The Senior Assistant Commissioner sighed. “It wasn’t the first time that the customer had taken delivery of boxes in a container from Thailand,” he said. “They were in fact a regular customer. But the customer never actually met anyone from the import-export company. All charges were paid for in Thailand, by a company that apparently does not exist. Or at least does not exist now. The shipping costs were paid in full from Thailand along with instructions of what to do with the consignment. Basically the boxes were to be taken to a delivery address and left there.”
He walked around his chair, sat down, and poured himself a glass of water from a bottle. He didn’t offer any to Inspector Zhang, and slowly sipped some before continuing.
“The delivery address was never the same, but it was always an apartment in a block in the Geylang area. The delivery men would take the boxes to the apartment and would find a key under the mat outside the door. They would unlock the door, place the boxes in the apartment, then relock the door, put the key back under the mat, and leave. They had apparently done that four times over the past year. The consignment we found was the fifth.”
He took another sip of water.
“So, Inspector Kwok liaised with the delivery company and obtained the address from them. She then arranged for our technical department to install CCTV cameras in the hallway of the apartment building and for human surveillance outside the building. Her team then monitored the delivery of the drugs and watched on CCTV as the delivery men went inside the apartment, delivered the boxes, and then left. The men arrived at the apartment, retrieved the key, and took the boxes inside. A few minutes later they left, locked the door, and put the key back under the mat. Inspector Kwok and her team then settled down to wait for the drugs to be collected.” He sighed. “Seven days they waited. Round-the-clock surveillance, three teams of four. I personally signed off on the budget.”
The Senior Assistant Commissioner picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk. “On the seventh day she called me and said that she thought something had gone wrong, that perhaps the criminals had discovered that the apartment was under surveillance. I gave her permission to abort the operation and to enter the apartment.” He put down the pen and interlinked his fingers. “Inspector Kwok did so and discovered that the drugs had vanished. The apartment was empty.” He sighed again. “So you see, Inspector Zhang, we have a mystery. I believe it is what crime writers call a closed room mystery.”
“A locked room mystery, yes,” said Inspector Zhang. “It is a staple of crime fiction.”
“And I gather that you are something of an expert in the field,” said the Senior Assistant Commissioner.
“Hardly an expert, Sir,” said Inspector Zhang, feeling his cheeks redden at the compliment.
“There’s no need for modesty, Inspector,” said the Senior Assistant Commissioner. “Everyone knows of your success in solving the murder of the American businessman found in his locked hotel room. I need you to apply your expertise to this case. I need you to find the missing drugs and apprehend the criminals.”
“I should be most happy to assist,” said Inspector Zhang.
“I have asked Inspector Kwok to meet with you at the apartment,” said the Senior Assistant Commissioner. “Hopefully you will be able to cast some light on the situation.” He handed Inspector Zhang a piece of paper on which was written an address in Geylang.
“I shall certainly do my best,” said Inspector Zhang.
The Senior Assistant Commissioner leaned back in his chair. “Answer me a question,” he said.
“If I can.”
“Why are you still an inspector? Why did you never move through the ranks. You were one of the cleverest at the Academy. Everyone said that you were destined for great things within the force.”
Inspector Zhang shrugged. “I am happy being a detective,” he said. “I am not a good manager. And I am not suited for politics. You need to be good at both to reach the top.”
“You are happy as an inspector?”
“Very.”
The Senior Assistant Commissioner sighed. “It is certainly much harder the higher one climbs,” he said. “There are some days when I wish I was back handling cases and solving crimes.”
“There is a feeling of satisfaction from cracking a case, that is certainly true,” said Inspector Zhang.
“But then I think of the salary, and the pension, and the respect,” said the Senior Assistant Commissioner. “I could never give that up.” He waved at the door. “Anyway, thank you for agreeing to help, and as I said, I will be relying on your discretion.”
Inspector Zhang drove back to New Bridge Road where Sergeant Lee was waiting for him in the CID office. She was wearing a pale blue suit and had her hair clipped up with a large navy blue clip. He explained that they had to postpone their current investigations as the Senior Assistant Commissioner’s assignment took precedence.
He decided to let the sergeant drive as that would give him time to think. Inspector Zhang did not enjoy driving and generally found it stressful, even in rule-conscious Singapore. He settled back in his seat as Sergeant Lee drove out of the car park. “So do you know Inspector Sally Kwok?” he asked as they headed towards Geylang.
“We were at the Academy together,” she said.
Inspector Zhang looked across at her, surprised. “Is she your age?”
“A year younger, I think.”
“She has done very well to make inspector at twenty-three,” said Inspector Zhang. “I myself was not promoted until I was thirty-five.”
“She is what they call a high-flyer, Sir.”
“But twenty-three? You are an able detective, Sergeant Lee, Your record is second to none. But you are still a sergeant.”
“Yes, Sir,” said Sergeant Lee. “I am aware of that.”
“What I mean, Sergeant Lee, is that Miss Kwok must be an exceptional police officer to have been promoted so quickly.”
“One would assume so,” said Sergeant Lee.
“Was her ability discernable at the academy?”
“Not her ability, no,” said Sergeant Lee. “But I think we all knew that she was destined for great things.”
“You intrigue me, Sergeant Lee,” said Inspector Zhang, taking off his spectacles and polishing them.
“I don’t mean to,” she said.
“I sense that there is something you are not telling me.”
Sergeant Lee flashed him a tight smile and she made a left turn. “I’m not one to gossip, Inspector.”
“I am very well aware of that,” said Inspector Zhang. “Your discretion is one of your many excellent qualities. But as I have been told to assist Inspector Kwok, anything you can tell me that might help me would be greatly appreciated. And be kept in total confidence, of course.”
Sergeant Lee pursed her lips for several seconds as if she was having trouble reaching a decision, then she nodded slowly. “Inspector Kwok is very pretty,” she said. “She has something of a hypnotic effect on men.”
Inspector Zhang smiled. “Hypnotic?”
“In the way that a cobra can hypnotise a rabbit before striking,” she said.
Inspector Zhang chuckled as he put his spectacles back on. “And do you think that perhaps the Senior Assistant Commissioner is of the rabbit persuasion?”
“Inspector, I couldn’t possibly say such a thing,” she said, her cheeks reddening.
“Sergeant Lee, I was joking,” said Inspector Zhang. “It’s just that the thought had occurred to me that if she was such a good police officer that she was promoted to inspector at twenty-three, how did she manage to misplace a hundred kilos of Burmese heroin?”
Sergeant Lee pulled up in front of a twelve-storey apartment block. There was a black Lexus already parked there and next to it a young woman in a belted raincoat that looked like something that Philip Marlow might have worn in a Raymond Chandler novel. It was a wonderful coat, thought Inspector Zhang as he climbed out of Sergeant Lee’s car. A real detective’s coat.<
br />
“Inspector Zhang?” said the woman.
“Indeed,” said Inspector Zhang. “You are Inspector Kwok?”
She flashed him a wonderful smile. “Thank you so much for coming,” she said, hurrying over to him. “This is a nightmare, an absolute nightmare.”
She was very pretty, and looked younger than twenty-three. Her hair was shoulder length, black and glistening, her cheekbones were as sharp as razors, her skin as flawless as a porcelain figurine. She held out her right hand, the nails perfectly manicured and painted blood red. Inspector Zhang had a sudden impulse to take the hand and kiss the back of it in the style of Hercule Poirot but he resisted the urge and shook it instead. “I am here to be of service,” he said. He turned to introduce his Sergeant. “And this is Sergeant Lee.”
Inspector Kwok nodded curtly at Sergeant Lee and gave her the faintest of smiles, before turning back to Inspector Zhang. “The apartment is on the eighth floor,” he said. “A very auspicious number.”
“Not always,” said Sergeant Lee, her voice little more than a whisper and Inspector Zhang doubted that Inspector Kwok had heard but he nevertheless gave the sergeant a stern look.
Inspector Kwok took them over to the entrance to the building and tapped a four-digit code into the keypad. The lock clicked and she pushed open the door. There was a reception desk but it was unmanned. “There is a security guard at night but not during the day,” said Inspector Kwok. There were two elevators and one was already on the ground floor, its door open. They rode up together to the eighth floor.
“Actually, Inspector Kwok, we were at the Academy together,” said Sergeant Lee.
“Really?” said Inspector Kwok, her face a blank mask. “There were a great many entrants that year, I seem to remember. So, Inspector Zhang, you solved the case of the body in the five star hotel, didn’t you?”
“I did,” said Inspector Zhang.
“I must say that I do not like mysteries,” said Inspector Kwok. “I like there to be clear physical evidence that proves how a crime was committed and who committed it.”
“Often one has to be able to read the evidence,” said Inspector Zhang. “It is a question of spotting the clues and understanding their significance. That is what I enjoy about a mystery. “
“And you did not use any forensic evidence, is that correct?”
“Sometimes forensic evidence is not necessary,” said Inspector Zhang. “Sometimes we detectives rely too much on technology and not enough on ze little grey cells.”
Inspector Kwok frowned and was just about to ask him what he meant when the lift stopped and the doors opened. She stepped out and Inspector Zhang and Sergeant Lee followed her. As the lift doors closed behind them, Inspector Kwok pointed up at a smoke detector in the ceiling. “This is our surveillance camera,” she said. “It feeds a signal down to an empty apartment on the second floor. It was on twenty-four hours a day and we digitally recorded everything.” She pointed at a door just six feet away from the camera. “And this is the apartment. Number eight-four-two.”
The number was on a small plastic sign at eye height. Below it was a small security viewer so that anyone inside could see who was at the door before opening it. There was a single lock below a round steel doorknob.
On the floor was a rubber matt with the word WELCOME on it in large black capital letters.
“And the key was under the mat, I am told,” said Inspector Zhang.
“Exactly,” said Inspector Kwok. She took a brass key from her pocket and showed it to him.
“Please place it in the position it was on the day that the drugs were delivered,” said Inspector Zhang.
Inspector Kwok knelt down, lifted a corner of the mat and placed the key on the floor. Then she let the mat fall back into place and straightened up. “Just like that,” she said.
“Now, show me exactly what happened,” said Inspector Zhang.
Sergeant Lee took out her notebook and began taking notes.
“The two men from the delivery company came up in the lift with the boxes,” said Inspector Kwok. “I was down on the second floor with the Drugs Squad team. They arrived on this floor and one of the men moved the mat to get the key, and unlocked the door.”
“And how were they carrying the boxes. There were ten cardboard boxes, were there not?”
Inspector Zhang nodded. “Ten boxes, each containing ten kilos. Each kilo was wrapped in plastic. So there were ten packages in each box, and ten boxes. The men had five boxes each, stacked on a trolley. One of the two-wheeled trolleys that porters use.”
“And they drove the boxes here from where?”
“From the company’s bonded warehouse, inside the container port.”
“And of course you examined the drugs in the warehouse?”
“Of course.”
“So the men brought the drugs up to the eighth floor. What happened then?”
“They unlocked the door and took the trolley’s inside. They put the drugs in the middle of the room and then left.”
“Did you see them do that?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Inspector Zhang pointed at the smoke detector. “The camera allows for coverage of the hallway, but if the door is closed you would not be able to see inside the apartment. Did they close the door when they went inside or leave it open.”
“They closed it,” she said.
“And there is no surveillance camera inside the apartment?”
“No, Inspector Zhang. There is not.”
“That is a pity,” said Inspector Zhang. “So what happened next?”
“The two men were inside for two minutes. They reappeared with their trolleys and went back downstairs. We then waited for the drugs to be collected. But no one came.”
“You waited for a week, I gather?”
“Yes. A week. And then I spoke to the Senior Assistant Commissioner who said that we should go in and check and when we went in, the drugs had gone.”
Inspector Zhang waved at the door. “If you would be so good as to open the door,” he said. “Exactly as you did then.”
Inspector Kwok nodded, bent down and retrieved the key and inserted it into the lock. “The lock and the key are new,” she said. “It is a security lock and has to be turned twice to lock and unlock.” She turned the key twice and opened the door, then pointed to a metal strip that ran around the doorframe. “You can see that the door has been reinforced, too.”
Inspector Zhang studied the metal reinforcing and nodded. “They wanted to make sure that the apartment was secure,” he said. “Not surprising when you think about the value of a hundred kilos of heroin.”
Inspector Kwok stood to the side to allow Inspector Zhang in first. He stepped over the threshold. It was a small apartment, a square room about fifteen feet by twelve feet, with a sliding window that led out onto a small balcony that overlooked another apartment block. There were two doors to his left, and one to the right. There was an old Toshiba television set on a black sideboard, a plastic sofa and a wooden coffee table with circular stains dotted over it and cigarette burn marks around the edge.
Between the two doors to his left was a teak veneer storage unit with Chinese figurines on one shelf and Chinese books on another. There were two glass doors in the unit, behind one was a collection of earthenware teapots and behind the other was a half-empty bottle of Chivas Regal whisky.
One of the doors led to a small kitchen with an old rattling refrigerator and a grease-encrusted stove. Inspector Zhang opened the refrigerator. It was empty. A cockroach scuttled from underneath the stove, got half way across the toiled floor, then turned around and went back the way it had come.
The other door led to a small shower room with a washbasin and toilet. There was no toilet paper, Inspector Zhang noticed, and no soap or shampoo.
The door on the other side of the sitting room led to a bedroom with a double bed with a white-painted headboard, a matching side table and a large wooden wardrobe. Inspe
ctor Zhang opened the wardrobe, but there were only half a dozen wire coat hangers inside.
“The apartment was just like this when you entered?” he asked.
“Exactly,” said Inspector Kwok.
Inspector Zhang knelt down carefully and peered under the bed. Another cockroach scuttled away and disappeared under the skirting board.
“We looked everywhere,” said Inspector Kwok.
“I’m sure you did,” said Inspector Zhang.
“But as you can see, it is a small apartment and there are no hiding places.”
Inspector Zhang tapped the floor with his foot. . The bedroom floor was tiled, as was the sitting room, bathroom and kitchen. It was the same pale green tiles in all the rooms.
“How long were the men in the apartment?” he asked.
“Two minutes. Three at most. They left the boxes and then they took the trolleys back to the van.”
Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully. He looked up at the ceiling. It was plaster, painted white.
He went over to the bedroom window and opened it. He peered out. Down below was a car park. There were no ledges or balconies, and no external pipework that would have allowed someone to have climbed out.
“We had a car down there with two undercover police officers,” said Inspector Kwok. “They had the rear of the building under constant surveillance.”
Inspector Zhang craned his neck to look upwards.
“If anyone had lowered the drugs up or down through the window, we would have seen it,” Inspector Kwok said.
“One would hope so,” said Inspector Zhang.
He pulled his head back in and looked over at Sergeant Lee., who was standing at the bedroom door, taking notes. “What do you think, Sergeant?”
Sergeant Lee looked up from her notebook. “It is a mystery, Inspector Zhang,” she said.
“Indeed it is. Do you have any thoughts on how we might solve it?”
IZ SSC The Inspector Zhang Short Stories Page 5