continued. “He says he is a friend of the Deputy Commissioner and that he will sue our department if we continue to hold him against his will.”
Inspector Zhang chuckled softly. “Well, I wish him every success with that,” he said.
“Those are the only two passengers sitting on the right-hand side,” said Sergeant Lee: “Mr. Lung and Miss Boontaisong.”
“Port,” said Captain Kumar. “That’s the port side. Right and left depend on which way you are facing, so on planes and boats we say port and starboard. As you face the front, port is on the left and starboard is on the right.” He smiled. “It prevents confusion.”
“And I am all in favour of preventing confusion,” said Inspector Zhang. “So, Sergeant Lee, who is sitting in the middle of the cabin?”
The Sergeant nodded at the man in sunglasses sitting in 11F. He was sitting with his arms folded, staring straight ahead at the bulkhead. “The man there is Mr. Lev Gottesman, from Israel. He is Mr. Srisai’s bodyguard. Was, I mean. He was Mr. Srisai’s bodyguard.”
“And why would Mr. Srisai require the services of a bodyguard?” asked Inspector Zhang.
“I didn’t ask,” said Sergeant Lee. “I’m sorry. Should I have?”
“I shall question Mr. Gottesman shortly,” said the Inspector. “Please continue.”
Sergeant Lee pursed her lips and looked at her notebook. “In the row behind Mr. Gottesman, in seat 14A, is Andrew Yates, a British stockbroker who works for a Thai firm. He was attending a meeting in Singapore.” Inspector Zhang looked over at a man in his early forties wearing a grey suit. His hair was dyed blond, and gel glistened under the cabin lights as he bent down over a BlackBerry, texting with both thumbs.
“Directly behind Mr. Yates are Mr. and Mrs. Woodhouse from Seattle in the United States. They are touring Southeast Asia. They were in Singapore for three days; they have a week in Thailand, and then they are due to fly to Vietnam and then on to China.”
She nodded at the final passenger, a Thai man sitting at the back of the cabin in seat 16H, adjacent to the aisle. “Mr. Nakprakone is a journalist who works for
“I have heard of the paper,” said Inspector Zhang. “It is one of those sensationalist papers that publish pictures of accidents and murders on their front pages, I believe.”
“Mr. Nakprakone said that it sells more than a million copies every day.”
“Sensationalism sells; that is true,” said Inspector Zhang with a sigh. “I am personally happier with more dignified newspapers such as our own
“I didn’t. Should I have done?”
“It’s not a problem,” said Inspector Zhang. “So, I assume you asked everyone if they heard or saw anything suspicious during the flight.”
“No one did, sir.”
“And I assume that no one mentioned hearing a gunshot?”
“Definitely not. Besides, sir, it would be impossible for anyone to get a gun onto a plane. There are stringent security checks at Changi.”
The stewardess who had been talking to the pilot appeared at Inspector Zhang’s shoulder. “Inspector Zhang, would it be all right to serve drinks and snacks to the passengers?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said.
The stewardess smiled and walked to the galley.
“So, first things first,” said Inspector Zhang. “We need to know why our victim was murdered. More often than not, if you know why a murder took place, you will know who committed it.”
“So you want to talk to the bodyguard?”
Inspector Zhang shook his head. “I believe I will get more information from Mr. Nakprakone,” he said.
Sergeant Lee scratched her head as Inspector Zhang walked to the rear of the cabin and then cut across seats D and F to get to the Thai man sitting in seat 16H. “Mr. Nakprakone?” he said. The man nodded. Inspector Zhang gestured at the empty seat by the window. “Would you mind if I sat there while I ask you a few questions?”
“Go ahead,” said Mr. Nakprakone and moved his feet to allow the Inspector to squeeze by.
Inspector Zhang sat down, adjusting the creases of his trousers. “I assume you know that it is Mr. Srisai who has been murdered?”
Mr. Nakprakone nodded.
“I was wondering if you could tell me a little about Mr. Srisai.”
Mr. Nakprakone frowned. “Why would you think that I would know anything about him?”
“Because you’re a journalist, and because newspapers don’t usually fly their staff around in business class.” He smiled and shrugged. “I am in the same position. My boss told me that I had to fly economy. The Singapore Police Force is always trying to reduce costs, and I am sure that your newspaper is the same.”
Mr. Nakprakone grinned. “That is exactly right,” he said, speaking slowly, as if he were not entirely comfortable communicating in English.
“So am I right in assuming that you are here in the business-class section so that you could talk to him, perhaps even to interview him?”
Mr. Nakprakone nodded. He took a small digital camera from his pocket. “And to also get a photograph.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“Only for a very short time. I waited for his bodyguard to go to the toilet, and then I asked Khun Srisai for an interview. He refused.”
“And did you by any chance get a photograph?” Mr. Nakprakone switched on the camera and held it out to Inspector Zhang. “Just one,” he said. Inspector Zhang looked at the screen on the back of the camera. Mr. Srisai was in his seat, holding up his hand, an angry look on his face. Inspector Zhang looked at the time code on the bottom of the picture. It had been taken thirty minutes before the plane had landed. “He obviously didn’t want to be photographed,” he said, handing back the camera.
“Just after I took it, the bodyguard came back, so I returned to my seat.” He put the camera away.
“So tell me, why was Mr. Srisai of such interest to your paper?”
“He is a well-known gangster, but he has political aspirations,” said the journalist. “There was an attempt on his life in Udon Thani two months ago, and he fled to Singapore. But last week his uncle died, and he was returning for the funeral.”
“Political aspirations?”
“He had been setting up a vote-buying campaign in his home province, which could well have seen him becoming an MP in the next election. But someone put a bomb under his car and killed his driver. And shots were fired at his house at night, killing a maid.”
“So he was forced to flee Thailand?”
“We think he was just hiding out while he took care of his enemies.”
“Took care?”
Mr. Nakprakone made a gun from his hand and pretended to fire it. “There have been half a dozen killings in his province since he left.”
Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully. “You think he was taking revenge?”
“I am sure of it. And so was my paper.”
“So it is fair to say that a lot of people would want Mr. Srisai dead?”
Mr. Nakprakone nodded.
“You say that his uncle died. What happened?” Two stewardesses began moving down the aisles, handing out drinks and snacks.
“He was driving his motorcycle at night and he crashed. He’d been drinking, and the other driver fled the scene.” He shrugged. “A common enough event in Thailand.” He leaned closer to the Inspector. “So he was shot, is that right?”
“It appears so, yes.”
“But that is impossible. He was perfectly all right when I spoke to him, and there have been no shots. We would have heard or seen something, wouldn’t we?”
