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folded his arms. “We left the hotel. We were heading to the car. Out of nowhere this guy appeared with a gun. He shot Mr. Srisai in the chest and ran off.”
    “Which is when you realised that your client was wearing a bullet-proof vest under his shirt.”
    The bodyguard nodded.
    “And that came as a surprise to you, did it not?”
    “He hadn’t told me he was wearing a vest, if that’s what you mean.”
    “The vest that saved his life.”
    The bodyguard nodded but didn’t say anything.
    “Can you explain to me why the police were not called?”
    “Mr. Srisai said not to. The shooter ran off. Then we heard a motorbike. He got clean away. He’d been wearing a mask, so we didn’t know what he looked like. Mr. Srisai said he just wanted to get out of Singapore.”
    “And he wasn’t hurt?”
    “Not a scratch. He fell back when he was shot but he wasn’t hurt.”
    “And you went straight to the airport?”
    “He didn’t want to miss his flight.”
    “And he didn”t wait to change his clothes?”
    “That’s right. He said we were to get into the car and go. He was worried that the police would be involved and they wouldn’t allow him to leave the country.”
    Inspector Zhang turned to look at Sergeant Lee. “Which explains why there was a bullet hole in the shirt and gunpowder residue.”
    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