Inspector Zhang And The Falling Woman (4 page)

"Can anyone confirm that?"

Mr. Wong frowned. "Why do I need anyone to confirm anything?"

"It’s simply procedure, Mr. Wong."

Mr. Wong sighed. "As it so happens, I went to talk to my neighbour at about ten o’clock. His television was on loud and it was disturbing me. I asked him to turn the volume down."

"His name?"

"Mr. Diswani."

"Thank you," said Inspector Zhang. "And one more thing.
 
I noticed yesterday that you have a plaster on your hand."

Wong held up his right hand. There was a flesh-coloured sticking plaster on his little finger. "I cut myself."

"Do you mind telling me how?"

"When I was cooking. It’s just a small cut. It’s nothing."

Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully.

"Why are you asking me these questions?" said Wong.

"We’re trying to find out what happened to your wife."

"You said she fell from a building."

"That’s true," said Inspector Zhang. "But it now appears that something happened to her before she came off the roof."

"What do you mean?" said Wong quickly.

"I’m afraid I can’t go into details at this stage, but we are now sure that Mrs. Wong didn’t kill herself."
 
He patted his stomach. "Could I impose on you to use your bathroom," he said. "My stomach isn’t so good today."

Wong pointed down a corridor. "Along there, first door on the right," he said.

Inspector Zhang thanked him and walked along to the bathroom. When he got back to the sitting room, Sergeant Lee was sitting on the sofa next to Wong. They were looking through a photograph album. There were tears in Wong’s eyes.

"We’ll leave you now, Mr. Wong," said the inspector.
 
"And once again I’m sorry for your loss."

Wong sniffed. "What will happen now, inspector?"

"Our investigation will continue," said Inspector Zhang.

Mr. Wong showed them out. Inspector Zhang smiled at Sergeant Lee as the door closed on them.
 
"I never trust a man who cries easily," he said.

"He’s just lost his wife," said Sergeant Lee.
 
"Wouldn’t you cry if you lost your wife?"

Inspector Zhang considered the question for several seconds,
then
he nodded slowly. "I would grieve. I would be sadder than I have ever been in my life. But I’m not sure that I would cry. Grief is not about tears; grief is a state of mind." He took off his glasses and polished them with his handkerchief. "But perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am too critical of Mr. Wong."

"Perhaps it is the goatee," said Sergeant Lee.

Inspector Zhang smiled and walked down the corridor, stopping at the apartment next to Mr. Wong’s. He knocked on the door. It was opened by an elderly Indian man.

"Mr. Diswani?" said Inspector Zhang. He held out his warrant card. "I am Inspector Zhang from New Bridge Road police station."

Mr. Diswani blinked at the warrant card and then nodded. "I am Mr. Diswani," he said,

"Did Mr. Wong have occasion to talk to you about the volume of your television set last night?"

Mr. Diswani’s jaw dropped. "He called the police about that? I told him, it was no louder than usual but he pointed his finger at me and called me terrible names."

"And what time was this?"

"About ten o’clock," said Mr. Diswani. "And I turned the volume down immediately, but then I could barely hear it. Come in for yourself and listen. I don’t understand why he was so angry."

"It isn’t a problem," said Inspector Zhang, putting away his warrant card. "You enjoy the rest of your evening."

Mr. Diswani closed the door, muttering to himself.
 
Inspector Zhang and Sergeant Lee walked to the elevator and went down to the ground floor. "So what do you think, Sergeant Lee?" asked the inspector as they headed for their car.

Sergeant Lee sighed. "It is confusing," she said.

"Yes, it is," agreed the inspector.
 
"Let us suppose that she was murdered, that she was dead before she hit the ground. So the question we have to ask, Sergeant Lee, is why the murderer felt that they had to kill Mrs. Wong twice."

"Overkill," said Sergeant Lee as Inspector Zhang unlocked the front passenger door and climbed in. Sergeant Lee got into the driving seat and closed the door. "Perhaps the killer wanted to make sure that she was dead," she said.

"There are easier ways to do that," said Inspector Zhang, settling back into his seat. "Besides, I think it would be obvious that she was already dead so there would be no need to make sure."
 
He sighed and took off his spectacles. "I think I am getting a headache," he said, massaging his temples

"I have aspirin in my bag," said the sergeant.

"We can wait until we’re back in the office," said Inspector Zhang. "Aspirins are best taken with water." He put his spectacles back on. "Water," he said. "I’d forgotten, the water."

"Water?" repeated Sergeant Lee.

Inspector Zhang turned to look at her. "Celia Wong drowned, but her clothes were dry when she went off the building. How could that be if she had only just drowned?"

Sergeant Lee frowned but said nothing.

"How does someone drown without their clothes getting wet?" whispered Inspector Zhang to himself. "Now that is a mystery." He folded his arms. "I think we need to take a closer look at the list that the security guard gave us."

They drove back to New Bridge Road police station. Inspector Zhang had left the list in his desk and he took it out while Sergeant Lee fetched him a glass of water so that he could take his aspirin.

"What are you looking for, Sir?" she asked when she returned with his water.

Inspector Zhang swallowed a white tablet and washed it down and then tapped the list. "Mrs. Wong must have gone to that particular building for a reason," he said.

"You think she went there to see someone? A man?"

Inspector Zhang smiled. "I certainly think she went to see someone, but I think it much more likely that it was a woman she was calling on." He passed her the list.
 
"There are only three single women living in the building. We shall go around first thing in the morning."

Inspector Zhang and Sergeant Lee arrived at the River Valley apartment block at eight o’clock on the dot. Mr. Lau was already at his desk and he buzzed them in.

Inspector Zhang showed Mr. Lau the list of tenants. "I see there are three single women living in the block," he said.

"That’s right," said Mr. Lau. "This is mainly a family building; the apartments are all quite spacious."

"Would you happen to know if any of these women are Chinese, between twenty-five and thirty-five years old, with shoulder-length hair. A little taller than my sergeant here."

"Why yes," said Mr. Lau. "That describes Miss Yu perfectly. She lives on the ninth floor. Shirley Yu."

Inspector Zhang took back the list. "Excellent," he said. "We shall go up and talk to her.
Just one more thing, Mr. Lau.
Do you happen to know if she works in the airport.
"

Mr. Lau nodded. "Yes, she does."

Inspector Zhang smiled to himself and walked to the elevators. Sergeant Lee followed. They rode up to the tenth floor in silence.

Inspector Zhang knocked on the door to Miss Yu’s apartment. A pretty Chinese woman in a dark business suit opened the door.

"Miss Yu?" asked Inspector Zhang.

"Yes," she said. "What do you want?"

Inspector Zhang showed her his warrant card and identified himself, then introduced Sergeant Lee. Miss Yu looked at her watch. "I’m going to work," she said.

"The airport?"

"That’s right. What is this about?"

"We’re asking residents about the girl who died the other day," said Inspector Zhang. "Can we come in?"

"I really am in a hurry," she said.

"It is important, and we won’t take up too much of your time."

Miss Yu sighed and let them in. The apartment was large with a balcony overlooking the river. The furniture was Italian and there was a huge television dominating one wall. "You have a lovely home, Miss Yu," said Inspector Zhang.

"Thank you."

"And you live here alone?"

Miss Yu nodded and looked pointedly at her watch again.

"What is it you do at the airport?" asked Inspector Zhang. "It must pay well for you to be able to avoid a beautiful apartment such as this."

"My parents bought it for me," said Miss Yu tersely.
 
"You said this was about the girl who killed herself?"

"Yes, were you in the building when it happened?"

"What time was that?"

"Just before ten o’clock."

Miss Yu nodded. "I was at home, yes."

"Alone?"

"Of course, alone."

"And did Mrs. Wong press the buzzer for your flat?"

"Mrs. Wong? Who is Mrs. Wong?"

"I’m sorry," said Inspector Zhang. "She is the lady who died."

"Why do you think she pressed my buzzer?"

"She needed to get access to the roof and she didn’t have a keycard so someone must have admitted her," said Inspector Zhang.

"No one pressed my buzzer all night. I got home from work, I cooked myself dinner, I watched television and I was in bed by eleven."

Sergeant Lee scribbled in her notebook. "I wonder if I might ask you a favour, Miss Yu?" said Inspector Zhang.

"A favour?" She looked at her watch impatiently.

"My wife and I are thinking of moving to this area, would you mind showing me around?"

"You want me to give you a tour of my apartment?"

"That’s so kind of you," said Inspector Zhang, heading for a door at the far end of the sitting room. "Is this the bedroom?"

"One of the bedrooms," said Miss Yu, hurrying after him. "Inspector Zhang, I really have to go to work."

Inspector Zhang nodded appreciatively at the spacious bedroom.
 
There was a king size bed and a sofa against one wall, and another large balcony. There were sliding mirrored doors at the far end of the room and Inspector Zhang slid them back. "A walk-in closet," he said. "That’s what my wife really wants, a closet that she can walk into."

"Please, Inspector…" said Miss Yu. "Really, I have to go."

Inspector Zhang stepped into the closet and ran his hand along a line of dresses. He pulled out a black dress and looked at the label. "Karen Millen," he said. "I was telling Sergeant Lee that my wife is a big fan of Karen Millen’s designs." He put the dress back on the rail and pulled out another one. "I see you have a lot of her dresses.
And that you like black.
My wife prefers red."

"Inspector Zhang, I really don’t see what the content of my closet has to do with you."