Тимоти Холлинен - Bangkok Noir

“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 cell phone 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 were 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 being 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 remain 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 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 he 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 and 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 heavy-set 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 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 find 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 stewardesses.”

“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 the Inspector straightened up, the pilot returned with a young stewardess. “This is Sumin,” said the pilot. “She was the one who discovered that the passenger was dead.”

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