“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.
“I was checking that passengers had their seatbelts fastened, so it would have been just as we were starting our approach. That would have been about fifteen minutes before we landed.”
“And what made you realise that something was wrong?”
“I thought he was asleep,” said the stewardess. “I leaned over to fasten the belt and I moved his jacket. That’s when I saw the blood.” She shuddered. “There was so much blood.”
“What did you do then?” asked the Inspector.
“I went to get the Chief Purser and he checked for a pulse, and when he didn’t find one, we covered him with a blanket.”
“Did you inform the pilot right away?”
“No, Mr. Yip said we should wait until we had landed.”
“And did you hear anything at all unusual during the flight?”
The stewardess frowned. “Unusual?”
“A gunshot? A loud bang?”
The stewardess laughed nervously and put a hand up over her mouth. “Of course not,” she said. She looked at Captain Kumar. “A gunshot?”
“There was no gunshot,” said Captain Kumar. “I was sitting in the cockpit with the first officer just ten feet away. We would have heard a shot if there had been one, as would the rest of the passengers. There was no shot.”
“Well, I can assure you that there is a bullet hole in the body and gunshot residue on the shirt,” said Inspector Zhang. “He was shot and at close range.”
“But that’s impossible!” said the pilot.
“Yes,” agreed Inspector Zhang. “It is. Quite impossible.” He reached into the dead man’s inside pocket and took out a Thai passport. He opened it and compared the picture to the face of the victim. They matched. “Kwanchai Srisai,” read Inspector Zhang. “Born in Udon Thani. Thirty-seven years old.” He closed the passport, handed it to Sergeant Lee and turned to look at the cabin. “The cabin appears to be almost empty,” he said to the pilot. “Have some passengers moved to the rear of the plane?”
The pilot shook his head. “At this time of the year the Raffles section is rarely full,” he said. “The business- class fare is quite expensive, and the flight from Singapore to Bangkok is short, so most of our passengers choose to fly economy.”
Inspector Zhang did a quick head count. “Eight passengers in all, including the victim.”
The pilot looked across at the stewardess. “Is that what the manifest says?”
“That is correct,” she said. “Eight passengers.”
“And during the flight, did any passengers from the economy section come forward to this part of the plane?”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“I need to know for certain,” said Inspector Zhang.
The stewardess nodded. “You will need to ask the other members of the cabin crew,” she said. “I was busy in the galley for some of the flight. Twice I had to clean the toilets, and I had to go to the cockpit with coffee for Captain Kumar and the first officer.”
“She did,” said the Captain. “I always have a cup of coffee midway through a flight.”
“Then I will need to talk to the rest of the cabin crew at some point,” said Inspector Zhang. “So tell me, Miss Sumin, was everything okay with Mr. Srisai during the flight?”
“In what way, Inspector?”
“Did anything out of the ordinary happen? Before you discovered that he was dead, obviously.”
“I don’t think so.”
“He ate his meal?”
She nodded. “Yes, and he drank a lot of champagne. He was always asking for champagne.”
“And he went to the bathroom?”
“Just once. About halfway through the flight, just after I had cleared away his meal things.”
“But nothing unusual?”
“No, Inspector. Nothing.”
Inspector Zhang turned to Sergeant Lee. “So, Sergeant, run through the passengers for me, please.”
“As you said, there are seven passengers in addition to the victim,” said Sergeant Lee. She turned and pointed to a young Thai girl who was listening to music through headphones, bobbing her head back and forth in time to the music. “The lady in 14A is a Thai student, Tasanee Boontaisong. She studies in Singapore and is returning to see her parents.”
Inspector Zhang frowned as he looked at the girl. “I see that there are no rows numbered 1 to 10 and that the front row of the cabin is row 11,” he said. “She is in the third row; that would make it row 13, would it not?”
“There is no row 13,” said Captain Kumar. “In some cultures the number 13 is considered unlucky.”
Sergeant Lee looked up from her notebook. “Clearly on this flight it was number 11 that was unlucky,” she said.
Inspector Zhang looked at her sternly, but she didn’t appear to have been joking, merely stating a fact.
“Two rows behind Miss Boontaisong in 16A is Lung Chin-po, the Singaporean businessman you spoke to,” she
