The Eight Curious Cases of Inspector Zhang

by Stephen Leather

  She nodded at the final passenger, a Thai man sitting at the back of the cabin in seat 16H, adjacent to the aisle. “Mr. Nakprakone is a journalist who works for the Thai Rath newspaper in Bangkok. He is a Thai.”

  “I have heard of the paper,” said Inspector Zhang. “It is one of those sensationalist papers that publishes pictures of accidents and murders on their front pages, I believe.”

  “Mr. Nakprakone said that it sells more than a million copies every day.”

  “Sensationalism sells, that is true,” sighed Inspector Zhang. “I am personally happier with more dignified newspapers such as our own Straits Times. Did you ask Mr. Nakprakone why he was flying in the business class section?”

  “I didn’t. Should I have done?”

  “It’s not a problem,” said Inspector Zhang. “So, I assume you asked everyone if they heard or saw anything suspicious during the flight?”

  “No one did, sir.”

  “And I assume that no one mentioned hearing a gunshot?”

  “Definitely not. Besides, sir, it would be impossible for anyone to get a gun onto a plane. There are stringent security checks at Changi.”

  The flight attendant who had been talking to the pilot appeared at Inspector Zhang’s shoulder. “Inspector Zhang, would it be all right to serve drinks and snacks to the passengers?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said.

  The flight attendant smiled and walked to the galley.

  “So, first things first,” said Inspector Zhang. “We need to know why our victim was murdered. More often than not, if you know why a murder took place you will know who committed it.”

  “So you want to talk to the bodyguard?”

  Inspector Zhang shook his head. “I believe I will get more information from Mr. Nakprakone,” he said.

  Sergeant Lee scratched her head as Inspector Zhang walked to the rear of the cabin and then cut across seats D and F to get to the Thai man sitting in seat 16H. “Mr. Nakprakone?” he said. The man nodded. Inspector Zhang nodded at the empty seat by the window. “Would you mind if I sat there while I ask you a few questions?”

  “Go ahead,” said Mr. Nakprakone, and moved his feet to allow the inspector to squeeze by.

  Inspector Zhang sat down and adjusted the creases of his trousers. “I assume that you know that it is Mr. Srisai who has been murdered?”

  Mr. Nakprakone nodded.

  “I was wondering if you could tell me a little about Mr. Srisai.”

  Mr. Nakprakone frowned. “Why would you think that I would know anything about him?”

  “Because you’re a journalist and because newspapers don’t usually fly their staff around in business class.” He smiled and shrugged. “I am in the same position. My boss told me that I had to fly economy. The Singapore Police Force is always trying to reduce costs and I am sure that your newspaper is the same.”

  Mr. Nakprakone grinned. “That is exactly right,” he said, speaking slowly as if he was not entirely comfortable communicating in English.

  “So am I right in assuming that you are here in the business class section so that you could talk to him, perhaps even to interview him?”

  Mr. Nakprakone nodded. He took a small digital camera from his pocket. “And to also get a photograph.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “Only for a very short time. I waited for his bodyguard to go to the toilet and then I asked Khun Srisai for an interview. He refused.”

  “And did you by any chance get a photograph?”

  Mr. Nakprakone switched on the camera and held it out to Inspector Zhang. “Just one,” he said.

  Inspector Zhang looked at the screen on the back of the camera. Mr. Srisai was in his seat, holding up his hand, an angry look on his face. Inspector Zhang looked at the time code on the bottom of the picture. It had been taken thirty minutes before the plane had landed. “He obviously didn’t want to be photographed,” he said, handing back the camera.

  “Just after I took it the bodyguard came back so I returned to my seat.” He put the camera away.

  “So tell me, why was Mr. Srisai of such interest to your paper?”

  “He is a well-known gangster, but he has political aspirations,” said the journalist. “There was an attempt on his life in Udon Thani two months ago and he fled to Singapore. But last week his uncle died and he was returning for the funeral.”

  “Political aspirations?”

  “He had been setting up a vote-buying campaign in his home province, which could well see him becoming an MP in the next election. But someone put a bomb under his car and killed his driver. And shots were fired at his house at night, killing a maid.”

  “So he was forced to flee Thailand?”

  “We think he was just hiding out while he took care of his enemies.”

  “Took care?”

  Mr. Nakprakone made a gun from his hand and pretended to fire it. “There have been half a dozen killings in his province since he left.”

  Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully. “You think he was taking revenge?”

  “I am sure of it. And so is my paper.”

  “So it is fair to say that a lot of people would want Mr. Srisai dead?”

  Mr. Nakprakone nodded.

  “You say that his uncle died. What happened?” Two flight attendants began moving down the aisles handing out drinks and snacks.

  “He was driving his motorcycle at night and he crashed. He’d been drinking and the other driver fled the scene.” He shrugged. “A common enough event in Thailand.” He leaned closer to the inspector. “So he was shot, is that right?”

  “It appears so, yes.”

  “But that is impossible. He was perfectly all right when I spoke to him and there have been no shots. We would have heard or seen something, wouldn’t we?”

  Inspector Zhang looked forward. All he could see was the back of the seat in front of him. He couldn’t see Sergeant Lee or the pilot even though he knew that they were standing at the front of the cabin. “You wouldn’t have seen anything sitting here,” said Inspector Zhang. “But you would of course have heard a shot, had there been one.” He stood up and eased himself into the aisle. “Thank you for your help,” he said.

  “When can we get off the plane?” asked Mr. Nakprakone.

  “As soon as I have ascertained what happened,” said the inspector. He crossed over to the far side of the cabin and walked up the aisle to where Sergeant Lee was standing with the pilot.

  “I shall be writing to the Police Commissioner in Singapore,” said the American tourist as Inspector Zhang walked by.

  “I am acting on the Commissioner’s personal instructions,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “Then you will be hearing from my lawyer,” snapped the American.

  “I shall look forward to it,” said Inspector Zhang. “But in the meantime I have an investigation that requires my undivided attention.” He walked away, leaving the American fuming.

  Captain Kumar and Sergeant Lee were waiting expectantly by the exit door. “The victim was a Thai gangster,” Inspector Zhang said quietly. “He had a lot of enemies.”

  “That explains the bodyguard,” whispered Sergeant Lee. The bodyguard was sitting only a few feet away, reading an in-flight magazine.

  “According to the journalist, he spoke to Mr. Srisai about half an hour before the plane landed. So he must have been killed in the time between talking to the journalist and the flight attendant checking that his seat belt was fastened.”

  “That couldn’t have been much more than fifteen minutes,” said Captain Kumar, rubbing his chin. He put a hand on Inspector Zhang’s shoulder. “I think I should assist my first officer with the paperwork, if that is okay with you.”

  “Of course, Captain.”

  “And nobody heard anything?” Inspector Zhang asked Sergeant Lee as Captain Kumar went into the cockpit and closed the door behind him.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  Inspector Zhang frowned. “So how c
an this be, Sergeant Lee? How can a man die of a gunshot wound in an aeroplane cabin without anyone hearing anything?”

  “A silencer, sir?”

  Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully. “Actually the technical term is suppressor, rather than silencer. And while they do deaden the sound of a gun it would certainly still be loud enough to hear in a confined space such as this.”

  “Not if everyone was listening through headphones,” said the sergeant.

  “A good point, Sergeant.” He turned to nod at the passenger in 17D. “But Mr. Yates did not use his headphones; they are still in their sealed plastic bag, so I assume that he was working throughout the flight. Other than the bodyguard, he would have been the closest passenger to the victim. And even if a suppressor was used, we have to ask ourselves how it and the gun were smuggled on board. As you said, there are stringent security screenings at the airport.”

  “Maybe it was a member of the crew,” said the sergeant. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “What about the captain, sir? He could have a gun in the cockpit. Or the first officer? Or a member of the cabin crew? Mr. Yip, perhaps.”

  “I had considered the cabin crew, but again it comes down to the fact that the bodyguard did not see Mr. Srisai being attacked.”

  “Perhaps the bodyguard was not as alert as he claims. He could have been asleep.” Sergeant Lee’s eyes widened. “The gun,” she said. “The gun must still be on the plane.”

  “One would assume so,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “We could ask the Thai police to help us find it. They must have dogs that can sniff out guns and explosives at the airport, don’t you think?”

  “I’m sure they have, but my instructions are to bring the investigation to a conclusion without the involvement of the Royal Thai Police.”

  Sergeant Lee looked crestfallen and Inspector Zhang felt a twinge of guilt at having to dampen her enthusiasm.

  “But your idea is a good one, Sergeant Lee,” he said. “If there was a gun on the plane, such a dog would be able to find it. But do you know what, Sergeant? I do not believe that the gun is on the plane.”

  Sergeant Lee frowned as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “So do you now wish to interview the bodyguard?”

  “I think I will first talk to Mr. Yates,” said Inspector Zhang. He walked down the aisle and stood next to the Westerner, who looked up quizzically from his Blackberry. “Mr. Yates?”

  Mr. Yates nodded. “What can I do for you?”

  Inspector Zhang pointed at the empty seat. “Do you mind if I sit down and ask you a few questions?”

  “Of course, no problem,” said Mr. Yates, making room for the inspector to squeeze by. He put away his Blackberry. “Do you have any idea how long this is going to take, Inspector?” he asked. “I have a meeting to get to.”

  “I hope not too much longer,” said Inspector Zhang as he sat down. “So you are British?”

  “Yes, but I haven’t been to England for more than fifteen years,” said Mr. Yates. “I lived in Hong Kong for a while but I’ve been based in Bangkok for almost ten years.”

  “I am a big fan of English writers. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Agatha Christie, Dorothy L Sayers, Edgar Wallace.”

  “I’m not a big reader,” said Mr. Yates. “Never have been.”

  Inspector Zhang’s face fell, but he managed to cover his discomfort by removing his spectacles and polishing them with his handkerchief. “So, my sergeant asked you if you saw or heard anything unusual during the flight?”

  “I was working,” said Mr. Yates.

  “So you didn’t hear a shot, for instance?”

  “A shot? A gunshot? Of course not?” He frowned. “Is that what happened? The guy over there was shot?”

  “It appears so, yes.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Yes, I agree. During the flight did you see anyone go over to Mr. Srisai?”

  “Who?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Inspector Zhang. “That is the deceased’s name. He is a Thai gentleman. Did you see anyone talking to him during the flight?”

  “To be honest I was busy,” said Mr. Yates. “I hardly looked up. But there was a Thai man talking to him not long before we landed. They were arguing, I think.” He twisted around in his seat and pointed at Mr. Nakprakone. “That guy back there.”

  “Arguing?”

  “There was a flash, I think the man might have taken a photograph, but really I wasn’t paying attention.” He smiled. “I’m putting together a proposal for a client and it has to be done by close of business today.”

  “You are a stockbroker?” He put his spectacles back on.

  “That’s right.”

  “Have you heard of Mr. Srisai? I gather he is active politically in Thailand.”

  Mr. Yates shook his head. “I’m more concerned about profit and loss accounts and dividend payments than I am with politics,” he said. “The Thai political situation is so messed up that I don’t think anyone really understands what’s going on. It would make our lives much easier if Thailand was run more like Singapore.”

  Inspector Zhang nodded in agreement. “I sometimes think that the whole world would be better off if it was run like Singapore,” he said.

  “So he was a VIP, was he?”

  “Apparently.”

  “That explains the run-in with security he had at Changi, then. Thai VIPs expect kid gloves treatment wherever they go.”

  “What happened?” asked Inspector Zhang.

  “I don’t know, really. He was behind me at the security check and the arch thing beeped when he went through. They wanted to search him but he was arguing.”

  “Arguing about what?”

  “I’ve no idea. I just collected my briefcase and walked away. But he was shouting about something or other.”

  Inspector Zhang thanked him and then stood up and rejoined Sergeant Lee at the front of the cabin. “Is everything okay, sir?” she asked.

  “Everything is satisfactory,” said the inspector.

  The door to the cockpit opened and Captain Kumar came out with Mr. Yip. The pilot smiled apologetically. “I know that you said that we wouldn’t be allowing anyone off the plane until your investigation has been completed, but Mr. Yip tells me that the economy class passengers are starting to get restless,” he said. “We’ve turned the engines off and we haven’t connected to an ancillary power source yet, which means that our air-conditioning isn’t on. Here in Raffles Class it isn’t a problem but economy is almost full and it’s getting hot back there.”

  Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully. “I think we have almost concluded our investigation,” he said.

  “We have?” said Sergeant Lee, surprised.

  Inspector Zhang smiled at the chief purser. “Mr. Yip, members of your cabin crew would have been in the galley throughout the flight, yes?”

  Mr. Yip nodded. “Of course.”

  “Then I need you to confirm with them that at no point did any of the economy passengers move through the galley to the front cabin.”

  “They wouldn’t have been allowed to,” said Mr. Yip. “Not even to use the toilet. We insist that economy class passengers remain in the economy cabin.”

  “I understand, but I would like you to confirm that for me,” said the inspector.

  Mr. Yip nodded and hurried back to the galley.

  “Captain Kumar, would it be possible for the passengers to disembark from the rear of the plane?”

  “It wouldn’t be a problem, though we would have to bring out a stairway,” said the pilot.

  “If the economy passengers are getting off then we should be allowed to get off with them,” said Mr. Woodhouse from his seat in the middle of the cabin.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” said Inspector Zhang.

  Mr. Woodhouse waved a blue passport in the air. “I’m an American citizen,” he said. “You can’t keep us prisoners like this.”

  “That’s right,” agreed his wife.

&n
bsp; “We’re just tourists. This is nothing to do with us,” said Mr. Woodhouse.

  “Exactly!” said his wife.

  “I am sorry for the inconvenience,” said Inspector Zhang.

  “Being sorry doesn’t cut it,” said the American. “This isn’t fair. You’re saying that if we had flown economy you’d let us off, but because we bought business class tickets you’re keeping us prisoner.” He jabbed a thick finger at the inspector. “I demand that the American ambassador is informed of this immediately.”

  “Immediately!” echoed Mrs. Woodhouse.

  “Please, Mr. Woodhouse, Mrs. Woodhouse, just bear with us,” said Inspector Zhang calmly. “This will all be resolved shortly.”

  Mr. Yip came back down the aisle. “I have spoken to all the cabin crew and I have their assurance that no passengers left the economy cabin throughout the flight.”

  “In that case, Captain, I have no objection to you allowing the Economy passengers to disembark from the rear of the plane.”

  “I’m going too,” said the Chinese businessman. He stood up and opened the locker above his head and pulled out a Louis Vuitton briefcase.

  “I am afraid I must ask you to remain in your seat for a little while longer, Mr. Chia,” said Inspector Zhang.

  Mr. Chia turned to look at the inspector, his upper lip curled back in a snarl. “No,” he said. “I’ve been here long enough. This is Thailand. You’ve no jurisdiction here. You do not have the authority to keep me on this plane.”

  “You might well be right, Mr. Chia,” said the inspector. “But of one thing I am sure: you step out of this plane now, the Thai police will have the authority to arrest you and I will make sure that they do just that. And I am also sure that you would not appreciate the inside of a Thai prison, because that is where you will be held until this investigation is complete.”

  “This is an outrage,” snapped the businessman, but he went back to his seat.

  “I agree,” said Inspector Zhang. “Murder is an outrage. Which is why I want to solve this murder as quickly as possible. Once the perpetrator has been apprehended we can all leave the plane.”