Inspector Zhang And The Falling Woman Read Online Free PDF Page B

killed by a stranger."
    "That was what I told Shirley. If you found my wife and I didn’t have an alibi then I would be the obvious suspect. But if she died when I was in my apartment, then I would be in the clear."
    "Your mistress and your wife are not dissimilar in appearance, which enabled the deception," said the inspector.
    Mr. Wong nodded. "That was what gave me the idea," he said. "We removed the clothes she was wearing and then we dried her hair and redressed her in one of Shirley’s dresses. Shirley changed into a similar dress and then we carried my wife to the roof. Then 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."
    "You wanted the neighbour to remember you, so that he would confirm your alibi."
    Mr. Wong nodded. "It worked, didn’t it?"
    "That 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."
    "She 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."
    "It 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.
    "What will happen to them, do you think?" asked the sergeant.
    "That is up to a jury," said Inspector Zhang. "But I don’t think that any jury 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.
    "When did you first suspect the husband, Inspector Zhang?" asked Sergeant Lee, following Inspector Zhang into the car.
    "The second time we saw him," said the inspector. "When I asked him about the cut on his hand he had a sticking plaster, remember?
    "He said that he had cut himself when he was cooking."
    "Yes, that’s what he said. But he was right-handed and his cut was on his right hand. I couldn’t help wonder how someone right-handed could cut themselves on the right hand."
    "He 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."
    "The plaster?" repeated Sergeant Lee. "It was a regular sticking plaster, I thought."
    "Yes 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."
    "Ah," said Sergeant Lee.
    "So 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."
    "And when you checked the first aid cabinet in Miss Yu’s bathroom, you saw the same brand of plaster that Mr. Wong had used."
    "Exactly. Which meant that he must have been in her apartment when he was injured."
    Sergeant Lee nodded and scribbled in her notebook.
    "What are you writing?" asked the inspector.
    "I write down everything you tell me, Inspector Zhang. So that I won’t forget."
    "Perhaps 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.
     
     
    THE END
     
     
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