“I’m merely suggesting things are not always as they seem,” said Inspector Zhang. “As I said, there is no note. That is always a red flag for me.”
“Not all suicides leave notes,” repeated the chief inspector.
“But most do,” said Inspector Zhang. “And it seems to me that a man who made his living from words would take the opportunity for one final page. Also, when I spoke with Mr. Hyde yesterday he didn’t strike me as the type to kill himself.”
“The type?” queried the chief inspector.
“He didn’t seem the least bit depressed,” said Inspector Zhang. “In fact when he was on the panel he told us all the plot of the new book he was working on. He certainly wasn’t suicidal at that point.”
“So if he didn’t kill himself, who did?” asked the chief inspector.
“There are several suspects,” said Inspector Zhang. “Indeed, there was one man who threatened to kill Mr. Hyde in front of a room full of witnesses.”
The sergeant looked up from his notebook. “Really? Who?”
“Another writer called Archibald Dumbleton. Frankly I think he might be unbalanced. He interrupted one of the panel discussions, accused Mr. Hyde of all sorts of things and then threatened to kill him.”
“Is this Mr. Dumbleton still here?” asked the chief inspector.
“I saw him downstairs at the Murder Mystery lunch,” said Inspector Zhang.
“And you said there were other suspects, Inspector Chang?” asked the chief inspector.
“It is Zhang,” said Inspector Zhang. “Not necessarily suspects, but there were certainly others who were unhappy with Mr. Hyde. He appeared to have inspired considerable jealousy and hostility in quite a few people.”
“Oh really? And how did he manage that?”
“I gather that Mr. Hyde had been very successful at publishing cheap eBooks. Several members of the audience seemed to think he was selling them too cheap, and others disagreed strongly with his views on marketing.”
“Anyone in particular come to mind?” asked the chief inspector.
“There was an author on the panel with Mr. Hyde. A Mr. Sebastian Battersby, I think his name was. He had one of those punk rocker haircuts. He was very aggressive and at one point I thought he was going to strike Mr. Hyde with his pen.”
The sergeant chuckled. “They do say it’s mightier than the sword,” he said.
The chief inspector flashed him a warning look and the smile disappeared from the sergeant’s face. “Why was that?” the chief inspector asked Inspector Zhang. “What were they fighting about?”
“Mr. Hyde pointed out how few books Mr. Battersby was selling and suggested he wasn’t likely to get a new deal from his publisher. Mr. Battersby took offence to that. But it couldn’t have been Mr. Battersby. He was at the table next to mine at lunch and I didn’t see him leave at any point.”
“Anyone else?”
“There was an agent on the panel. I forget what his name was. But Mr. Hyde told him that agents didn’t have much of a future and they got into quite a heated argument.”
“So basically this Mr. Hyde wasn’t exactly winning friends and influencing people?”
Inspector Zhang frowned, not understanding the reference.
“He was making enemies, that’s what you’re saying,” said the chief inspector.
“I think so. Yes.”
“But do you really think any of these people were angry enough to kill Mr. Hyde?”
“Who knows what drives a person to kill?” said Inspector Zhang. “Sometimes it can be the slightest thing.”
The sergeant put away his notebook and folded his arms.
“The thing is Inspector Zhang, we have what looks like a suicide and no real motive for it to be anything other than that,” said the chief inspector.
“The handcuffs worry me,” said Inspector Zhang. “Why would he handcuff himself?”
“To make sure that he couldn’t help himself?” said the sergeant. “He could have handcuffed his own hands behind his back then kicked away the chair, knowing that with his hands cuffed it would be a sure thing.”
“Have you ever known someone to kill themselves in such a manner? Handcuffing themselves first?”
“I’ve seen a man cut his wrists and hang himself,” said the sergeant.
Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully, then looked across at Chief Inspector Hawthorne. “And what about the handkerchief?” he said, nodding at the evidence bag in the detective’s hand. “Why would he put that in his mouth and then spit it out?”
“We don’t know for sure it was in his mouth,” said Chief Inspector Hawthorne. “We’ll have to wait for the DNA results, and the way the lab is backed up that could be a week or more?”
“Backed up?” repeated Inspector Zhang. In Singapore all forensic tests were completed within twenty-four hours, and usually the results came back on the same day.
“They’re busy. Even if I put a rush on it, it’ll take a week or so. But here’s the thing, Inspector Zhang. If Mr. Hyde did indeed have the handkerchief in his mouth, why did he spit it out?”
“I have been asking myself the very same question.” Inspector Zhang shrugged. “I do not know.”
“And if it was in his mouth, why didn’t he call for help once he had spat it out?” He looked over at the manager. “Did the chambermaid hear anything?”
The manager shook his head. “No shouting. Just a thump, she said. Probably the chair falling over.”
“But no shouts?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“And did she see anyone entering or leaving the room?”
“I asked her that and she said no, no one,” said the manager.
The chief inspector looked at Inspector Zhang and shrugged. “So Mr. Hyde was alone in the room, and at no point did he cry out for help.”
“I agree, it is a mystery,” said Inspector Zhang.
“In Singapore you might describe it as a mystery, but here in England we call it suicide, plain and simple.”
“If you say so, Chief Inspector.”
Chief Inspector Hawthorne sighed and shook his head. “It isn’t a matter of what I say, it’s about looking at the facts,” he said. “I don’t know how you go about things in Singapore but in England we base our conclusions on facts and not feelings. And the facts in this case are that the door was closed, as was the window. No one left the room by the door and the window is locked. The window and the door are the only way into the room, therefore Mr. Hyde was alone when he died. If he was alone, then it can only have been suicide.”
Inspector Zhang shrugged but said nothing.
The chief inspector held up the evidence bag. “Whether or not Mr. Hyde’s DNA is on this handkerchief doesn’t change anything. Nor does the fact that there was no note.”
“I understand,” said Inspector Zhang. “But bearing in mind the threats made by Mr. Dumbleton yesterday, I wonder if it might be worth interviewing him.”
“Do you now?”
Inspector Zhang smiled, took a red handkerchief from his pocket, removed his spectacles and began to polish them. “I am being a nuisance, I understand that. And I know I am simply a visitor to your country.”
“I appreciate your professionalism,” said the chief inspector. “And your enthusiasm. But sometimes things are exactly as they seem.”
“I wonder if I might ask you to grant me the professional courtesy of at least asking Mr. Dumbleton a few questions,” said Inspector Zhang.
“I’m not sure that’s appropriate,” said the chief inspector.
“Considering the threats that Mr. Dumbleton made, he must surely be considered a suspect. And I was a witness to those threats.”
The chief inspector rubbed his chin and sighed. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” he said. “But as an observer only, is that clear?”
“As crystal,” said Inspector Zhang. He put his glasses back on and smiled amiably.
“Then let’s go and talk to him. You said
he was at a lunch?”
“The Murder Mystery Meal. In the banqueting hall on the ground floor.”
The chief inspector opened the door. There were still half a dozen people in the corridor. “Please, will you all go downstairs,” he said. “There is nothing here to see.” He turned to his sergeant. “You’d better stay here until the doctor arrives,” he said. The sergeant closed the door, stood with his back to it and folded his arms.
The chief inspector went downstairs with Inspector Zhang and the manager. When they got to the ballroom they found it was almost empty, though Mrs. Zhang was still sitting at her table. She waved and came over to him.
“What happened?” asked Inspector Zhang. “Where is everyone?”
“When they heard that Mr. Hyde had killed himself, they decided to bring the lunch to an end,” she said. “He had a lot of friends here and everyone was a bit shocked.”
The chief inspector turned to the manager. “See if you can find out where Mr. Dumbleton is now,” he said. The manager nodded and hurried off to reception.
“Is it true? Did Mr. Hyde kill himself?” asked Mrs. Zhang.
“It seems that way,” said the chief inspector.
“I’m sorry, this is my wife,” said Inspector Zhang.
The chief inspector shook her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Zhang. My name is Chief Inspector Hawthorne.”
“I’m sure my husband will be a big help in your investigation,” she said. “He is the best detective in Singapore.”
Before the chief inspector could reply, the manager returned. “Mr. Dumbleton is in his room.”
“Let’s go and have a word, then,” said the chief inspector. He and Inspector Zhang followed the manager up to the top floor and along the corridor to Mr. Dumbleton’s room. Chief Inspector Hawthorne knocked on the door and after a few seconds Dumbleton opened it. The chief inspector showed Dumbleton his warrant card and he let them into his room. The manager waited in the corridor and Inspector Zhang left the door ajar.
“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.
The Eight Curious Cases of Inspector Zhang Page 19