Free The Eight Curious Cases of Inspector Zhang by Stephen Leather Page A

I went home. I made some phone calls and then I knocked on the door of the flat next door and asked Mr. Diswani to turn down the volume of their television set.” Mr. Wong smiled. “I caused quite a scene.”
    â€œYou wanted the neighbour to remember you, so that he would confirm your alibi.”
    Mr. Wong nodded. “It worked, didn’t it?”
    â€œThat part of your plan did, yes,” said Inspector Zhang. “Once you had established your alibi, your mistress stood on the edge of the roof to attract the attention of passers-by.”
    â€œShe was so high up, no one would know that it wasn’t my wife. Then she tipped Celia’s body over and went back to her apartment.”
    â€œIt was a very good plan,” said Inspector Zhang. “But not good enough.” He nodded at the two uniformed policemen. “Take him away,” he said.
    One of the policemen handcuffed Mr. Wong and he was led out of the front door.
    â€œWhat will happen to them, do you think?” asked the sergeant.
    â€œThat is up to a judge,” said Inspector Zhang. “But I don’t think that any court will believe that drowning is a valid means of self-defence. Drowning takes time. He must have held her under the water long after his wife had let go off the knife.” He shuddered. “But as I said, that is not our concern.”
    He walked towards the door and they went down together to a waiting police car.
    â€œWhen did you first suspect the husband, Inspector Zhang?” asked Sergeant Lee, following Inspector Zhang into the car.
    â€œThe second time we saw him,” said the inspector. “When I asked him about the cut on his hand he had a sticking plaster, remember?
    â€œHe said that he had cut himself when he was cooking.”
    â€œYes, that’s what he said. But he was right-handed, and the cut was on his right hand. I couldn’t help wonder how someone right-handed could cut themselves on the right hand.”
    â€œHe could have done that picking up the knife, or if the knife had slipped.”
    Inspector Zhang nodded and pushed his spectacles further up on his nose. “But it was the plaster, rather than the wound, that was the real clue that something was amiss.”
    â€œThe plaster?” repeated Sergeant Lee. “It was a regular sticking plaster, I thought.”
    â€œYes it was,” said the inspector. “It was a small flesh-coloured plaster, nothing out of the ordinary about it. But when I went to the bathroom, I looked in the first aid cupboard and the plasters there were the transparent kind. A different brand completely.”
    â€œAh,” said Sergeant Lee.
    â€œSo it seemed obvious to me that if the plaster had come from somewhere else, then there was every possibility that he was lying about the circumstances that had led to him receiving the wound. And lies, I always say, are like cockroaches. For every one that you see, there are ten that are hidden.”
    â€œAnd when you checked the first aid cabinet in Miss Yu’s bathroom, you saw the same brand of plaster that Mr. Wong had used.”
    â€œExactly. Which meant that he must have been in her apartment when he was injured.”
    Sergeant Lee nodded and scribbled in her notebook.
    â€œWhat are you writing?” asked the inspector.
    â€œI write down everything you tell me, Inspector Zhang. So that I won’t forget.”
    â€œPerhaps one day you will write about my cases, become my Dr. Watson.”
    Sergeant Lee smiled. “That would be an honour, Inspector Zhang, because you are most certainly my Sherlock Holmes.”
    Inspector Zhang beamed with pride but said nothing.

INSPECTOR ZHANG AND THE DEAD THAI GANGSTER
    Inspector Zhang looked out through the window at the fields far below. There was so much land, he thought, compared with his own Singapore. The near four million population of the island state was crowded into just 253 square miles and