Visal leaned forward, his fingers tracing the edge of his coffee cup as he spoke, his voice low but firm.
"I can't work with you anymore if you keep acting like this," he said, meeting Dara's frustrated gaze across the small table in the bustling downtown café.
Dara's brow furrowed. "While you're content with just waiting, how could I wait? My mother—"
"I've told you before," Visal cut in, his tone sharp. "Police investigations don't work the way you think they do."
"And is that why everything has to be so secretive?" Dara shot back, his voice rising slightly, drawing a glance from a nearby patron.
Visal sighed, leaning back in his chair.
"It depends on the case, on the situation. Sometimes we approach things openly, sometimes discreetly. If a suspect is known and on the run, it's one thing. But when they're unknown..." His words trailed off, heavy with implication.
"Yes, yes," Dara interrupted, waving a hand impatiently. "But now Monica says my mom was murdered. Is any of this helping?"
"Does it help or not?" Visal said, his tone clipped, his eyes searching hers. "You tell me. What do you see now?"
"What do you mean?" Dara asked, his voice trembling, caught between anger and confusion.
"Her dad will be questioned," Visal began, his tone steady but laced with urgency. "And he's your dad too. So, she had to say it—to catch the real killer before Mr. Heng ends up facing serious charges. If the killer isn't caught, she becomes the prime suspect. She can't just sit still. But if the killer hears what she said and decides to run, what do you think happens then?"
Dara hesitated, her voice faltering. "I..."
"If we had another prime suspect, knowing their identity would help," Visal continued, his eyes fixed on her. "But right now? We have nothing. No face, no name. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"You're saying that if we identify the killer, Monica's statements could help?"
"I could say 'yes,'" Visal replied, his voice dropping, "but we haven't identified the killer yet. And in the meantime, the real one could use this chaos to escape."
Dara slumped back in his chair, her expression hollow. He was losing hope.
"I'm sorry again. From now on, I'll follow your instructions... please," Dara promised, her voice steady but pleading.
Visal gave a slight nod.
"Alright. Let me explain something. I delayed sharing what I found with our group because I had my reasons. Plus, I've been working on cracking down on some gangsters in the community. But at least we've confirmed two things: Monica isn't the killer, and your mom was murdered for sure. Our next steps are identifying witnesses and suspects. I have some potential leads, but I'll share them when the time is right."
Dara nodded quickly. "Okay."
"Good," Visal replied.
"By the way, you and Nida—were you at the same university?"
Visal blinked, caught off guard. "...Ah, yes."
"Same class?"
"No, just the same major. Law school!"
"I see," Dara said thoughtfully.
Visal glanced at the time. "I have to leave now."
"Sure. I'll head out too," Dara replied, standing.
"I'm going to my grandparents' house," Dara added.
"Alright. See you," he said with a faint smile before walking away.
After Visal left, Sethya appeared, sliding into the seat across from Dara. His expression was serious, his phone in hand.
"I checked Nida's social media," he began without preamble. "She used to be an intern at HBH Holding Group. She graduated three or four years ago. That doesn't match Visal's age—he looks at least 28 or 30, closer to mine or your sister's."
Dara frowned, her thoughts swirling. "So... it means Nida knows me better than I thought?"
"Maybe," Sethya replied with a shrug.
"Both of them were working together on my mom's case, and that's probably how they know each other," Dara said, his voice uncertain. "But then they said they were from the same university. It doesn't add up."
Sethya tilted his head thoughtfully. "Maybe Visal enrolled late at university," he suggested. "Or maybe they were just at the same university at different times and barely crossed paths. That could explain it."
"Yes!" said Dara.
"But do you really think they only work for you?" Seth asked, his voice steady but probing.
"What do you mean by that?" Dara asked.
"Why did your sister seem so certain your mom was murdered? And why is Visal so eager to help with all of this?"
"I... I can only hope they've stayed loyal in their actions," Dara hesitated.
Seth sighed, his tone firm but not unkind. "Alright. But remember, we can't control their minds. Our kindness—or our vulnerability—won't change their motives. I just hope they won't take this for granted."
Dara sighed, shaking his head. "Yes. Now let's go to my mom's house."
"Sure," Sethya agreed, standing. They left together, their minds weighed down with unanswered questions.
***
Sethya drove quietly along the winding road toward the village, the hum of the engine filling the air. Once they reached the gates of Dara's grandparents' house, he slowed to a stop.
"I'll drop you here," said Sethya.
"Thanks," Dara replied, stepping out of the car.
As Sethya drove off toward the downtown nearby, Dara walked into the house campus, the scent of earth and wood heavy in the air. The old wooden house stood firm as ever, though its weathered edges bore the passage of time.
Suddenly, Sam Eoun appeared on the porch, her face lighting up in surprise. "My grandson!"
"Grandma!" Dara exclaimed, hurrying to her.
They embraced warmly, a mix of joy and relief in their voices.
"How have you been, huh, my Dara?" Sam Eoun asked, her hands clasping Dara's.
"I'm doing fine. And you?"
"Ah, so-so," Sam Eoun replied with a faint smile.
"What do you plan to do today?" Dara asked, glancing at the house.
"Oh, nothing much. Just helping your grandpa with his wooden stalls," Sam Eoun said, motioning toward the tools scattered near the workshop.
Dara hesitated before asking, "And how about Uncle Rith and Aunt Maly?"
Sam Eoun's expression dimmed slightly. "Oh, dear. Maly's been sick, and Rith went to the city to get a passport. He plans to send her to an outside hospital."
Dara's face fell. "Is her illness still ongoing?"
"Yes," her grandmother sighed. "Even with selling land and using your mom's money, it's still not enough."
A wave of sadness washed over Dara. She clenched her fists but said nothing.
"But Rith…" Sam Eoun continued, her voice tinged with frustration. "He spends money carelessly. Debt, drinking, smoking, games... He's no help at all."
Dara swallowed hard. "What about the construction site?"
"His workers are still there," Sam Eoun said. "At least that's something. But it won't last if he doesn't change."
Dara nodded solemnly, feeling the weight of her family's struggles settle heavily on her shoulders.
***
After spending some time with his grandmother, Dara decided to visit the construction site. Sethya, as always, was ready to help and drove him there.
Arriving at the site, Dara approached several workers, but most of them seemed unsure of how to speak with him. It wasn't until one of them went around to call Long that he found someone willing to talk.
Long appeared shortly after, giving Dara a warm greeting. Sethya remained in the car, sitting at a distance, watching the interaction carefully.
"Hello, brother!" Long greeting.
"Yes… How's work these days?" Dara asked, his voice casual but focused.
"It's okay," Long replied with a small nod. "So, what brings you here today?"
"I came to check on things. My uncle isn't here," Dara said, glancing around.
Long gave a faint smile. "You should come here more often," he suggested.
"Why?" Dara asked, sensing there was more to the conversation.
"Your uncle is in trouble," Long said, his tone serious.
"What do you mean?" Dara asked, his heart sinking.
"With the news spreading about Mr. Heng, your father told him to step back from overseeing things here. Didn't you know?"
Dara's eyes narrowed. "I knew about the news, but I didn't know my dad told him that."
Long's expression shifted, but he continued, "Your uncle's wife is sick, and Mr. Heng paused the funds to support the construction. The police also got him to ask questions... I'm telling you this, but please don't spread my words."
Dara nodded, absorbing the weight of Long's words. "No worries," he said, his mind racing.
"As this is your mom's dream," Long continued, "I need to tell you—if you want to keep this construction going, you need to decide soon. If nothing changes, we'll stop working here by the end of the week."
"Thank you for telling me this," Dara replied, feeling the pressure mounting. "But did you know what my uncle said to the police?"
Long paused, his expression unreadable. "I'm not the one who heard it directly," Long said, his voice lowering slightly. "But he told me the police asked him if he and Mr. Heng was in on a conspiracy or something. Your uncle said he was just used by your dad."
Dara's mind reeled. "Used by my dad…?"
"Thanks, Long," Dara said, trying to steady himself. "I appreciate you being honest."
Long seemed to have more to say, but he chose to remain silent. Dara could feel the weight of everything left unsaid in the air.
As Dara walked away, his thoughts were a whirlwind. Monica said my dad was manipulated, and Rith said he was used.
Without a doubt, they're playing a dangerous game, each using the other to their advantage.