Bangkok Noir

“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?”

Inspector Zhang looked forward. All he could see was the back of the seat in front of him. He couldn’t see Sergeant Lee or the pilot, even though he knew that they were standing at the front of the cabin. “You wouldn’t have seen anything sitting here,” said Inspector Zhang. “But you would of course have heard a shot, had there been one.” He stood up and eased himself into the aisle. “Thank you for your help,” he said.

“When can we get off the plane?” asked Mr. Nakprakone.

“As soon as I have ascertained what happened,” said the Inspector. He crossed over to the far side of the cabin and walked up the aisle to where Sergeant Lee was standing with the pilot.

“I shall be writing to the Police Commissioner in Singapore,” said the American tourist as Inspector Zhang walked by.

“I am acting on the Commissioner’s personal instructions,” said Inspector Zhang.

“Then you will be hearing from my lawyer,” snapped the American.

“I shall look forward to it,” said Inspector Zhang. “But in the meantime I have an investigation that requires my undivided attention.” He walked away, leaving the American fuming.

Captain Kumar and Sergeant Lee were waiting expectantly by the exit door.

“The victim was a Thai gangster,” Inspector Zhang said quietly. “He had a lot of enemies.”

“That explains the bodyguard,” whispered Sergeant Lee. The bodyguard was sitting only a few feet away, reading an in-flight magazine.

“According to the journalist, he spoke to Mr. Srisai about half an hour before the plane landed. So he must have been killed in the time between talking to the journalist and the stewardess checking that his seat belt was fastened.”

“That couldn’t have been much more than fifteen minutes,” said Captain Kumar, rubbing his chin. He put a hand on Inspector Zhang’s shoulder. “I think I should assist my first officer with the paperwork, if that is okay with you.”

“Of course, Captain.”

“And nobody heard anything?” Inspector Zhang asked Sergeant Lee as Captain Kumar went into the cockpit and closed the door behind him.

“Nothing,” she said.

Inspector Zhang frowned. “So how can this be, Sergeant Lee? How can a man die of a gunshot wound in an aeroplane cabin without anyone hearing anything?”

“A silencer, sir?”

Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully. “Actually the technical term is ‘suppressor,’ rather than ‘silencer.’ And while they do deaden the sound of a gun, it would certainly still be loud enough to hear in a confined space such as this.”