In the local station, Mr. Vann, sitting next to Mr. Visal, checked some photos of Saroath's injured and read the facts written on the paper. Dara sat in front of Visal, as he was being questioned. Visal and Dara met each other's eyes while Mr. Vann asked Dara
"Vann leaned forward, his voice calm but probing. "So, you believe your mother was murdered? She had plans with you, promised to come back, went on a trip, and then she ended up dead?"
"Yes," Dara replied.
"But injuries to her fingers and feet don't necessarily mean she was killed," Vann pointed out. "Couldn't she have gotten hurt doing something else before she died?"
"I asked around the village," the voice hardened with determination. "The day before she died, she went to FaFa Salon to wash her hair—there wasn't a single mark on her. I asked if anyone saw her picking lotus flowers, but no one did. What they did see was my mom meeting Monica in her car by the market. By evening... she was gone."
"Are you certain, or do you have someone who can confirm it was Monica who met your mom that afternoon?" Vann asked, his tone probing.
"Yes, someone saw them," Dara said, his tone firm, his eyes locking onto Vann. "They were in the car together. If it wasn't Monica, then it must have been Mr. Heng. Or perhaps both of them met my mom that day." Dara replied confidently.
"I see," Vann said, nodding slowly. "We've already verified that no one else was around on the day she died. She was home alone after meeting someone in that car. I'll dig deeper into this, speak to a few relevant people, and keep you updated."
"Thank you," Dara said with a small, relieved smile.
***
At the coffee shop, Dara and Nida sat in deep discussion, their eyes scanning the report papers before them.
The documents contained statements from everyone they had spoken to in Saroath's hometown—sister Minea, Aunt Sokhom, Uncle Rith, Aunt Maly, the motor driver Ta Chek, Sam Eoun, his grandmother, his grandfather Leng, and even a villager named Sros, who had been the first to see his mother.
"So, we've gathered information from them, and it all seems to match the initial ideas. What now?" Dara asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
Nida exhaled slowly, her gaze distant. "Hm... yes, with everything we have, it seems to point to the possibility that she ended her own life," she said, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
"…Yes…" Dara replied, his words heavy with a growing sense of helplessness.
"If we can't find any critical evidence to suggest she was murdered—aside from the photos of her injured fingers for the police—there's a real chance they might drop the case."
"We can't let that happen," Dara interjected, his voice sharp with resolve.
"Do you think the police will uncover more evidence?" Nida asked, her eyes searching Dara's face.
"They must!" Dara insisted.
"Visal will return after gathering more information this week," she added, trying to offer a sliver of hope.
"Alright."
"Do you have any other leads? Any suspicious people or conversations from her chat room? We need to act."
Dara sank into deep thought.
"I have to do something!"
With determination, Dara grabbed his phone and searched for Vuthy's contact—his colleague, the one who could help.
"What are you going to do?" Nida asked, her tone strange, as if she wanted to know every step Dara was about to take. Her gaze was sharp, filled with unspoken curiosity.
"Wait... just wait and see!" Dara replied, his voice firm, as he shot Nida a brief, determined glance.
Nida nodded, through her eyes betrayed a lingering unease.
***
Beneath the shade of a French tamarind tree, Rith, the sibling of Saroath, sat casually smoking his cigarette. His gaze lingered on the construction workers, their efforts focused on erecting the new garage station. The construction seemed to be about 40% complete, with the skeletal framework of the garage station taking shape amid the steady rhythm of work.
Visal arrived on his motorbike, parking it before walking over to Rith with a warm smile.
"Hello, Uncle!"
Rith with a tired face nodded, his eyes flicking up to meet the young officer's. "Oh, Mr. Police. What brings you here?"
Rith greeted me with quiet humility, pulling out a chair for the young officer.
"Yes, I just need a quick word with you. Is that alright?" he asked.
"Of course, what's on your mind?"
The sight of the construction site seemed to bring a tinge of nostalgia to him. "Seeing this... it reminds me of Aunt Saroath."
His face shifted, a shadow of sadness crossing his features.
"Yes, me too. It pushes me to finish this building. She always dreamed of having a small business back home. But the dream remains, though she's gone."
"Did you two plan to share this garage?" Visal asked with a notebook and a pen in his hand.
Rith sighed. "At first, yes. We intended to split it 50/50. But then, she needed money to send her son abroad. I put my land on sale to help, but... she passed, and the construction paused because we're short on funds."
"I see."
"I'm still trying to find a way forward. The last time she came back to hometown, she asked me for the money I owed her. I didn't have it, and we talked long into the night. It's something that's haunted me ever since—it's affected my work ever since."
"I understand."
"Yes... but she told me that her son's father, or his side of the family, agreed to give her some money, so I didn't have to sell anything."
"Oh, I see."
"Why did you ask all of a sudden?"
"The case is nearing its end. I just need to clarify a few things."
"I understand. That's how police work goes, huh?"
"Yes, and did she visit here before she died?"
"Yes."
"And what did you do when she came, the day she died?"
"I... was here, trying to decide whether to postpone or keep it."
"Alone?"
Rith shifted uncomfortably at the question. Visal continued, "I just needed to confirm..."
"Oh, yes, yes, I was here!"
"Anyone else here?"
"Yes, a few workers."
"Can I ask them too?"
"Yes, of course! Hey Long, come here!"
Long, a young man, dropped the bricks he was carrying into a metal cart and walked over.
"Is there anything I can help with?" he asked.
Visal turned to Long as Rith stood and walked away. "You knew Aunt Saroath, right?"
Long hesitated, his gaze lingering on Rith before he responded, "Yes, she used to visit here."
Visal pressed on. "Where were you the day she died?"
Long seemed to search his memory. "I was at home. Brother Rith called me to check in here with him."
"Are you a master builder or just a regular worker?"
"Before the project was postponed, I was just a regular worker. But when it resumed, Rith made me a master... I also oversee other's work and pay attention to details."
Visal nodded. "And on the day of her death, you were with Rith until when?"
"I stayed with him until dusk. We planned to have a drink, but Rith got a call from his wife."
"His wife, aunt Maly... from Saroath's house?"
"Yes."
Visal scribbled down a note and nodded, letting Long go before he departed.
***
Visal walked into the station, where Mr. Vann, a seasoned officer, was already waiting.
"Hello, sir."
"Ah, Visal. I'm glad you made it before I head home."
"Yes, sir."
"Where are you from?"
"Just finished the district village patrol," Visal reported.
"Good," Vann replied with a nod. "About Kong Saroath's case—I'll dig deeper and meet with anyone who saw her or was involved. If nothing adds up to murder, the case will be closed. Oh, and I'll also address Dara's complaint with Mr. Heng."
"I have some new information about the case to report to you," Visal added, his tone measured.
"Good. Submit everything you've found to me—I'll review it," Vann instructed. "And tomorrow, I'll assign you a new case. It's urgent."
"What's the case?" Visal asked.
"Local gang activity. Stay sharp, and don't get tangled up in unnecessary details," Vann warned, his gaze sharp.
Visal caught the unspoken message but maintained a neutral expression. "Got it, sir."
"Good," Vann said, a finality in his tone. "Now get that report to me."
"Yes sir."
—
As Mr. Vann left, Visal exhaled slowly, pulling out his phone to dial a mysterious number.
He sent a text instead of calling.
"I don't know who could've stopped him," he mused.
A reply buzzed on the other end.
"Bribed, maybe?"
"I think so."
"Don't worry, just keep going."
"I've got a vital lead today."
"Good. Keep at it."
The other side continued, "And…"
"Yes?" Visal replied.
"No matter what it takes, bring the killer out."
"I'll do my best."
"Reach me anytime."
***
The night was quiet as everyone drifted into sleep, but Monica lay awake in the hospital, Visak by her side.
"I have to go now, dad is waiting for me outside. He said sorry can't come in to see you. The plane leaves at 12 p.m," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead."
"That's ok!" said Monica.
"See you later, sweetheart."
"Safe trip. Come back soon," she whispered, her voice a fragile echo.
"I will, honey," he promised.
Just then, Sophea entered the room. "It's time, Visak. I'll look after Monica while you're gone."
Visak nodded, "Yes, Mom. I'm counting on you."
"She's my daughter, Visak. You forget that."
Visak chuckled softly and kissed Monica's hand before leaving.
As the door clicked shut, Monica turned to her mother. "Can you give me my phone?"
"It's time to sleep, Monic." Sophea's voice was gentle but firm.
"Just a second, I'm bored!"
"My dear, your health comes first," Sophea said gently. "Madam Nary—your future mother-in-law—just called me."
Monica glanced up. "What did she say?"
"She's worried about you," Sophea sighed. "She thinks stress and overwork might affect your chances of getting pregnant."
Monica frowned. "And that has anything to do with me using my phone?"
Sophea crossed her arms. "It means you need to sleep, girl."
The daughter's face fell with disappointment, but the mother gently comforted her.
"Let me tell you a story, sweetheart. You'll fall asleep faster."
"Okay, Mom. But I just wanted to check my work for a bit."
Mom, speechless, handed Monica her phone.
"You two are alike—so reckless!"
"Do you mean Marina?"
"Yes!"
"How is she now? Still angry and won't come see me?"
"Yes. I don't know what you two fought over, but that kid said she hates you."
Monica was silent, her fingers still on the phone screen.
"She's 25, and she still acts like a child. That little witch!" Monica muttered, then froze, her eyes widening as breaking news flashed across her screen.
***