Detective Chonna agrees to take on a case of strange deaths in a village. He must go on a journey to uncover the villain's increasingly complex motives, leading him to face dangers that even a novice detective would find difficult for him. The field thief has both wit and intelligence and must team up with Inspector Vinai, who dares to face every problem, this is the only way to stop the thief.

Chapter 1 Anonymous Reporter

On an overcast and rainy day, a young reporter went to cover a case in a rural village that could be described as a strange case. The people in the village were shocked beyond words. Because murders usually do not occur in the area of ​​the temple, which is the source of people's emotional support. But in this case that he has recently made news for, it will definitely be big news in the media throughout the country.

As it is a remote village in the provinces, it must be a big issue for people in the capital to follow. So he set out to be the first news agency reporter to go to the area, along with another male photographer.

As the car headed into the village, the asphalt road began to turn into a concrete road. The surrounding area is full of two-story half-timbered houses. Every once in a while you will see a house made entirely of cement, indicating that there are houses of wealthy people who have more than enough to eat than others. The car headed deeper into the village, where both sides of the road began to be covered with trees interspersed with rice fields, heading towards a forest temple where police and rescue vehicles were parked.

A black sedan stopped outside the temple. A young reporter stepped out of the driver's seat, revealing a slender figure with a high nose, large, friendly-looking black eyes, tan skin, long black hair styled simply and wearing a jacket. A large, dark green, long-sleeved shirt over a black t-shirt. Holding an online news agency card The photojournalist stepped down from his seat with a tall, slender figure, a long, hooked nose, sharp black eyes, dark eyebrows, tan skin, broad shoulders, and long, styled black hair.

He wore a black collared shirt and spread long black pants. Carrying a camera along with an umbrella to protect from the rain The two looked at each other and the young reporter nodded and pursed his lips as the photographer walked into the front door of the temple. It seemed that the young reporters arrived somewhat later than the other teams because there were already some reporters taking shelter from the rain under the temple pavilion.

“Hello, have you guys just arrived as well?” the young reporter asked. A group of reporters had arrived before him.

“It's been a long time, young man, but the police have been working so they haven't let me in yet.” The reporter, a dark-bearded man who looked senior, was dressed in casual clothes, a pale short-sleeved shirt with a collar that looked like he had worn it for a long time. His dark black trousers were wrinkled and looked like they hadn't been ironed.

“Is it like this? And will there be anyone coming to interview?”

“Not yet. It's like the monks in the temple don't want to give interviews either. Really frustrating And which office is this from?” the dark-bearded male reporter asked curiously, tugging on his dark mustache in contemplation, looking at the press card hanging around the young reporter's neck.

“It's an online news agency. I came with two photographers, that's all,” the young reporter replied in a friendly manner.

“Oh, is that so? What a new face. Nowadays, people rarely watch television anymore. But this news should be quite famous,” the dark-bearded reporter replied, looking at the photographer accompanying the young reporter, who seemed to have little equipment, which seemed a bit out of character for being a photojournalist who often had to carry a lot of stuff.

“How is it that the news is supposed to be quite famous?” The young reporter scratched his head as he asked.

“Eh, from what I've heard, the villagers said that a monk came to open the chapel in the early morning and found the body of a man lying in a pool of blood. This man was a young man from the city who had just recently returned to his hometown and decided to practice Dhamma hard, to the point of meditating until late at night every day since the beginning of Buddhist Lent.

But for what reason it is not clear that he did not choose to become a monk at all. The monks at the temple couldn't say anything because they heard that he was the son of the family that owns a candle factory in this village,” the dark-bearded reporter explained as he ruffled his mustache.

“The son of the owner of a candle factory?” said the young reporter while taking notes on his mobile phone.

“Yes, it probably wasn't the wrong person because the first monk I met remembered his face,” the dark-bearded male reporter replied.

Suddenly the electricity went out throughout the temple. Even though it was late in the day, due to the atmosphere being in the rainy season, it was very cloudy amidst the heavy rain, causing little sunlight to shine down until it was thought that it was evening. Not long after, a temple boy walked with an umbrella and carried four electric lanterns.

“The generator broke down so we're going to use this lantern first,” the boy said in a loud, clear voice that matched the sound of the rain falling on the pavilion's roof. The group of reporters thanked the temple boy and took a lantern and set it up on a pole so that they could be seen in the dim light. The young reporter wasted no time and sat down to talk to a temple boy with dark tan skin and a short haircut who was wearing all white in a friendly manner.

“Did you see anything strange last night?” the young reporter asked in a friendly manner with his hand ready to record on his mobile phone.

The newsworthy group turned their attention to the temple boy. Some of them turned on the phone screen and recorded sound. Some of them pressed to record video with their cameras without telling the boy. The temple boy was hesitant to answer the question, staring at the group of reporters who were waiting anxiously for an answer.

“If you can answer this, I'll give you some snacks too. It's considered to be a great help to you," the young reporter said.

“I already have a lot of snacks. There's a lot left over. Do you want to eat together?" The temple boy replied without hesitation, pointing at the bag of snacks in his bag. The group of reporters laughed with delight at the boy's cleverness.

“But last night I didn't see anything strange because the power went out. The rain fell so hard all night that the sky was about to collapse,” a temple boy told him, pretending to cover his ears in fear of the thunder. The group of reporters were quite happy with their news reports.

“And who is the first person to enter the chapel this morning? ?” The young reporter asked curiously.

"Luang? Normally, he goes to open the chapel every day," the temple boy replied.

“Are you doing an interview?” A policeman appeared behind the temple boy while holding an umbrella, causing the boy to flinch.

“Aon, Brother Wan, go invite Luangta to come,” the policeman turned to the temple boy. As soon as he received the order, he did not speak and ran away into the cubicle.

The young reporter stood up and brushed off the dust from his pants to talk to a senior police officer wearing a long-sleeved shirt over his collared police shirt. His hair was gray with black strands combed into a neat style that stuck to his head, making him look older than his actual age but clean and neat.

“I am Inspector Winai, I am in charge of this case,” he introduced himself to state the conditions for allowing reporters to take photos in the crime scene and specifying The area is strictly forbidden because it will destroy the evidence of the case.

The marshy environment made walking even more difficult. The young reporter began walking through the area where entry was allowed. At the same time, his photographer followed along and took pictures of the spots he pointed out. Until the entrance to the chapel that is blocked by yellow tape. He used a camera to adjust the light control lens to zoom in and see the light as clearly as possible. He observed that there were two entrances to the chapel: the front door that the officials left open for ease of work and the door behind the main Buddha image that was closed and locked. hold

Inside is a tall and airy architecture built by craftsmen in the village. The materials are cement. The window was made of wood and was closed according to the condition of entering the crime scene. Inside, there was an electric lantern that lit up the light of a police officer.

The body of the man who died at the scene was lying on his back in front of the main Buddha image in the chapel. The wounds had small holes clustered along his face and a few on his chest. The blood that had seeped from the wounds had begun to dry and cling to the floor. There was a sign with the number of the witness object placed at the spot where the Buddhist Lent candle in front of the Buddha image fell. There was a hole across the candlestick at the exact spot where the wick burned. Next to it, a shotgun shell casing was found not far from only one of the Lent candles that fell. Another one was located as well. Normally, there are bullet holes on the pillars of the chapel.

The young reporter tried to find tamper marks on the doors and windows but couldn't find any and there were no footprints at the scene of the crime. There were not even any traces of dried mud on the ground. So he walked around the chapel looking for any traces that could be an escape route for the criminals. But due to the unfavorable weather conditions, the rain has washed away all traces of it. He could only shake his head in annoyance, holding an umbrella in one hand.

“If it's like this, I definitely won't be able to record anything. This damn rain is also the heart of the criminal,” the young reporter thought. Photographers put their cameras in their bags, fearing the humidity from the rain will prevent them from continuing their work.

“I think we'll have to wait for a statement from the police as well,” the photographer said in the rain, holding an umbrella in one hand.

“It must be like that. It's really a pity.” The young reporter lamented with regret and sighed. But I started collecting cameras as well.

At noon, the rain began to subside a bit and reporters, hungry for news and wanting to write interviews, gathered under the open pavilion in the temple. to wait for the police to come for an interview Not long after, Inspector Winai came in for an interview with a group of subordinates surrounded by reporters.

“Do you know from the current case picture who the deceased is?” The reporter asked without hesitation.

“Now we know that it is Mr. Manutsa Wongtrakul, a 28-year-old man, the son of the owner of a candle factory in this village,” Inspector Winai replied.

“At the crime scene, shotgun shells were found. Does that mean the weapon used in the crime was a shotgun?” the reporter asked.

“I don't know for sure yet. Because we have to wait for proof of evidence first. This much is known from collecting evidence and witnesses. It is believed that the deceased died from a shotgun blast,” the inspector replied.

“Can you predict the time of death?” the reporter asked.

“From the coagulation of the dead body and the clotting of the blood. It makes us aware that the deceased had been dead for at least six to seven hours. But due to the humid weather due to heavy rain, we have to wait for forensic evidence to be examined first.”

“Have there been any witnesses to testify?” the reporter asked.

“The first person found dead was a monk who was stationed at this temple. But last night there was heavy rain and thunder, so no one heard the sound of the gunfire,” Inspector Winai replied with a worried expression.

“Have any of the deceased's relatives come to the scene to identify the deceased?” the reporter asked.

“Not yet.”

“Are there any suspects at the scene?” the reporter asked curiously.

“No one is the number one suspect yet. Until everyone in the temple is questioned,” Inspector Winai replied without much emotion.

Because this temple is respected for the beliefs and practices of the people in the village. But it became the scene of a murder. The interview with the police turned out to be just as the young reporter had expected. That is, the police often keep certain clues from journalists so that the criminals who watch the news don't know about the police's work on the case.

But if a reporter were to interview villagers in person, the testimony would also greatly distort the truth. He could only think of a way to find witnesses at the scene to interview before the police. Or they must approach other relatives of the deceased directly to find suspects who may have a motive for this horrific incident.

“What should we do?” the photographer asked the young reporter.

“You might have to find a relative of the deceased to interview. By now the police would have told people in the temple not to give interviews to reporters. Because I want the photos of the case not to be made news first.” A young reporter talks to a photographer.

“Candle factory.” The photographer opened his umbrella and prepared to walk outside the pavilion to a car parked in the rain.

“That's right,” said the young reporter, walking with an umbrella ahead of the photographer in the car.

A black sedan drove away from the temple, leaving the incident for the police to deal with. The two headed to the only candle factory in the village, hoping that no other reporter would get them first. The young reporter sketched a plan of the chapel where the crime scene took place, including the front doors, various entrances and exits, and the distance from the pavilion to the chapel and the cloisters.

“What do you think?” the photographer sitting in his car asked the young reporter to chat.

“There were no other signs of fighting at the scene. Looking at the deceased's body, there were no bruises from self-defense. There were only bullet holes on the face and chest. His clothes are still dry, as if he didn't run away and hide the villain in the temple,” said the young reporter.

“It sure is. This case might just be a suicide. I think it might be nothing,” the photographer asked.

“Maybe not. But the curious thing is that there was no shotgun found at the place of birth,” the young reporter replied.

“Then if that were true, the culprit could have hidden behind the big Buddha statue and shot the dead person and then escaped,” the photographer reasonably deduced.

“It's possible. But the doors and windows in the chapel are bolted on every side. The donation box is still there,” the young reporter replied.

“Is that so? Then this is a murder in a closed room!” The photographer said in a startled voice.

“Whether it is like that or not, I don't know,” the young reporter replied hesitantly.

“Oh, so what do you think you'll get from the people at the candle factory?” asked the photographer.

“We have to know that. What is Mr. Manutsa doing at the temple? And why did the criminal have to choose the chapel as the location of the crime? If he were to practice every day until nightfall, he would probably choose somewhere else like home or a place where no one would witness,” the young reporter explained.

“It is possible.” The photographer nodded in agreement.

The car turned back on the original route the two had driven through, heading towards a candle factory in the village. The surrounding paths that the car passed were houses, shops, and markets before passing another row of commercial buildings until the factory roof could be seen. Produce tall, airy candles from outside covered with a tin roof. As the young reporter expected, there would be at least a few reporters arriving before him. One of them was a dark-bearded male reporter whom he had met while sheltering from the rain in the temple pavilion. The two of them immediately got out of the car and carried news interview equipment.

“See you again,” said a young reporter and a dark-bearded reporter who were waiting for a news interview because the police were talking to the owner of a candle factory.

"Of course. After finishing business at the temple, I rushed here. I was planning to come and interview the deceased's relatives, so I had to wait for the police to finish first," the dark-bearded reporter replied angrily.

“That's it. Probably the first witness to give a statement to the police first.” The young reporter replied sympathetically to the police. But in his heart he thought the same thing as the dark-bearded male reporter.

Meanwhile, a black Bentley driving into the factory entered the back door, which was already open to welcome the car. The woman stepped out of her car and the reporters turned to see who the visitor was. She looked at the young reporter with the eyes of an acquaintance but didn't say hello.

“What should we do now?” the photographer asked the young reporter.

“You probably have to use this method,” the young reporter replied, picking up his phone and unlocking the screen and opening a chat to send a private message to someone. Soon a notification came back and he retreated from the reporters waiting to interview him.

“I can't see a pretty girl right now, sir. Be careful, you might be the bad guy, haha.” The dark-bearded reporter teased when he saw him looking for the woman who owned the car.

“Not that much. Beautiful people are naturally nice to look at, haha,” the young reporter answered, correcting his embarrassment while making a gesture as if he had to go back to get things in the car with the photographer following him as well. When they arrived at the car, they saw her waiting in the driver's seat of the black sedan they were already in.

“Did you arrive on time at the scene, Detective?” the woman asked.

“No, I'm sorry. I must have missed an important moment. But there is still some way for me to continue working on this case,” the young reporter replied as he sat down next to the driver's seat.

The young woman had a worried expression on her face. But hidden in her sad eyes was a hand reaching out and patting her shoulder to give her encouragement from the man sitting in the back seat.

“Walida, I'm here with you. You'd better not go to the scene just yet,” the photographer sitting in the back seat consoled her.

“The police have started contacting us to identify the body. But right now I still can't accept it,” she said, her voice trembling with sadness and tears starting to flow down her cheeks.

“He really is gone. Is my brother really dead?” She cried, unable to hold back her feelings of sorrow any longer.

The young reporter was saddened by the depressing atmosphere inside the car while the male photographer comforted her like an adult gently comforting a crying child.

Two days before the murder

Two days ago, a young detective named Chonna Thitichinda was contacted by a young woman who hired him to meet her in her hometown of Bangkok. The house was in a village and had good security, with security guards checking entry and exit tickets. She had arranged to meet him at a coffee shop first and then took him to her house after work. cool

She wore a blue short-sleeved collared shirt, looking dignified, suitable for a working woman, and black trousers, which made her sassy, ​​suitable for a job that required her to walk. What can clearly be said was that she wore white shoes that didn't have as many stains. Does that mean she primarily works in an office or does she have a change of shoes to use while working?

Even a young detective like Chona saw her and was the first to notice her beauty. She has a tall, well-proportioned figure, looks sassy, ​​has white skin, a high nose, and large, dark brown eyes that look sweet and clear. Shoulder length black hair Paint your lips with light pink lipstick.

“Are you Chonna?” she greeted first.

“Yes, Chonna Thitichinda,” he answered in a friendly way, reassuring her that she had greeted the right person.

“I am Walida Wongtrakul, who contacted you recently,” she replied.

“Yes, if there is any problem, please start telling me,” said Chonna.

“I'm afraid it won't be convenient to talk here. Let's move to my house so we can talk about the details.”

“Taking it as you say, it's good too,” Chonna accepted the invitation.

She drank one last sip of cold coffee before getting up from her chair and heading for her home in the black Bentley she was driving. Entering the housing development, there are different house styles according to the customer's request. The road leading to the house is designed with a printed concrete floor giving a relaxed Western feel to the front of the two-storey high residence, suitable for a medium-sized family with a moderate status. modern house

When she entered the house, her boyfriend opened the door and invited him into the house in a friendly way. The three of them sat talking in the living room of the house. Chonna sat on the single sofa, facing the couple. Her boyfriend is tall and slender. The nose is long and ridged. Sharp black eyes, dark eyebrows, looks fierce and charming, tan skin, broad shoulders, long black hair styled.

“I would like to introduce myself again. My name is Walida Wongtrakul. I am the person who contacted you. There's something troubling me and I need your help to investigate. This is my boyfriend.” She introduced herself before introducing herself to her boyfriend.

“I am Phayakon Soramit. My girlfriend contacted you earlier because we were both really troubled by what is happening right now,” Phayakorn said with a serious expression, hiding his troubled feelings.

“Excuse me, but I would like to know the ages of both of you as well,” Chonna asked reluctantly, out of politeness.

"Oh, it's okay. I'm 32 years old and my girlfriend is 34 years old," Walida replied.

“I, Choanna Thitichinda, am now ready to listen to the stories that you both are troubling. If you're ready, you can start telling the story.” Choanna tried to create a relaxed atmosphere amidst the couple's worries.

“The whole story is like this. Last month, I received a message from my younger brother, Manutsa Wongtrakul, 28 years old, asking me to take care of his child for a while because there was something he needed to take care of at home, even though he really didn't dare to. go home Because he wants to settle down in life first.”

She explained while showing the thief a picture of her younger brother on her mobile phone. In the picture, he is a tall, slender, arrogant man with dark skin, a high nose, and dark brown eyes, smiling at the screen. It looks like a photo of his younger brother taken from a close older sister.

“Do you want to take care of the kids? How old is the child?” asked the young man.

“Her name is Midari, and I'm 3 years old.” Paeakorn was the one who answered.

“So that Ms. Walida's younger brother doesn't want to go home, is there any other reason?” Chonna asked further.

“Well, he hasn't told me at home yet. that he has had children for a long time When I went back, I would ask him not to talk about this matter for fear that people at home would be uncomfortable. If at home they know that they have children, they are afraid that they will want their grandchildren to go back and take care of them in their hometowns in the countryside before they grow up and then send them to study in the city. But my younger brother has more personal problems as well,” Walida explained with a worried expression.

“What kind of personal problems do you have?” Chonna asked.

The two lovers looked at each other as if they were about to reveal the worries they had kept for a long time until Walida spoke first.

“My younger brother just lost his girlfriend. As far as he told me, his girlfriend committed suicide a month ago,” Walida said in a soft voice, feeling both sorrow and sympathy.

“Kill yourself? And doesn't the family still know about this?" Chonna asked, getting to the point.

“No, I don't know. The family doesn't even know how difficult my little brother is these days since the epidemic. He was fired from his job and had to work every job to have enough income to support himself and his girlfriend who is now gone,” Walida answered, struggling to speak with her boyfriend holding her hand. A hand of encouragement is not far away.

“His girlfriend is Merisa, 27 years old, and works as a waitress at a night bar in the area where they live together. They knew each other before she came to do this job. But because she was also laid off from work during the epidemic, she had to do this job. My younger brother doesn't mind because he loves her.

She herself didn't want to be a burden to him. Until she became pregnant, he worked harder, he was very happy to become a father. But he still knows that he doesn't have enough money to take care of the lives of the two of them. One day she started to change, he knew. She is starting to talk to another guy. But he didn't really care because he knew that it was probably because of work.” Walida stopped explaining before tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I think we'd better take a break first," he said, interrupting. She regained consciousness from the depressing story she was telling. He handed her a handkerchief to wipe away her tears.

“No, it's better to tell the whole story at once,” Chonna said.

Chon Na uses the principle that if every story is true, it should be told all at once. If told many times, it can often be enhanced. No matter how much he sympathizes with the young woman in front of him, listening to the employer must be careful listening in order not to be hired by the wrongdoer himself.

“Yes, it's true what the detective said. I should finish the story so that I can vent some of this troubling matter,” Walida continued.

“My younger brother, when he found out that the two of them were starting to have a relationship, He asked his girlfriend to stop getting involved with that man. But she refused because she didn't feel the same anymore. She didn't want to struggle like before and also said that she would take her daughter to live with her. If he still didn't stop pestering her, she would sue for child support for the daughter she lives with without a registered marriage,” Walida finished her story.

“That my younger brother's girlfriend committed suicide. Did he tell you the cause of death?” asked Choanna.

“He used to say it was cyanide,” Walida replied.

“Cyanide?” Rojana isn't surprised that such a dangerous drug has become so easy to find in an era where everything can be bought and sold on the internet.

“Yes, the police are sure it was a suicide because there was a bottle of liquor next to her on the bed. Even various forensics units It is confirmed that there was cyanide stain on her hand,” Lalida replied.

“Suspicious.” The thief was suspicious.

“Yes, and now my younger brother has been home for a while,” Walida continued.

“What did he go back and do?” he asked.

“He said that he wanted to go back to helping at home and go back to practicing meditation in his neighborhood because he wanted his girlfriend to be at peace,” Walida replied.

“So, what is the job you're going to give me to do?” Chonna asked after listening to the story until the end.

“That's the thing. I'm also curious about the death of my brother's girlfriend because he didn't explain much about it. And the man who is dating my younger brother's girlfriend is suspicious," Walida replied.

“But the police have already closed the case. Everything should be fine now,” replied Joona.

“What happened is not just that. That man probably had something to do with this. I have evidence from CCTV in my brother's house,” explains Walida.

She picked up her notebook and opened the video for him to see on the screen. It was a video from a CCTV camera on June 3, 2019.

The camera angle shows the living room of the house where Walida's younger brother lives. Everything in the camera looks normal. Merisa dressed beautifully, looked in a hurry, sat on the sofa, picked up the letter and licked the seal before leaving the living room. Walida then opened the picture of Merisa on her mobile phone and showed it to him. Merisa dressed in a black shoulder-baring shirt with a short white skirt.

She is a sweet-looking woman with round eyes, a slender chin, a high nose, and a short bob black hairstyle. Red lipstick on the right skin makes you look beautiful and charming. Thieves face Walida, so she picks up her cell phone and puts it down.

“So, do you know who the man who is in a relationship with Merisa is?” asked Joona.

“Not at all. In the past, my little brother has never been seen alive.” Walida had a hopeless expression on her face.

“But I know the bar where she works because I used to have to send Manutsa there,” Paeakorn added.

“True, I forgot to tell you the address of that bar.” Walida felt guilty that she had forgotten the details.

“It's okay. So for the rest, I'll keep in touch to inform you of the details. If there's any urgent matter, just call me,” Choona said and got up from the sofa.

At that time, a little girl walked up and clung to the sofa where Walida was sitting. She had dark brown eyes, short black hair, white skin, and was small for her age. Her expression looked scared but she looked at him with questioning eyes. When Chonna talked with both sides, he agreed to work on the case. He promised to investigate the case until now, the only evidence is the video from the security camera in Manutsa's house.

Now he wondered what it would be like if he traveled to Manutsa in his hometown to ask him about the whole story. Because as a detective who works independently, it is different from the police who have a team to support them along with various equipment and tools. There are many things that will make the investigation easier. Compared to him who only gathered evidence by tracking. and interrogation only

It was even more difficult to appear at the scene of the crime or examine the body closely. Although he started out as a detective after being unemployed during the pandemic, he had to try his best with his abilities and his skepticism. He has always believed that the brain trains. To be witty until it becomes a habit As for habits, like the brain, it takes time to train them.

Walida drove the car to drop the robber off at the coffee shop at the meeting point and said goodbye. He drove his black sedan and parked at a bar. The interior was decorated with exposed bricks, giving it a raw feel. It was an ideal place to sit and drink at night. He was dressed in a black shirt and trousers. A middle-parted hairstyle and clean white sneakers look like someone who just got off work and needs a drink to relieve herself from a long day of fatigue.

He sat down at the bar table to order a drink. While there was sound, there were musicians playing jazz music.

“Do you have any recommended drinks?” asked Choanna, asking for a drink.

“I suggest that if you're new, drink wine so you can pair it with the grilled meat that's famous here,” the bartender said.

She wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows and a black apron with her long brown hair tied back. White skin, red lipstick Small, slender nose On her chest was a golden metal name tag that read: Rena. Her small sharp eyes looked at the robber.

“Just like you said, I just came here for the first time. Then it's good to do as you suggest," Choanna replied. Suddenly, the young bartender picked up a bottle of wine and poured it into a glass for him to taste. He tasted it and nodded in satisfaction before pouring more. The young bartender served him bread to snack on and waited for his food to be served.

“Thank you,” Chonna said gratefully. But before the young bartender could go back to her work, he gave her a break to talk first.

“Did the employee named Merisa not come during this time?” Jonna asked.

“Are you a police officer?” the bartender asked cautiously, getting to the point. But try to keep your emotions in good manners.

“No, but they work similar to the police,” Chonna hinted.

“Then I probably don't have to tell you much. Because someone has already asked.”

“I want to know who you were with the last time,” Choanna asked until she stared into his eyes. But he had a calm expression on his face.

Normally, the robber would look at people's expressions while talking to observe the expressions that arise from their emotions in response to questions such as anger, disgust, happiness, sadness, surprise, fear, and contempt. But now, the dim warm white lights in the store could only detect the emotions of people. She got it from this tone.

“Then you know she won't be coming back here,” the bartender replied as she made drinks for customers.

“Yes, I came for that reason.” Chon Na didn't ask her for an answer, fearing that she would not cooperate.

“She disappeared with a man who was probably older than you. Dress like someone who likes to play golf. But it is normal for a woman in a bar to disappear with someone,” the bartender replied.

“What does he look like?” asked Joanna.

“Tall and slender, with dark tan skin, a prominent nose, black eyes, dark eyebrows, short, cropped hair. And he's really good-looking.” The bartender smiled with a smile on his lips.

“How long has it been since the last time?”

“Since April hasn't come to do this work. Probably a month ago,” the bartender replied calmly.

“The last drink I had with you. Can you remember?”

“No one would remember something like that. It's been that long,” the bartender answered with a hint of irritation.

“That's it. I don't know what I'm thinking.” The man cut off the conversation.

While the young bartender went to serve other customers, Chonna picked up a piece of bread and put it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Soon, the young bartender brought grilled meat to serve, the aroma was so fragrant that he lost interest. instant bread

“That man has a membership card for this place. The last menu item he ordered was vodka. I really can't tell you his personal information. His age is probably about 35 years old,” the bartender said in a calm voice. to make him listen carefully The Otter Thief nodded and a slight smile curled his lips.

“Thank you, you helped me a lot,” Choona said.

“Enjoy yourselves.” The bartender returned to her duties. Chonna took a breath and put his work aside for the time being. Then he started poking the grilled meat, cutting it with a knife, putting the pieces into his mouth, chewing and tasting them before they went cold. He enjoyed the restaurant's famous grilled beef but didn't add more wine because he was afraid he wouldn't be able to drive back. The thief gave the bartender a tip before leaving the restaurant, making him realize that it was raining. Look at the shop's opening hours, which are 17.00 - 00.00, then get in the car and drive down the road.

The thief went back to sleep and thought while sitting on the bed of a hotel that he rented a room specifically to work on this case, but he couldn't think of anything until he fell asleep. The next morning, he started the day by looking for evidence, thinking that he would have to contact Merisa's relatives to find out about the relationship of the man who was dating her.

He returned to the bar last night, which was not yet open. But I met the owner of the shop who was talking on his cell phone with the drink delivery driver. She wears square-rimmed glasses and a black shirt. Short black hair looks cool, white skin, slender chin, big eyes, looking down to read the order on a tablet.

“The shop isn't open yet,” she said without looking up at Chonna.

“I came to see Merisa,” the thief got to the point. She turned to look at him. She said something to the person on the cell phone line before hanging up.

“Do you have something to talk to her about?” She looked at him suspiciously.

“I want to contact her relatives. There is something I need to talk to them about.” The man answered in a calm tone. Staring back at the interlocutor

“Do you have a contact number for her or any of her relatives?” The thief had to lie to get important information. But he didn't do a good job of making a serious tone.

“No, you haven't been to work in a month,” she replied, not in the mood to continue talking, bending over to carry a crate of drinks into the kitchen.

“It's really very important,” Chonna said in a pleading tone.

“Okay, if you want it. But you mustn't cause me any trouble,” she replied in a low voice. She opened Merisa's job application page on her tablet and wrote down her phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to him.

“Thank you, you helped me a lot,” Chonna said gratefully, putting the paper in his pocket and about to walk out of the store.

“Wait a minute, what is your name in case anyone comes looking for me?” She stopped him and was about to open the door to leave the store.

“Jonna, Jonna Thitichinda,” he replied with a friendly smile as the female manager stared at him and bit the tip in her mouth before putting it down. He got into a black sedan and dialed the phone number on the piece of paper he had received.

“Hello, I don't know who I want to talk to.” The voice on the other end of the phone was very familiar. So he got out of the car and went back into the store.

“What is it?” The female manager looked at him. She sneered happily.

“This isn't a joke, sir. It's a matter of life and death,” Chonna said in a clear voice trying to keep his anger at bay as he handed her a piece of paper with a phone number written on it.

“Well, you want to talk to her relatives. How about I give you my number? Your old number has probably been canceled by now.” She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. The thief bit his lip and pursed his lips, trying to keep his emotions in check.

“Then I would like to ask you frankly, Merisa, what was the cause of death stated in the autopsy report?” Chonna asked, opening the issue.

The line manager's eyes changed from a sneering smile to softening with sadness in his eyes, the corners of his mouth turned from a twitching smile to an upside down smile.

“She committed suicide with cyanide. Police found an empty liquor bottle with cyanide stained inside.”

"Is it an empty liquor bottle? Weren't there any bottle caps found at the crime scene?" the thief asked, emphasizing the need for details.

“Yes, all I found was an empty liquor bottle,” she replied in a calm voice, feeling that she was telling the truth as the police said.

The thief began to think that it was possible that the liquor did not contain poison, but rather the lid of the liquor. If the bottle was not tilted, the poison would not mix into the liquor, causing the drinker to be fine, until he began to understand something. If the bottle of liquor she drank was from a shop, it was possible that she had actually been poisoned.

“Is that a liquor bottle from this shop?”

“No, it's something you bought yourself to drink.” The store manager looked down, making it clear that he didn't want to talk about it.

“You are a relative of Which way, Merisa?"

“I am your aunt. Why are you interested in this matter? Are you a police officer?” the female manager asked curiously.

“No, there was something unusual about her death. Now I'm investigating exactly where it came from,” Choona finished speaking, and the female manager had a shocked expression on her face.

“Are you saying that she was poisoned?!” The female manager's voice was shocked and her hands were shaking.

"No, I'm just checking."

“But the police have already come to a conclusion.”

“I can't conclude anything until I find evidence.”

The thief began to think that there was drinking with customers in the store. After that, someone switched the cap on a liquor bottle, causing it to instantly turn into a poison-infused liquor when the bottle was tilted.

“So, do you know the police officer who closed this case?” Chonna asked as he stared expectantly at the young manager's face.

“There isn't any. The case was closed a month ago, but I have the contact number for the person who performed the autopsy on Merisa's body before the funeral ceremony.” The female manager bent over and turned on the phone screen to find a phone number.

“Here,” she wrote down on a piece of paper and handed it to the robber.

“Thank you very much. But on the day of the funeral, did anyone who was not a relative come to the funeral?” Chonna asked curiously, causing the female manager to have a thoughtful look on her face.

“As far as I can remember, there was a girlfriend of Merisa, whose name is Manutsa, came to the event. and the other person was a slightly older man. But at that time I was busy organizing the ceremony so I couldn't name him.”

“Are the two of you coming together?”

"No, they were talking, but I don't know what it was about."

“What does the man who talked with Manutsa look like?”

“He was tall, had dark tan skin, a prominent nose, dark eyebrows, and short, cropped black hair. That's all I remember." The female manager bit the pen she used to take notes and looked thoughtful.

“You helped me a lot. What's your name, by the way?" Chonna asked as he put the piece of paper on which he wrote down his phone number in his pocket.

“Nerisara.”

"thank you very much"

“If you have any news about this matter, please contact me. I also want to know what happened. You are my niece.” The female manager begged the robber, giving her a pleading look.

“Alright.”

The thief says goodbye to the young bar manager and heads to the hospital but forgets that The hospital had to use the deceased's relatives to access that information, causing him to travel unfortunately. The robber told the female manager about this. But with the two people's schedules not matching up, the two still had to find a suitable day to meet each other by making an appointment with the hospital doctor.

The thief returned to his hotel room to ponder the possible cause of death. that the police said it might be because there was clear cyanide stains in the bottle and on Merisa's hands, so there was no doubt In addition, no one benefited from her death, not even Manutsa or the man she was with. But the curious thing is that the poison didn't take effect immediately. Either the suicide would cause the poison to take effect slowly, or they were delaying the writing of the letter. Suddenly there was a phone call on the robber's cell phone.

“You...Detective!...Please...it...it's happened. It really happened.” It was Walida calling and speaking in a trembling voice, so frightened that she couldn't control her consciousness.

“What happened, Ms. Walida?!” Choanna asked in a voice trembling with panic.

“My little brother...is...dead!” Lalida said in a trembling voice.

The thief was stunned for a moment and had to take a deep breath to collect himself and return to his conversation.

“Miss Walida. We need to meet up right now!” Chonna said in a calm voice indicating seriousness. He has big plans.

The three of them meet in Walida Chonna's house and begin to make a plan for him and Payakon to be reporters who go down to cover news in the area so that the criminal who is committing the crime will not be caught in time. As for Walida, she will follow after finding someone to take care of Midari. The thieves and Pae Kon then drive a black sedan towards their rural hometown where the horrific murder took place.

The day of the murder

Chonna, Walida and Phayakorn were sitting in the car thinking. This might be a murder plot from Merisa to Manutsa. The thief said that he still doesn't have a strong motive or even evidence.

“What should I do now?” Phayakorn asked the rice thief who was rubbing his chin with a finger, pretending to think.

“We must find the culprit by cooperating with the police. Because this seems to be a police case. As for the case I'm working on, it might have enough weight to be more or less an incentive for the criminal to take action." Chonna replied in a tone of encouragement, creating hope for a solution to this case.

“If that's the case. Do we still have to be journalists?”

“For our safety, our identity must be known to the police, that's all. If the criminal acts to get revenge, we won't have anything to do with it. This is the quickest way to know.” Thief Na turned to look at the two of them to see that he understood what he was saying.

“So Ms. Walida, do you think anyone might be suspicious?”

“I don't know. I haven't seen my brother in a month.”

“Then you go into the house first. I will follow along to interview as a reporter again.” Choanna told Walida to follow the plan.

The three of them got out of the black sedan and Walida held up an umbrella and walked through the candle making materials section and into the house where the police were talking to the resident of the candle factory owner. Inspector Winai sat on a chair at the dining room table in the kitchen of the house. One of the captains sat and talked with Manutsa's parents in the living room. Walida sat down on the sofa where both her parents were sitting and answering a young captain's question.

The rice thief outside looked at the two-story concrete house with a gable roof and thought about what method the police would use to interrogate him in order to end the case as quickly as possible. By having the young captain ask for overall information about the people in the house, while Inspector Vinai will interrogate them one by one to hear who said something different from the statement given to one of the young captains. He has a sharp face and dark skin.

The eyebrows are thick with a notch on the right side. Sharp black eyes, short, cropped hair, and wearing a police uniform. The young captain began to greet the three people sitting across from him on the sofa.

“I am Captain Walrawit. First of all, I am truly sorry for what happened.” Captain Wanrawit expressed his sorrow in front of the three people with sympathy while the three did not say anything.

“I would like to ask questions to find evidence. How many people live in this house?” He began his interrogation, holding a pen and preparing to write down an iPad.

“There are actually four people living in this house. The rest are all workers who come in and out only in the front part of the candle factory,” Walida's mother replied politely.

“Who are the members of this house at home? Please let me know the names as well.” He stared at Walida's mother's face, preparing to write down the names on the iPad.

“There is me, Orada Wongtrakul, 54 years old, and my husband, Sriman Wongtrakul, 61 years old. Ngawal is a 19-year-old accounting assistant. Yula is a 23-year-old housewife,” Orada finished, raising a glass of water and sipping on her. dry old throat

“What about you ladies?” Captain Wanrawit turned to ask Lalida.

“This is Walida Wongtrakul, 34 years old, my daughter,” Orada answered.

“Just some time. If a lazy person like that dies, I don't have any regrets, so I can't just arrange a funeral to get it over with!” Sriman said impatiently. Captain Wanrawit was stunned by what he had done. The hand holding his mouth to write on the iPad stopped. Sriman got up and walked out to the back of the house.

“Wait, I still have many things to ask,” Captain Wanrawit said loudly. But Sriman walked out of sight into the garden behind the house.

“It's okay. Dad should probably go out and smoke a cigarette. Once he's calmed down, he'll probably come back,” Walida said.

"Oh, yes, then I'll start asking questions." Captain Wanrawit prepared to continue writing down information.

“What happened, Captain? How could you release the person who was investigating?” Captain Wanrawit was startled when he heard Inspector Vinai's voice ask from behind him.

“It's... me.” The captain was still speechless.

“I just finished asking the bookkeeper and the housekeeper. So, may I invite you ladies this way first?” Inspector Winai politely invited Arada to the kitchen.

“Yes,” Captain Wanrawit replied.

Arada got up and walked into the kitchen area. There was a female captain sitting next to Inspector Winai.

“Miss Orrada, Manutsa, is he at this house all the time?” Inspector Winai asked.

“He has only been home for a month after working in Bangkok for four years. I just came back and stayed the longest this time.”

“Manutsa, what does he do for work?”

“As far as I know, it's a digital design job. I don't really understand these things myself.” Orada had a thoughtful expression and looked slightly upwards before answering.

"nevermind So why did he come back to the house?” Inspector Winai asked about other things to relax her.

“He said he wanted to take a break from his job. I don't really know the reason, but every once in a while he comes home and I feel happy. I'm afraid that if I ask, they'll be annoyed."

“Does he have a girlfriend or friend coming to see him?”

“For the past month there hasn't been any.”

“Where were you last night?”

“I'm at home here. At 10 p.m. I went to bed.”

“You go to bed with your husband, right?”

"No, my husband will sleep later, probably around midnight, because he has to count the products to see if they're on schedule or not."

“Is your husband not on good terms with your son?” Inspector Winai asked because he had seen Sriman give an impassioned answer to Captain Wanrawit's question a moment ago.

Upon hearing that question, Orada's expression changed from calm to worried. The mouth twitched slightly upside down before returning to its normal state. She took a breath before answering.

“There is no dislike for each other. But my husband is a conservative person and wants his children to inherit the business. but returned to an unstable job in Bangkok That alone makes him usually not very interested in Manutsa. But since Ngawan came to help with the work, there has been less anger towards each other.”

“Ngawal is a hired worker?”

“Ngawan is a worker who has been taken care of for 5 years, but because he is a hardworking child, my husband has given him a place to live in this house to help work with Yula.”

“Does that mean the two of them are sleeping in this house?”

"yes"

“Do you think there is anyone who might be suspicious or had a quarrel with Manutsa before the incident?”

“There shouldn't be any quarrels. Since he came home During the day, I sometimes help out at home. In the evening, I go to meditate and practice Dhamma at the temple and then come back after dark. I don't know if anything happened during that time.”

“Oh, is that so? That's all there is to it. Please help me follow Mr. Sriman to inquire." Inspector Winai rubbed his chin in thought. After a while Sriman walked in and sat down in front of Inspector Vinai.

“Mr. Sriman, at what time did you go to bed last night?” Inspector Winai asked to the point.

“I counted the products, so I stayed up late, finished at around 1 a.m. and went to bed,” Sriman answered while crossing his arms confidently.

“Is there anyone working with you?”

“Are you now suspecting me, police officer?” Sriman said in an unhappy tone.

"It's all possible. I have to ask in order to show you the utmost innocence," Inspector Vinai said in a sincere tone, causing Sriman to calm down.

“Anyway, last night I sat up late making a product list with Ngawan. Whenever I get off work, Ngawal gets to sleep at that time.”

“And aren't you surprised that your son hasn't come home?”

"No, I'm not surprised. There are people who don't have work to do," Sriman replied in a sarcastic tone.

“So what kind of work does he help with here?”

“He sometimes grabs and grabs things, lifts things up and down the car, drives to deliver things to the market, that's all. It's not worthy of me giving him money to finish his studies and work in Bangkok.” Sriman still spoke and asked to leave, frowning and crossing his arms. while

“And this kid named Ngawan, did you hire him yourself?”

“My grandfather gave it to me because he knew me. When the father couldn't take care of the child, he sent him back to work at home.”

“So, is this Ngawan's grandfather in this village?”

“No, he has moved to another place,” Sriman replied, looking away.

"Okay, sir. I see that your daughter has just now returned home. Does she come back often?" Inspector Winai asked.

“My daughter only comes back during the holidays.”

“I have run out of questions. Please let Ms. Lalida come in,” Inspector Winai replied and turned to look at the female captain sitting next to her. She was clearly trying to keep her expression expressionless as she jotted down information on her iPad. Walida sat down in front of Inspector Winai.

“Miss Walida. Who called to tell you about Mr. Manut's death?”

“Mother was the one who called me around 5:00 a.m.”

“So Manut, does he have a problem with anyone?” Inspector Winai asked.

At that time, Captain Wanrawit walked in and interrupted.

“Inspector, there are two journalists who want to talk to you.” Captain Wanrawit interrupted until the inspector's expression changed to one of dissatisfaction, his eyebrows furrowed clearly.

“I told you to keep the reporters out first!” the inspector said loudly, causing Captain Wanrawit to turn pale.

“But..sir.”

“You don't have to. Those two really had to talk to the inspector. I was the one who asked them to come in,” Walida said.

“But this is investigative work that I am responsible for,” the inspector said loudly and clearly so that everyone could understand the situation.

“I have already started an investigation into possible motives in this case. I have to let those two come in right now.” Walida stood firm. Inspector Winai crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath.

“Alright, don't waste my time. Please come in.” Inspector Winai extended his hand, inviting the two reporters into the kitchen. The two reporters walked in and closed the kitchen door, allowing for a more private conversation.

“Oh, these two reporters have met before,” Inspector Winai greeted the two young reporters.

“No, Inspector, one of these reporters is my boyfriend and the other is a detective,” Walida said, turning to look at the two reporters standing at the other end of the dining table. The inspector suddenly pursed his lips and clenched his jaw, unable to suppress his emotions under his arms that were folded across his chest. The prime thief raised his hand to the inspector and apologized before explaining why he had to disguise himself to enter the crime scene and the matter of the case that happened earlier.

“This means that the work you are doing is work that the police have already done. You don't believe it, right?” Inspector Winai sighed, trying to open up a conversation.

“It's not like that, Inspector. I do my part to dismantle cases that are still suspicious, that's all. The rest is a matter of law.” Chonna answered honestly.

“So, who are your suspects now, Detective?” Inspector Vinai asked, testing the information he had gathered.

“Not yet, Inspector. I need to find more information first. We must ask for cooperation from the police again.”

“Haha, that's how I work for you.” The inspector sneered, pleased at the thieves' cleverness.

“I came to do this job to find the culprit. That's my job. If the inspector understands this part, it will help the inspector close the case faster.”

The inspector couldn't answer, but rubbed his chin in thought and turned to look at the faces of the two captains standing in the corner of the room.

"How about it? Captain, do you want to work with this detective?" Inspector Winai asked loudly. The two captains turned to look at each other and Captain Wanrawit opened his mouth to speak before the female captain was about to answer.

“I want us to catch the culprit,” Captain Wanrawit answered firmly, causing the female captain to stand still, clenching her jaw, not uttering a word.

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