to take up the position.”

  “But you had never met before then?”

  The bodyguard shook his head. “A friend of Mr. Srisai recommended me. We spoke on the phone and agreed terms and I flew straight out to Thailand. Shortly after I arrived shots were fired at his house, and a maid was killed, so he decided to fly to Singapore.”

  Inspector Zhang smiled. “Well, thank you for your time,” he said. He stood up and patted Sergeant Lee on the arm. “Come with me,” he said and took her through the galley and into the economy cabin which was almost empty. The cabin crew were shepherding the few remaining passengers out of the door at the rear of the plane. “I think it best we speak here so that the passengers cannot hear us,” he said. “So what do you think, Sergeant?”

  She shrugged and opened her notebook. “I don’t know, sir, I just don’t know. We have an impossible situation, a crime that could not have happened and yet clearly has happened.”

  “Very succinctly put, Sergeant,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “We know that the victim couldn’t have been shot on the plane. That would have been impossible.”

  “That is true,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “But if he had been shot before he boarded, why was there no blood? And how could a man with a bullet in his chest get on to the plane, eat his meal and go to the toilet? That would be impossible, too.”

  “Again, that is true,” agreed the inspector.

  “So it’s impossible,” said Sergeant Lee, flicking through her notebook. “The only solutions are impossible ones.”

  Inspector Zhang held up his hand. “Then at this point we must consider the words of Sherlock Holmes in The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. For in that book the great detective lays down one of the great truths of detection – once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

  Sergeant Lee frowned. “But how does that help us if everything is impossible?”

  “No, Sergeant. Everything cannot be impossible, because we have a victim and we have a crime scene and we also have a murderer that we have yet to identify. What we have to do is to eliminate the impossible, and that we have done. We know that he was killed on the plane. That is certain because he was alive for most of the fl
ight. So it was impossible for him to have been killed before boarding. But we are equally certain that it was impossible for him to have been shot while he was sitting in the cabin.”

  “Exactly,” said Sergeant Lee. “It’s impossible. The whole thing is impossible.” She snapped her notebook shut in frustration.

  Inspector Zhang smiled. “Not necessarily,” he said quietly. “We have eliminated the impossible, so we are left with the truth. If he was not shot on the plane, then he must have been shot before he boarded. That is the only possibility.”

  “Okay,” said the sergeant hesitantly.

  “And if he did not die before boarding, then he must have been murdered on the plane.”

  The Sergeant shrugged.

  “So the only possible explanation is that he was shot before he boarded and was murdered on the plane.” Inspector Zhang pushed his spectacles up his nose. “I know that those two statements appear to be mutually exclusive, but it is the only possible explanation.” He took out his mobile. “I must use my phone,” he said, and headed towards the rear of the plane.

  The pilot came up to Sergeant Lee and they both watched as Inspector Zhang talked into his mobile, his hand cupped around his mouth. “Is he always like this?” asked Captain Kumar.

  “Like what?” asked Sergeant Lee.

  “Secretive,” said the pilot. “As if he doesn’t want anyone else to know what’s going on.”

  “I think Inspector Zhang does not like to be wrong,” she said. “So until he is sure, he holds his own counsel.”

  “Do you think he knows who the killer is?”

  “If anyone does, it is Inspector Zhang,” she said.

  They waited until Inspector Zhang had finished, but when he did put the phone away he turned his back on them and headed out of the door at the back of the plane.

  “Now where is he going?” asked Captain Kumar.

  “I have absolutely no idea,” said Sergeant Lee.

  After a few minutes the inspector returned, followed by two brown-uniformed Thai policemen with large handguns in holsters and gleaming black boots.

  “Is everything all right, Inspector?” asked the pilot.

  “Everything is perfect,” said Inspector Zhang. “I am now in a position to hand the perpetrator of the crime over to the Thai authorities.” He strode past them and headed towards the front of the plane. Captain Kumar and Sergeant Lee fell into step behind the two Thai police officers.

  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 your 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.”