The Eight Curious Cases of Inspector Zhang (25 page)

“You have heard that Mr. Hyde died in his room earlier this afternoon?” asked the chief inspector.

Dumbleton nodded. “Hanged himself, didn't he?”

“Can you tell me where you were at about two o'clock?”

“I was at the murder mystery lunch,” said Dumbleton.

“At which table?” asked Inspector Zhang.

Chief Inspector Hawthorne flashed him a withering look and Inspector Zhang held up his hands.

“If you could tell us the table number and anyone you know who was sitting with you,” said the chief inspector.

“You think I had something to do with Hyde's death? It was suicide, wasn't it?”

“Please, Mr. Dumbleton, just tell us what table you were at.”

“I forget,” said Mr. Dumbleton. “Twenty-two, I think. I was guest writer at the table and the rest were punters. There were a couple of middle-aged ladies, a married couple from Durham, a wannabe writer from Liverpool and a couple of pensioners. They were local, I think.”

Inspector Zhang had wandered over to the bedside table. There were two yellow ear plugs sitting next to a clock radio. “Do you have trouble sleeping, Mr. Dumbleton?” asked Inspector Zhang.

Mr. Dumbleton frowned. “What?”

Inspector Zhang nodded at the ear plugs. “I see you use ear plugs. My wife also has trouble sleeping when she is away from home and she find that ear plugs help.”

“I've always been a bad sleeper,” said Mr. Dumbleton. He reached for his cigarettes but put them down when he saw the look of disapproval on the manager's face.

“You are a heavy smoker?” asked Inspector Zhang.

‘Twenty a day,” said Mr. Dumbleton. “It's my one vice.”

“During the murder mystery lunch, did you leave the room for a cigarette?'

Mr. Dumbleton shook his head. “I was going to when coffee was served, but we never got the coffee because they found the body.”

“So did you leave the room at all?” asked Inspector Zhang.

“I don't think so,” said Mr. Dumbleton.

“Are you certain of that? If you did I'm sure the diners at your table would remember.”

Mr. Dumbleton looked over at the two British detectives. “Is he allowed to ask me these questions?”

“Actually he's not supposed to be asking any questions,” said Chief Inspector Hawthorne. “But did you or did you not leave the room during the lunch?”

“I went for a pee,” said Mr. Dumbleton. “I wasn't gone more than a couple of minutes.”

“Where was the bathroom?” asked the chief inspector.

“Out of the door and down the corridor to the left,” said Mr. Dumbleton.

“When?”

“Just after the main course. I finished my chicken and I went for a piss. But I didn't go upstairs, if that's what you're thinking.”

“We're not thinking anything,” said the chief inspector. “We're just trying to establish where everyone was.”

“I thought Hyde killed himself.”

“We have to investigate any unexpected death,” said the chief inspector.

“Yeah, well good riddance is what I say,” said Dumbleton.

“Why did you hate Mr. Hyde so much?” asked Inspector Zhang.

“What?”

“This hatred you had for Mr. Hyde, where does it come from?”

Mr. Dumbleton glared at Inspector Zhang, his upper lip drawn back in a snarl. “What business is it of yours?”

“I'm just interested, that's all. Mr. Hyde seemed a reasonably nice man, and while you might disagree with his views I don't see why that makes you so angry?”

Mr. Dumbleton looked over at Chief Inspector Hawthorne. “Do I have to speak to him?”

“No, you don't.”

“Then get him the hell out of my room,” said Mr. Dumbleton.

The chief inspector nodded at Inspector Zhang. “I think we've taken up enough of Mr. Dumbleton's time,” he said. He motioned at the door. Inspector Zhang smiled thinly and left the room. He waited in the corridor and a couple of minutes later the chief inspector joined him.

“He did it,” said Inspector Zhang quietly. “He killed Mr. Hyde.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He is a sociopath. I can see it in his eyes. He hated Mr. Hyde and he killed him.”

“Mr. Hyde was alone in the room when he died. Mr. Dumbleton didn't have time to get upstairs to kill Mr. Hyde and, even if he did, how did he get out of the room without being seen?”

“That is why I know it was him,” said Inspector Zhang. “He is a crime writer, albeit not a successful one. He hated Mr. Hyde and by killing him in a locked room mystery it adds to his feelings of superiority. It's his way of showing the world how clever he is.”

“And where is your proof, Inspector Zhang?”

Inspector Zhang shrugged but didn't say anything.

“We need proof, Inspector Zhang. This isn't China. We don't throw people in jail because of a hunch.”

Inspector Zhang frowned. “China?” he said. “Singapore isn't part of China. It never has been. The Republic of Singapore is a self-governed city state. It has nothing to do with China.”

“Either way, we can't arrest Mr. Dumbleton because you think he killed Mr. Hyde.”

“I understand,” said Inspector Zhang.

“And really, it's time for you to go now,” said the chief inspector. “We have to ask a few more questions and it's best that you're not with us.”

“I understand,” said Inspector Zhang. He shook hands with the policeman and then made his way down the stairs. His wife was waiting for him in reception, sitting in a green leather winged chair. She was holding a book and he squinted at the spine. It was Mr. Hyde's book, the one that he had signed for Inspector Zhang. “I thought you didn't like mysteries,” he said.

“I thought considering what has happened I'd give it a try,” she said. “This is really rather good. I'm enjoying it. I have to say that it's a change to read a book by a good looking author. Most of the writers here do seem a little strange looking.” She slipped it inside her handbag. “Anyway, how did it go with the English detectives?”

“I think they didn't appreciate me sticking my nose into their case,” he said.

“They should be grateful for your help,” she said. “Don't they realise what a wonderful detective you are?”

“They have their own way of doing things,” he said. He told her what had happened in Mr. Hyde's room. As he was finishing, Mr. Dumbleton came down the stairs, holding his cigarettes. He glared at Inspector Zhang as he walked by and headed outside.

“I can never understand a person wanting to take their own life,” said Mrs. Zhang. “But I suppose Mr. Hyde was mentally unbalanced.”

“That is what the British detectives seem to think,” said Inspector Zhang.

Mrs. Zhang looked up at him, a slight frown on her face. “I know that tone,” she said.

“Tone? What do you mean?”

“You don't think he took his own life, do you?”

“It doesn't matter what I think,” said Inspector Zhang.

“It was a locked room. The door was locked and the window was closed. He was alone in the room.”

Inspector Zhang nodded. “Everything you say is true. And I have no doubt that Mr. Hyde was alone when he died.” He held up his hands. “As the police kept saying to me, this is not my jurisdiction. I am a detective inspector with the Singapore Police Force. Here I am merely …” He shrugged. “A tourist.”

The chief inspector came down the stairs followed by the hotel manager. “We have a doctor on the way to certify death and then we will have the body removed,” said Chief Inspector Hawthorne. “We are going to talk to the chambermaid. But I doubt that she will tell us anything that makes us think this is anything other than a case of suicide.”

“I understand,” said Inspector Zhang.

“I just wanted to thank you for your interest in the case, and for securing the scene. But we now consider the case closed.”

Inspector Zhang nodded but said nothing. As the chief inspector and the manager walked away, Mrs. Zhang linked her arm through her husband's. “Tell me,” she said.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me what you think happened?”

Inspector Zhang sighed. Mrs. Zhang fluttered her eyelashes prettily the way she always did when she wanted to twist him around her little finger and he laughed. “You know, you would make an excellent interrogator,” he said.

“You're trying to change the subject,” she said. “Tell me.”

“Let's get some air,” he said. They walked out of the reception area. He took her out of the room and down the stairs to the hotel reception. Mr. Dumbleton was standing outside the hotel, smoking a cigarette. Inspector Zhang nodded at the writer.

“You think I killed Mr. Hyde, don't you?” asked Mr. Dumbleton. He took a long drag on his cigarette then blew smoke directly at Inspector Zhang.

“Yes, I do,” he said quietly.

“But you can't prove it, can you?”

“We shall see.”

“Come on, Inspector. Hyde killed himself in a locked room. There was no one else there.”

“Just like in all the best mystery stories,” said Inspector Zhang.

“And you think that's what this is? A mystery to be solved? Well good luck with that, Inspector Zhang.”

“He doesn't need luck,” said Mrs. Zhang, squeezing her husband's hand. “My husband solves cases with his brain. No one is better than him at solving mysteries.”

“My dear, don't,” said Inspector Zhang. He walked with her along the side of the hotel, away from Mr. Dumbleton.

“But it's true,” she chided him. She slipped her arm through his and gave him a gentle squeeze. “Now tell me, what happened in that room?”

Inspector Zhang chuckled at his wife's perseverance. “Everything you said was true,” he said. “The door was closed and so was the window. But the important thing is the door wasn't locked and the bathroom window was open.”

Mrs. Zhang frowned. “I don't understand.”

“There was a chain on the door but it wasn't on. So anyone in the room could have simply closed the door behind them when they left. Then the door is locked and someone on the outside has to use a key to get in. But that doesn't mean that Mr. Hyde locked the door.”

“But you said there was a maid in the corridor and she didn't hear anyone leave.”

“That is true.”

“But she heard the noise of the chair falling, you said. And she opened the door to discover the body.”

“All true.”

“So if Mr. Hyde was murdered, she would have seen the killer if he had left through the door.”

“Again, true.”

They reached the corner of the hotel. Inspector Zhang looked up at the ivy-covered wall. He pointed at the window on the second floor. “That is the room where it happened,” he said.

He turned the corner and pointed up at another window. “That is the bathroom. There is a large window and above it a much smaller window.”

“Too small to climb through?”

“Much too small,” said Inspector Zhang.

“And the other window was locked?”

They walked back to the front of the hotel. “Yes. But even if it wasn't, the killer couldn't have climbed down. He would have been seen.” He reached up and patted the ivy. “Anyway, this is nowhere near strong enough to support a man's weight. Also, anyone climbing down would be clearly visible to anyone at the front of the hotel.” He turned to look back at Mr. Dumbleton, who was still smoking in front of the main entrance. “Where Mr. Dumbleton is standing is where the smokers gather,” said Inspector Zhang. “If the killer made his escape down the ivy then he stood a very good chance of being seen. But as I said, the ivy is not strong enough.”

“So there is a killer, you admit that much?” said Mrs. Zhang.

Inspector Zhang chuckled. “Yes, my dear, I rather think there is.”

“But if the killer did not leave through the door and he didn't leave through the window, how did he get out of the room once he had killed Mr. Hyde.”

“My dear, I believe that Mr. Hyde was alone in the room when he died.”

Mrs. Zhang frowned. “So you do think he killed himself?”

“No, I am quite sure that Mr. Hyde was murdered.”

“You are confusing me now,” said Mrs. Zhang. She squeezed her husband's arm. “Come on, stop teasing me. How was Mr. Hyde killed?”

“We know that, of course, he died by hanging. But I do not believe that he hanged himself.”

“Someone pushed him off the chair?”

“Pulled, I think. But give me a minute or two to confirm my suspicions are correct.” He looked over at Mr. Dumbleton. He was watching them with narrowed eyes, the cigarette forgotten in his hands. “He is worried. You can see it in his eyes. There is something here that he does not want us to find, I'm sure of that.”

He let go of his wife's hand and walked back around the side of the building. He looked up at the bathroom window, then at the ivy, and then he smiled to himself.

“I know that smile,” said Mrs. Zhang. “What have you seen?”

Mr. Zhang chuckled but didn't say anything. He walked along the wall to a glass-panelled door and put his hand on the handle. He turned and pushed the door open. It led to a corridor. At the far end of the corridor was the reception area, and to his right were the bathrooms. Inspector Zhang closed the door and turned to smile at his wife.

“Mr. Dumbleton was in the banqueting room at the murder mystery lunch, and he left only for a few minutes to visit the bathroom. That was when he killed Mr. Hyde.”

“But how? The maid would have seen him enter or leave the room.”

“He didn't go into the room to kill Mr. Hyde. He did it from here.”

Mrs. Zhang frowned. “From here? Now you're confusing me.”

Inspector Zhang pushed away the ivy at the base of the wall. “He hasn't had time to remove the evidence. That's why he's outside. Whatever he used is still here.”