Read The Eight Curious Cases of Inspector Zhang for Free Online Page B

CCTV,” he said. “That’s a pity.” There were two elevators and he pressed the button to summon one.
    â€œSome residents find them intrusive,” said Sergeant Lee. “They wanted to install them inside our building, but too many people objected.”
    â€œIf you do nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear from CCTV,” said Inspector Zhang.
    â€œSome people prefer to keep their privacy, I suppose,” said the sergeant.
    The elevator arrived and they took it up to the ninth floor. There they found a door that led outside. It opened onto a stone-flagged roof where there was a small white-painted gazebo and several wooden benches. There was a barbecue area and a dozen tall palms in earthenware tubs.
    Sergeant Lee pointed at a Louis Vuitton handbag on one of the benches. “There, sir,” she said.
    Inspector Zhang went over to the railing to look down at the street below while Sergeant Lee examined the bag. She took out a wallet and flipped it open. Inside were half a dozen credit cards and the woman’s NRIC, the identity card carried by every Singaporean and permanent resident. The card was pink, showing that she was a citizen. Cards carried by permanent residents were blue.
    â€œCelia Wong,” said Sergeant Lee, reading the card. “Married. Twenty-seven years old.”
    â€œSo young,” said Inspector Zhang, staring down at the pavement far below. The crowds had moved on and there was no sign that a woman had died there. There would be blood on the pavement still, thought Inspector Zhang, but he couldn’t see the red stain from the roof.
    â€œI’m twenty-four,” said Sergeant Lee.
    â€œI meant so young to kill herself,” said the inspector. “She had her whole life in front of her. Why would she want to end it?”
    Sergeant Lee shrugged, not knowing what to say.
    â€œWhere does she live?” asked the inspector.
    â€œYio Chu Kang,” she said. “I know the building. It’s an old apartment building.”
    â€œAre you sure?” asked the inspector, turning to face her.
    Sergeant Lee nodded. “I was there on a case last year,” she said. “Shall I phone the husband?”
    â€œDefinitely not,” said Inspector Zhang. “News like this has to be broken in person, and in a sympathetic manner. Do you have your car?”
    â€œI do, inspector.”
    â€œThen you shall drive,” said Inspector Zhang. “My wife has taken my car.”
    It took Sergeant Lee twenty minutes to drive to Yio Chu Kang. Inspector Zhang was pleasantly surprised at her driving skills; she was neither too slow nor too fast and she made good use of her rear view mirror and side mirrors. She parked confidently in a space only a few feet wider than her Honda Civic.
    They climbed out and looked up at the building. Inspector Zhang realised that his sergeant was right. It was a very old apartment building that had seen better days and most likely housed less affluent Singaporeans clinging to the dream of selling the building en bloc to property developers.
    They walked over to the main entrance. The intercom system was old and showing signs of wear with several buttons missing. Sergeant Lee pressed the button for Mr. Wong’s apartment and there was a buzzing noise. A few seconds later a man asked who was there.
    Sergeant Lee put her face close to the intercom. “This is Sergeant Lee of the Singapore Police Force,” she said. “I am with Inspector Zhang. We are with the CID at New Bridge Road.”
    â€œIt’s late. What do you want?”
    â€œAre you Mr. Wong?” asked Sergeant Lee.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd your wife is Celia Wong?”
    â€œIs my wife all right? Has something happened?”
    â€œWe’d like to come in and talk to you, Mr. Wong. It would be easier if we could talk to you face to face.”
    The door buzzed and Sergeant Lee pushed it open. They walked to the elevator and