Chapter 3

Chu Hoa lit his own cigarette and sighed.

“I know you. I understand how you feel. But there’s something you need to think through.”

He blew out smoke and lowered his voice.

“You’ve led the technical team for almost ten years. I’ll be transferred next year. Sooner or later, my position will be yours. Why invite trouble at a time like this?”

Before I could explain, he flicked his ash and continued quickly.

“With the victims clearly making mistakes and no sign of homicide, there’s no basis to open a case, personally or professionally.”

“But given your relationship with them and your desire for the truth, I’ll let you look into it privately.”

“One thing first. Private means private. If you have no decisive breakthrough by Tu Luong’s release, every part of this investigation stops immediately.”

10

I understood his concern.

Tu Luong was serving six months for dangerous driving. His loss of liberty made this the best time for discreet inquiries.

Once released, he would have relative freedom again.

If he discovered we were investigating him over his wife’s and mother-in-law’s deaths without evidence sufficient to open a case, a complaint would inevitably bring disciplinary consequences.

After giving my assurance, I threw myself into the two deaths.

But with no formal case and only a private inquiry, checking anything was extremely difficult.

The first problem was that I couldn’t question Tu Luong directly.

To establish that the deaths weren’t accidental, I could only start with the equipment that seemed to have deteriorated abnormally fast.

The results were disappointing.

For months, I approached the gas company, electricians, the developer, and others.

Their answers were vague and inconclusive.

The gas company showed me its inspection records. Everything had been done lawfully and properly. There was no negligence on their part.

The hose’s deterioration might have resulted from prolonged kitchen heat.

It was summer now. Tu Luong lived on the top floor, and had installed an additional heat-concentrating ring not supplied by them.

Their responsibility was to inspect on schedule and ensure there was no hazard at the time.

Anything else was outside their remit.

It was bureaucratic, empty talk.

A gas hose shouldn’t deteriorate like that in a few months.

Yes, he lived on the top floor. But he wasn’t the only top-floor resident. Why hadn’t anyone else’s hose deteriorated?

And that badly designed ring was especially troubling.

I initially thought he had commissioned it himself. Taking it around the market, I discovered substandard models everywhere. His was commonplace.

That made it impossible to establish he had deliberately arranged everything.

Besides, those hazards had always been there.

Why had nothing happened while he was at home, only after his drunk-driving arrest?

How could he know his wife would stew ribs and leave the pot unattended once he was in prison?

The question tormented me.

Worse still were my attempts to establish whether a ceiling in a new complex could lose its load-bearing strength so quickly.

Without official paperwork, the developer refused even to meet me.

Friends in construction were more direct.

“Developers cut costs. Floor slabs are much thinner now. When fitting a motorized drying rack or a heavy chandelier, an expansion anchor that’s a little too large can go right through. Even if it doesn’t, poor waterproofing can let moisture corrode the steel fixings.”

One friend added, “Quality isn’t what it used to be. Especially that brand of drying rack. Knockoffs, counterfeits—cheap and little else. Blame him for buying the cheapest thing.”

11

The cheapest thing?

That suggested another possibility.

I returned to Tu Luong’s home and checked the stove, ring, drying rack, automatic fuse protection, and circuit breaker.

Just as I expected.

Off-brand rubbish.

Knockoffs, every one.

A bold idea struck me.

I hurried back to examine his purchases and electrical repair records for the past year.

The fog began to lift.

12

As I suspected, both the stove and motorized rack had been installed a year earlier.

The breaker and automatic fuse protection had been replaced at about the same time.

Perhaps none of these accidents had really been accidents.

Perhaps someone had created them.

Tu Luong might have deliberately filled his home with low-quality, hazardous equipment, waiting for it to produce an “accident” at the right time.

I put my findings before Commander Chu and firmly argued that he might have designed the whole thing.

Chu glanced through the papers.

“Where’s the evidence?”

“You’re an experienced investigator. You should know these are leads, not proof.”

“You say he bought cheap replacements. But those products are sold because there’s a market. Families without much money buy them.”

“Then why are other people fine?” I protested. “Why did his kill two people in succession? Isn’t that the biggest problem?”

Chu shook his head.

“You’re trapped in your own assumptions. All right, let’s accept your theory. Suppose he planned to kill Trieu Ngung Huyen. Why kill Ha Nha Vinh? What grudge did he have against his mother-in-law?”

“Perhaps he intended everything for Huyen and her mother was caught in it.”

“All right. Suppose the falling rack was meant for Huyen, and her mother died instead. Where was Tu Luong at the time?”

I opened my mouth, unable to explain.

He sighed.

“Months have passed. He’ll be released soon. Whether it was Huyen or Nha Vinh, he was in custody when they died. And every hazard you’ve identified could have been avoided by proper use.”

He tossed the papers toward me.

“These are unsupported deductions, not evidence.”

“If he hadn’t been serving a sentence, I’d believe your theory enough to let you focus on him.”

“Unfortunately, he was.”

“How does a man in detention remotely make his wife stew ribs and leave the pot?”

“How does he know the electricity will still be on when the rack falls?”

“Ly and the firefighters personally shut off all the utilities after the explosion.”

“Even if he deliberately installed a poor-quality breaker, Ha Nha Vinh would only have been injured, not killed, if she hadn’t jammed it with a hair clip.”

“So your theory doesn’t hold.”

“They brought these accidents on themselves. We couldn’t pin them on him even if we tried.”

He tapped the desk.

“This has delayed plenty of your work already. He comes out the day after tomorrow. Know when to stop.”

His eyes held mine meaningfully.

“Concentrate on your job. Stop imagining things all day. I’ve met him too. He’s not sociable, but he paints very well. Quite a few people ask him for feng shui paintings. You have no evidence. Keep pursuing him and make a scene, and it won’t be good for anyone.”

I understood the implication.

As I’d said, he painted traditional ink landscapes.

People who studied that art usually met one of two fates.

They graduated into unemployment.

Or they persevered, became known, and lived extremely comfortably.

Tu Luong belonged to the latter group.

He had a reputation, belonged to some painting association, attended meetings and courses, held exhibitions, and knew many people.

Wealthy, influential people who believed in feng shui commissioned his work.

While he was detained, our quiet inquiries were one thing.

Once he was out, pursuing him without evidence could backfire.

A complaint and a little public attention might bring punishment on the whole team.

I sighed, gathered my papers, and headed out.

At the door, Chu called me back.

“Lam, given your relationship with the Trieu family, he ought to call you Uncle. He’s out the day after tomorrow. Aren’t you going to treat him to a meal and welcome him home?”

“What?”

I paused, caught his strange look, and understood.

Ha.

He wasn’t willing to give up either.

He still believed in my leads.

Still believed those deaths weren’t ordinary accidents.

He still wanted the truth.

I hurried out with a laugh.

Success or failure, this was our last chance.

13

Two days passed quickly.

On the morning of his release, I went early to the detention center and asked Vuong Viet about him.

Viet said Tu Luong had shown nothing unusual after my visit.

On the contrary, he behaved exceptionally well, cooperated in every conversation, and was almost a model worker in his cell.

That puzzled me.

It made no sense.

Guilty or not, learning that his wife and mother-in-law had died should have produced some response.

Not this numb indifference, as though they were strangers.

Full of questions, I lit a cigarette outside the gate and waited.

The iron gates creaked open.

Tu Luong emerged slowly, carrying a small bag.

He was much thinner than when I last saw him.

His eyes were extraordinarily calm.

He even greeted me first.

“Uncle Lam, you came?”

“Yes. To pick you up.”

I patted his shoulder and deliberately added, “I’m Huyen’s uncle, after all. I couldn’t let you go home alone.”

Her name didn’t disturb his expression.

He merely nodded.

“Thank you for the trouble.”

In the car, I watched him in the rearview mirror.

He looked out of the window, tapping his knee lightly as though keeping time.

“It must have been hard these past few months.”

He smiled faintly.

“Not too bad. Difficult at first, then I got used to it. Like going into retreat. I thought a lot of things through in there.”

“Oh? Such as?”

“Such as…”

He suddenly lifted his head and met my eyes in the mirror.

“Life is uncertain. Life and death are ordained.”

From his mouth, paired with that terrifying calm, the words chilled my back.

I tightened my grip on the wheel.

“About Huyen and Nha Vinh… I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Red light!”

I braked hurriedly.

After that, we seemed uncannily to hit red light after red light until I brought him home.

Returning after six months, his expression finally changed.

He looked gravely at the kitchen ruined by the explosion, then walked through the living room and bedroom.

At last, he stepped onto the balcony.

Facing the fallen rack, pain slowly appeared on his face.

“After someone’s dead, why come and collect the clothes?”

“What’s there to hold on to in their belongings?”

“If she hadn’t come, she would have been all right…”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I never thought it would turn out like this…”

Hearing his self-reproach strengthened my conviction that this hadn’t been accidental.

Perhaps I was right.

Perhaps every part of the trap had been laid for Huyen.

He wanted her dead.

Even if she escaped the gas explosion, another contingency would have killed her.

Ha Nha Vinh’s death was the unexpected one.

I still couldn’t understand how he had been so certain events would unfold as intended once he was arrested.

I stepped beside him, keeping my expression calm.

“Don’t torment yourself. It’s over now.”

“No! It isn’t over! You don’t know anything!”