Inspector Zhang And The Falling Woman Read Free Page A

Celia Wong’s suicide was on page seven, a mere three paragraphs that looked as if they had come straight from the police blotter. His telephone rang and he picked it up. "Inspector Zhang? This is Dr. Choi from the Forensic Medicine Division."
    "Dr. Choi. How are you?"   Inspector Zhang had known Maggie Choi for almost fifteen years but she always used his title when she addressed him and he always returned the courtesy. She was in her late thirties, a slightly overweight lady with a moon face and like Inspector Zhang hampered by poor eyesight.
    "I am fine, Inspector Zhang, thank you for asking. I am calling about the body that you sent to us last night."
    "Ah yes. Celia Wong."
    "That’s correct. Twenty-seven year old Chinese female. I’m calling to notify you about the cause of death."
    "I don’t think there’s much doubt about that, Dr. Choi," said Inspector Zhang. "I was there when she fell."
    "Oh, her injuries were catastrophic, there is no question of that," said the doctor. "But they weren’t the cause of death. They were post-mortem."
    "That’s interesting," said the inspector, sitting up straight.
    "Drowning was the cause of death."
    "Drowning?" repeated Inspector Zhang, unable to believe his ears.
    "Her lungs were full of water."
    As Inspector Zhang took down the details in his notebook, Sergeant Lee arrived, carrying a cup of Starbucks coffee.   Inspector Zhang put down the phone and blinked at his sergeant. "Sergeant Lee, we have ourselves a mystery," he said.
    "A mystery?" repeated Sergeant Lee.
    "An impossible mystery," said Inspector Zhang, "and they are the best." He took off his spectacles and leant back in his chair as he polished the lenses with his handkerchief.   "An impossible mystery is just that, a mystery where something impossible has happened. In this case, Mrs. Wong jumped from the building but the fall did not kill her."
    "It didn’t?"
    "According to the Forensic Medicine Department, Mrs. Wong drowned."
    "But that’s impossible."
    "Exactly," said Inspector Zhang. "That is why I said we have an impossible mystery." He put his glasses on and steepled his fingers over his stomach. "The impossible mystery was a feature of the golden age of detective fiction, where an amateur sleuth or professional investigator would be called in to examine a crime which had been committed in an impossible manner. Some of the best were written by Agatha Christie, Ellery Queen and the great John Dickson Carr .   And we mustn’t forget Sir Arthur Conan Doyle , of course, and his immortal Sherlock Holmes . And now, Sergeant Lee, you and I have a real life impossible mystery to solve."
    "So you now suspect foul play?" asked Sergeant Lee.
    "How could it not be?" asked Inspector Zhang.
    "But Mrs. Wong told you that she was going to kill herself, and then she did."
    "You think that she managed to drown herself as she fell? That is very unlikely. Impossible in fact."   He stood up. "First we must return to the scene of the crime, because that is what I think we have now. A crime."
    Inspector Zhang drove them to River Valley and parked in a multi-storey car park. This time there was a doorman on duty and he buzzed them in. His name was Mr. Lau and he told the detectives that he worked from eight o’clock in the morning until six o’clock in the evening. He was in his sixties, a small man with a bald head and a mole the size of a small coin on his chin. Inspector Zhang showed him a photocopy of Mrs. Wong’s identity card. "Has this lady ever visited anyone in the building?"
    Mr. Lau licked his lower lip as he studied the photocopy, then he shook his head. "I don’t think so," he said.
    "And there’s no CCTV in the building?"
    "The residents didn’t want it," he said. "People like their privacy."
    "It would make our job easier if every building had CCTV," said Inspector Zhang.
    "I suppose you’d like them inside people’s homes, too," said Mr. Lau.
    "That might be going too far," said Inspector Zhang, putting