INSPECTOR ZHANG AND THE HOTEL GUEST
Inspector Zhang removed his spectacles and polished them with a large red handkerchief as he waited for the Indian receptionist to finish her phone call. It was a hot day, even for tropical Singapore, and he was already regretting the five-minute walk to the Clarke Quay MRT station to the Best Western Hotel in Carpenter Street. His wife had borrowed his car to visit one of her relatives in Malaysia, his sergeant’s car was being serviced, and there were no cars available in the office pool so he had no option other than to use the mass transit system. The receptionist put down the receiver, flashed him a professional smile, and asked him how she could help. “My name is Inspector Zhang of the Singapore Police Force,” he said. “I am with the CID at New Bridge Road.” He nodded at his companion, a twenty-four-year-old Chinese woman in a pale green suit with her hair tied up in a neat bun. “This is my colleague, Sergeant Lee. Sergeant Lee smiled and held out her warrant card. “I believe it was the manager who called us,” said Inspector Zhang, putting away his wallet. “About a body.”
The receptionist gasped. “A body? Here? Are you sure?”
“Can I speak to the manager? I am told he is a Mr Leutzinger.”
The receptionist hurried to a back room and reappeared with a tall, cadaverous man in a black suit. He shook hands solemnly with Inspector Zhang. The manager’s nails were beautifully manicured and glistened as if they had been given a coat of varnish. “I am afraid you have been misinformed, Inspector. We didn’t report a body. What we reported to the police was that we had somebody in the hotel. A man who has lost his memory. He has no idea who he is but he is very much alive.”
“And why do you require the services of the police?” said Inspector Zhang, frowning.
“Because he has no money. No identification. And no idea who he is or where he is supposed to be.”
Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully. “Very well,” he said. “Where is this gentleman?”
“Upstairs, in room 302.”
“But if he has checked in, he must have shown his passport or ID card. And you would have checked his credit card.”
“That’s the problem, Inspector Zhang. It’s not his room. But he has the keycard.”
“So who did book the room?”
“A Mrs Petrova. From Russia. She has been out all day.”
“But this man in the room now, he had the correct keycard for the room?”
The manager nodded. “He let himself in and the chambermaid found him there when she went in to clean the room. It’s all a bit of a mystery, I’m afraid.”
A smile spread across Inspector Zhang's face. There was nothing that Inspector Zhang liked more than a mystery, but in low-crime Singapore they were few and far between. “Indeed it is,” he said. “Let us go and talk to the gentleman.”
They went up in the lift together, then along the corridor to room 302. The manager knocked gently on the door. It was opened by a Westerner in a dark blue suit, his tie loose around his neck. He was holding a damp towel to the back of his head. He was in his forties, with jet-black hair and a neatly-trimmed greying moustache.
Inspector Zhang introduced himself and Sergeant Lee as the man sat down on the bed and dabbed at his head with the towel.
“Are you hurt?” asked Inspector Zhang.
“I have a bump on the back of my head,” said the man. He showed the towel to the inspector. “There’s no blood, so I don’t think It’s too bad.”
“We said that he should see a doctor but he insisted that he was all right,” said the manager.
There was a chair in front of a dressing table and Inspector Zhang moved it so that he could sit down opposite the man. “I am told you do not know who you are,” he said.
The man nodded. “I can’t remember anything. Not a thing.”
“You sound English. From the south of England perhaps, but I am not very good at accents. Are you from England?”
The man shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I think you are. You are definitely not American, Australian or South African.”
“I’m sorry. Really. I can’t help you.” He dabbed at the back of his head with the wet towel. “I don’t know where I’m from. Everything before I set foot in this hotel is a blank.”
“And you have no wallet? No identification?”
The man shrugged again. “I think I might have been robbed,” he said.
“That seems highly likely,” said Inspector Zhang. “You are dressed like a businessman but I don’t see a briefcase?”
“If I had one, it was probably stolen.”
“No mobile phone?”
The man shook his head.
“And you have no idea if you live in Singapore or if you are a visitor?”
“I’m sorry. This is crazy, isn’t it?”
“It is unfortunate,” said Inspector Zhang. “But it does happen. A blow to the head can cause temporary amnesia.”
“If he arrived at the airport immigration will have his photograph,” said Sergeant Lee.
“My colleague is correct,” Inspector Zhang said to the man on the bed. “And of course if you are a citizen or a permanent resident your fingerprint and photograph will be on your National Registration Identity Card. So one way or another we will be able to find out who you are, sooner rather than later.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“From my first impression I would say that you live in Singapore, either as a citizen or a permanent resident. And I would say that you are married, so I’m sure that your wife is looking for you.”
“Why do you think that?”” asked the man.
Inspector Zhang spoke to the man in rapid Mandarin, but it was clear from the blank look on his face that he didn’t understand.
“And as you don’t understand Mandarin. I would think that the person you live with is not Chinese. Probably a Westerner like yourself.”
The manager stared incredulously at Inspector Zhang. “Inspector, I can clearly see that he is not wearing a wedding band, so why would you think that he is married?”
“He is not wearing a wedding band now, but you can see that the skin is paler around the base of the wedding finger, so he does normally wear a ring,” said the inspector. “But it was more his suit that suggests he is living with someone.”
“My suit?” said the man.
“Do you like cats?” asked Inspector Zhang.
“Cats?”
“Felines. Are you a cat person or a dog person? People tend to favour one or the other. Myself, I prefer dogs though unfortunately they are not allowed in my building.”
The man ran a hand through his hair. “Dogs, I think.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, dogs.”
“But your wife, she is a cat person, I’m sure.”
The man shook his head, bemused. “How can you possibly know that,” he said.
“Because you have white cat hairs on the legs of your trousers, as if a cat has been rubbing itself against your legs. But there are no similar hairs on your jacket. In my experience cat lovers pick up their pets so from that I deduce that you are not a cat lover but probably live with someone who is. And the pale skin on your wedding finger suggests a wife.”
The man looked at his hand. “They must have taken my wedding ring when I was mugged,” he said. “And my watch.” He held out his left arm. “They’ve taken my watch, too.”
“What about your spectacles?”
“My spectacles?” said the man. “I’m not wearing spectacles.”
“But you have the small indentations either side of your nose that suggests you do have problems with your vision.”
The man reached up with his left hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Everything is a bit blurry. I thought it was the bang on my head.”
“Do you have a packet of cigarettes on you?” asked Inspector Zhang.
The man frowned. “Do you think I smoke?”
“There are faint nicotine stains between your first and second fingers on yo
ur right hand,” said Inspector Zhang. “I would tend to think that you have given up recently. This is a no-smoking room so if you are still smoking then that would suggest you were not staying here.”
“I went through all my pockets and there were no cigarettes and no lighter.” He smiled. “But now that we are talking about cigarettes, I do feel like having one.”
“Then I think I am right, you are a smoker who has recently given up the habit,” said Inspector Zhang. “Now tell me, what is the first thing you do remember?”
“I was outside the hotel,” said the man. “I went through my pockets and found the keycard. It was in the little folder that had the room number so I came to see if there was anything here that would jog my memory.”
“And there isn’t?”
The man waved his hand around the room. “There’s nothing here, as you can see.”
Inspector Zhang looked over at the manager. “The guest who checked in had no luggage?”
“Apparently not,” said Mr Chung.
“Would that be unusual?”
“Not if the guest was here for business. Sometimes guests check in first thing in the morning and then check out that evening. We are very well located for the business district.”
“And Mrs Petrova was a regular guest?”
“I will have to check,” said the manager.
“What am I going to do?” asked the man.
“If you would please wait here,” said Inspector Zhang. “If we do not solve this mystery shortly then we will take you to New Bridge Road station.” He nodded at Sergeant Lee. “If you do remember anything then please tell my sergeant straight away.”
Inspector Zhang went down to the ground floor with the manager to reception. There he tapped on a computer and peered at the screen. “It’s the first time that Mrs Petrova has stayed here,” he said.
“And she paid by credit card?”
“Yes, just for the one night.”
“And was a Russian?”
The manager nodded. “She showed a Russian driving licence as her ID.”
“Can you show me the CCTV footage?” asked Inspector Zhang.
The manager took him through a side door into a windowless office. There was a desk on which there was a computer and a leatherbound diary, and against one wall was a bookcase filled with neatly-labelled files.
On a table in one corner was a computer monitor on which were half a dozen views from CCTV cameras located around the hotel. The manager sat down in front of the computer and reached for the mouse. “What would you like to see, Inspector?” he asked.
“Mrs Petrova checking in,” said Inspector Zhang, sitting down next to the manager and adjusting the creases of his trousers.
The manager clicked on a menu and after a few seconds they were looking at a view of the reception desk where the Indian receptionist was handing a keycard to a blonde woman wearing impenetrable sunglasses and a floppy hat.
“It’s difficult to see her face,” said Inspector Zhang.
“It is a hot day and fair skin burns easily,” said the manager.
The woman walked to the lifts. She was wearing a blue and white dress and had a Louis Vuitton shoulder bag. It seemed to Inspector Zhang that she deliberately kept her head turned away from the CCTV camera.
“And what time did the gentleman arrive?” asked Inspector Zhang.
The manager peered at the time code at the bottom of the screen. It said 10.35am. “About two hours later.”
“Be so good as to show me,” requested the inspector.
The manager clicked the mouse and a fresh picture filled the screen, this from a camera covering the lifts. The man came into view through the main entrance and walked over to the lift.
“That’s interesting,” said the inspector.
“What?” asked the manager, turning around in his chair.
“He doesn’t appear to be hurt. And if he had just been attacked, why didn’t he go to the receptionist? Why didn’t he ask for her to call the police?”
“Perhaps he was confused. Perhaps he didn’t realise that he had been attacked. He has amnesia. Perhaps he forgot everything.”
“Also I don’t see him holding the keycard,” said Inspector Zhang. “He said that he found the keycard in his pocket and that’s why he went up to the room.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So tell me, do you have CCTV cameras inside the lifts?”
“Of course,” said the manager. He clicked on the mouse, scrolled down a menu and after a few seconds a CCTV picture of the man entering the lift filled the screen. The man reached out with his right hand to press the button for the third floor and then stood facing one of the mirrored walls and tidied his hair with both hands.
“That’s interesting,” said Inspector Zhang.
“What is?” asked the manager.
“Can you freeze the picture where he is arranging his hair?”
The manager clicked the mouse, then the picture froze.
“You’re looking to see if there is a wound?” asked the manager.
“There would be nothing to see,” said Inspector Zhang. “There is no blood, just a bump. No, Mr Leutzinger, I am admiring the watch on his wrist. It appears to be a very expensive Rolex.”
“But his watch was stolen, along with his wallet and everything else.”
“Exactly,” said Inspector Zhang.
The manager frowned. “So you think he was lying about the mugging?”
“Oh no,” said Inspector Zhang. “That’s not what he’s lying about.” He stood up. “Let’s go back upstairs and I’ll explain everything,” he said.
They went back up to the third floor where the man was still sitting on the bed and dabbing the towel on the back of his head.
Inspector Zhang sat down opposite the man and looked at him solemnly.” It is time to tell the truth,” he said. “If you continue to lie, then you will be in even more trouble than you are now.”
The man looked confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I am talking about the fact that you were not attacked outside. In fact you were attacked here, in this room, by Mrs Petrova, though I doubt that is her real name. But I am sure that you came here to see her and that she, with or without an accomplice, robbed you.”
“I told you, I can’t remember anything. “ He looked across at Sergeant Lee, hoping that she would agree with him, but she looked back at him impassively.
“Let me tell you what I think happened,” said Inspector Zhang. “I think you came here specifically to meet Mrs Petrova. It was your first meeting and I think perhaps you met her on the internet. Maybe in a chat room. Or one of those social networking sites that are so popular these days.”
“Nonsense,” said the man.
A smile spread slowly across the inspector’s face. “But how can you say that if you’ve truly lost your memory?” he said. “If you really have no memory of what happened before you were attacked, then surely anything is possible.”
The man swallowed nervously but said nothing.
“Well then let us consider the evidence,” continued Inspector Zhang. “In my experience muggers do not take men’s wedding rings. They take women’s jewellery, of course, and diamond rings, but generally not wedding bands. And they certainly don’t bother stealing spectacles. I therefore assume that you removed the ring and the spectacles yourself. Now why would a man do that?” He turned to look at his sergeant. “What do you think, Sergeant Lee?”
She looked up from her notebook, in which she had been scribbling furiously. “The glasses to make himself more attractive, the ring because he wanted to appear unmarried?” she said.
Inspector Zhang nodded approvingly. “And did you notice that he dyes his hair? It was unnaturally black for a man of his age and you could see where the roots are grey. He is a man who takes pride in his appearance, who likes to look good for the ladies.” He turned back to the man. “Isn’t that so?”
The man’s shoulders slumped. He droppe
d the towel on the bed and sat with his head in his hands. “I’ve been a fool,” he said.
“Yes, you have,” agreed the inspector. “But now is the time to tell the truth. What is your name?”
“Fisher,” the man mumbled. “Sebastian Fisher.”
“And you live in Singapore?”
The man nodded but didn’t look up. “I’m a stockbroker. I sell stocks and shares.”
“And your office is nearby?”
“The man nodded.”
“And you came here to meet Mrs Petrova.”
“She said she was here on business and wanted to meet me. She said she was in an unhappy marriage and that she….” He sighed. “I was a fool.”
“Mrs Petrova will not be her real name, of course. She knocked you unconscious and robbed you?”
“It wasn’t her. I was looking at her when I was hit. When I came around they’d taken my money, my wallet, my watch. Everything. I was sitting on the bed when the chambermaid came in. She asked me what I was doing in the room and I panicked.”
“You could have simply told the truth,” said Inspector Zhang.
“And tell everybody why I’d gone to her room? And why I wasn’t wearing my wedding ring. What possible reason could I give for being there? Then I saw the keycard on the bedside table and I said that I’d let myself in because I’d lost my memory and found the card in my pocket.”
“Your wedding ring and your spectacles are in your office?”
Fisher nodded.
“I think we will find that Mrs Petrova and her accomplice have been doing this elsewhere,” said Inspector Zhang. “Street muggings are rare in Singapore, but inviting their victim to a hotel makes everything much easier. I have no doubt we will discover that the credit card she used was not hers. I assume you told her you were well off?”
“I wanted to make a good impression,” said Mr Fisher. “I know, I was stupid.”
Inspector Zhang took off his glasses and polished them with his handkerchief. “So tell me, Mr Fisher,” he said. “Your wife is the cat-lover in your house, was I correct?”
Mr Fisher nodded sadly. “She loves those cats more than she loves me,” he said, putting his head in his hands. “That’s part of the problem.”
“And you do smoke?”
“I’ve told my wife that I’ve given up, but yes, I do sneak out for a cigarette. I feel like a prisoner sometimes.” He looked up at Inspector Zhang. “Does my wife have to know about this?”
“All I need from you is a statement about the robbery,” said Inspector Zhang. “I am prepared to overlook your memory lapse. As to what you do or don’t tell your wife, that is completely up to you. ” He replaced his spectacles. “But speaking as a man who has been married for thirty years I can tell you that it’s best never to try to keep a secret from a wife. They tend to find out the truth about everything, eventually.”
“A bit like yourself, Inspector Zhang,” said Sergeant Lee, and the inspector beamed happily.
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There are five more Inspector Zhang stories available – Inspector Zhang Gets His Wish, Inspector Zhang and the Falling Woman, Inspector Zhang and the Perfect Alibi, Inspector Zhang and the Dead Thai Gangster, and Inspector Zhang and the Disappearing Drugs.
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