Inspector Zhang And The Dead Thai Gangster (2 page)

“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 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 cell phone 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?”

“Lung Chin-po,” 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 Sumin,” 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 Sumin, 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 Lung Chin-po, the Singaporean businessman who 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. Lung 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.”