Sergeant Lee nodded and scribbled in her notebook. Then she stopped writing and frowned. “But if he was wearing a bullet proof vest, how did he die?” she asked.
Inspector Zhang looked at the bodyguard. Beads of sweat had formed on the Israeli’s forehead and he was licking his lips nervously. “My Sergeant raises a moot point, doesn’t she, Mr. Gottesman?”
“This is nothing to do with me,” said the bodyguard.
“Oh, it is everything to do with you,” said Inspector Zhang. “You are a professional, trained by the Mossad. You are the best of the best, are you not?”
“That’s what they say,” said the Israeli.
“So perhaps you can explain how an assassin got so close to your client that he was able to shoot him in the chest?”
“He took us by surprise,” said the bodyguard.
“And how did the assassin know where your client was?”
The bodyguard didn’t reply.
“You were moving from hotel to hotel. And I am assuming that Mr. Srisai did not broadcast the fact that he was flying back to Bangkok today.”
The bodyguard’s lips had tightened into a thin, impenetrable line.
“Someone must have told the assassin where and when to strike. And that someone can only be you.”
“You can’t prove that,” said the bodyguard quietly.
Inspector Zhang nodded slowly. “You are probably right,” he said.
“So why are we wasting our time here?”
“Because it is what happened on board this plane that concerns me, Mr. Gottesman. Mr. Srisai was not injured in the attack outside the hotel. But he is now dead. And you killed him.”
The bodyguard shook his head. “You can’t possibly prove that. And anyway, why would I want to kill my client?”
Inspector Zhang shrugged. “I am fairly sure that I can prove it,” he said. “And so far as motive goes, I think it is probably one of the oldest motives in the world. Money. I think you were paid to kill Mr. Srisai.”
“Ridiculous,” snapped the Bodyguard.
“I think that when Mr. Srisai’s former bodyguard was killed, someone close to Mr. Srisai used the opportunity to introduce you. That person was an enemy that Mr. Srisai thought was a friend. And that someone paid you not to guard Mr. Srisai, but to arrange his assassination. But your first plan failed because unbeknown to you Mr. Srisai was wearing a bullet-proof vest.”
“All this is hypothetical,” said the bodyguard. “You have no proof.”
“When Mr. Srisai passed through the security check he was told to remove his vest. Which gave you an idea, didn’t it? You realised that if you could somehow deal him a killing blow through the bullet-hole in his shirt, then you would have everybody looking at an impossible murder. And I have no doubt that when you got off the plane you would be on the first flight out of the country.” He turned to look at Sergeant Lee. “Israel never extradites its own citizens,” he said. “Once back on Israeli soil he would be safe.”
“But why kill him on the plane?” asked Sergeant Lee. “Why not wait?”
“Because Mr. Srisai was not a stupid man. He would have come to the same conclusion that I reached — namely that Mr. Gottesman was the only person who could have set up this morning’s assassination attempt. And I am sure that he was planning retribution on his return to Thailand.” He looked over the top of his spectacles at the sweating bodyguard. “I’m right, aren’t I, Mr. Gottesman. You knew that as soon as you arrived in Thailand Mr. Srisai would enact his revenge and have you killed?”
“I’m saying nothing,” said the bodyguard. “You have no proof. No witnesses. You have nothing but a theory. A ridiculous theory.”
“That may be so,” said Inspector Zhang. “But you have the proof, don’t you? On your person?”
The bodyguard’s eyes narrowed and he glared at the Inspector with undisguised hatred.
“It would of course be impossible for you or anyone to bring a gun on board. And equally impossible to bring a knife. Except for a very special knife, of course. The sort of knife that someone trained by Mossad would be very familiar with.” He paused, and the briefest flicker of a smile crossed his lips before he continued. “A Kevlar knife, perhaps. Or one made from carbon fibre. A knife that can pass through any security check without triggering the alarms.”
“Pure guesswork,” sneered the bodyguard.
Inspector Zhang shook his head. “Educated guesswork,” he said. “I know for a fact that you killed Mr. Srisai because you were the last person to see him alive. You went over to him after the journalist went back to his seat and you must have killed him then. You went to the toilet to prepare your weapon and when you came back you leant over Mr. Srisai and stabbed him through the hole that had been left by the bullet that had struck his vest earlier in the day. You probably put one hand over his mouth to stifle any sound he might have made. With your skills I have no doubt that you would know how to kill him instantly.
The bodyguard looked up at Captain Kumar. “Do I have to listen to this nonsense?” he asked.
“I am afraid you do,” said the pilot.
“I know you have the knife on your person, Mr. Gottesman, because you have been sitting in that seat ever since Mr. Srisai was killed,” said Inspector Zhang. He held out his hand. “You can either give it to me or these Thai police officers can take it from you. It is your choice.”
The bodyguard stared at Inspector Zhang for several seconds, then he slowly bent down and slipped his hand into his left trouser leg before pulling out a black carbon fibre stiletto knife. He held it, with the tip pointing at Inspector Zhang’s chest, then he sighed and reversed the weapon and gave it to him.
Inspector Zhang took the knife between his thumb and finger. There was congealed blood on the blade. Sergeant Lee already had a clear plastic bag open for him and he dropped the knife into it.
Inspector Zhang stood up and the two Thai policemen pulled the bodyguard to his feet. He put up no resistance as they led him away.
“So the Thai police will take over the case?” asked Sergeant Lee.
“The victim was Thai, the murderer is Israeli. The crime was committed in Thai airspace. I think it best the Thais handle it.”
“And the Commissioner will be satisfied with that?”
Inspector Zhang smiled. “I think so far as the plane is allowed to fly back to Singapore, the Commissioner will be happy,” he said.
Sergeant Lee closed her notebook and put it away. “You solved an impossible mystery, Inspector Zhang.”
“Yes, I did,” agreed the Inspector. “But the real mystery is who recommended Mr. Gottesman in the first place, and I fear that is one mystery that will never be solved.
“Perhaps you could help the Thai Police with the investigation.”
Inspector Zhang’s smile widened. “What a wonderful idea, Sergeant. I shall offer them my services.”