Chapter 13 — Forest Keeper

"Accident scene," Khue said, as she and Nguyen sat across from each other at the desk, a map of the reserve spread out in front of them, the Pu Cai peak area circled with a red pen. "I think I need to go back there, look back with the eyes of someone who has enough experience investigating the scene, not the eyes of a nineteen-year-old girl suffering like eight years ago."

Nguyen nodded, but his eyes were somewhat hesitant. "Are you sure about this? Going back to that place, after all these years... can be very emotionally difficult."

"I know," Khue replied, her voice determined even though in her heart she could clearly feel the heaviness rising just at the thought of standing in front of the rock crevice where her father had fallen. "But I need to do this. And I need you to come with me, not just for moral support, but because your forensic expertise can help me see things I've been missing."

Nguyen, during his years of study and work, had a short-term training course in wildlife forensics - analyzing scenes related to hunting cases, determining the cause of death of animals based on traces left behind. Although his expertise is not directly applicable to a human incident, the basic principles of crime scene analysis, of reading fingerprints, of distinguishing between a natural accident and a staged scene, can still provide a fresh perspective that the investigators eight years ago, working hastily and perhaps pressured to reach conclusions quickly, missed.

"Okay, I'll look up the high fall scene analysis technique before I go," he said, his voice turning serious and professional. "Do you have the autopsy records or the official investigation report? If so, reviewing them first will help us know specifically what to look for at the scene."

Khue rummaged through the tin box where important documents were kept, taking out a copy of the official investigation report her family received eight years ago, which had yellowed over time but was still clearly legible. She handed it to Nguyen, watching him read each line with a look of intense concentration.

"Here it says 'severe head and chest injury when falling from a height of about twenty meters'," Nguyen read aloud, then looked up at Khue. "Do you know the specific terrain at the spot where he supposedly fell? The slope, the type of rock, are there any trees growing nearby?"

"I vaguely remember, but it's been a long time since I've been back there," Khue admitted, her voice low. "After the funeral, I... I avoided that area. I didn't have the courage."

"So we need to go to the field to get accurate information," Nguyen said, his voice gentle but firm. "This report has one point that I find a bit strange - if he fell from a height of twenty meters into a rock crevice, the injuries would normally be distributed in a certain way based on the angle of the fall and the contact surface. The injuries concentrated on both the head and chest at the same time, with the severity as described in the report, consistent with a vertical or near-vertical fall. But if it was a natural slip on a slope, there would usually be a tendency to roll and slide, leading to scattered injuries in many places. more intelligent, not so focused."

Khue sat up straight, listening to Nguyen's every word with absolute attention. "You mean, this type of injury is more like a straight fall from a height than a slip on a slope?"

"I can't say for sure, because I'm not a human forensics expert," Nguyen said carefully, "but it's a suspicious point, worth examining more closely at the actual scene. If the terrain there doesn't have a single point sufficient to create a natural vertical fall, but only has gentle slopes, then the conclusion in this report is somewhat forced."

That idea made Khue feel a cold breeze running down her spine - not because of fear, but because of a smoldering anger burning in her heart. If Nguyen's analysis is correct, then the conclusion that the "accident" eight years ago is not simply a mistake due to lack of expertise, but could be a deliberate omission of unusual details, a hasty closing of the file behind which, most likely, are the hands of those who want this story to end as quickly as possible.

"We need to go this weekend," Khue decided, her voice now regaining the familiar calm and decisiveness of a park ranger on a mission, even though underneath that shell was still the pain of a girl. "Before the rainy season comes, the road to Pu Cai peak will be much more difficult."

"I will prepare all the necessary tools — a slope gauge, a tape measure, a camera capable of taking detailed close-ups," Nguyen said, already starting to make a list in his head. "Do you think we should tell someone about this plan? Just in case anything happens, at least someone knows where we are."

"I will tell May," Khue replied. "But don't tell Mr. Loc, at least not yet."

Nguyen nodded in agreement, understanding the necessary caution in the current situation. He looked at Khue, his eyes contained a deep concern that he did not try to hide. "Khue, I want to make this clear — no matter what we find there, no matter how heartbreaking the outcome, I will be by your side. You don't have to face it alone."

That sentence, simple but filled with deep sincerity, made Khue feel a surge of emotion rising in her heart, completely different from the tense and angry emotions that had been present in her in recent days. She looked at Nguyen, realizing more clearly than ever that this man, who had appeared in her life only a few weeks ago, had become a support she never knew she needed so much.

"Thank you," she said softly, her voice shaking a little with emotion. "I don't think I can do this alone."

"You won't have to do that," Nguyen replied, reaching out and gently grasping her hand that was resting on the table, a simple but meaningful gesture, conveying a commitment that didn't need to be expressed in beautiful words. "We will find the truth together."

Khue came to May right after leaving her desk and briefly told her about her weekend plans, not going into the details of Nguyen's analysis but enough for May to understand the importance and sensitivity of the trip.

"Are you really going to leave without telling Mr. Loc?" May asked, her voice clearly worried, her hands still quickly bandaging the wound of a civet that had just been brought into the station this morning.

"I think it's better not to report, at least until there are specific results," Khue replied, sitting down to help May hold the struggling animal. "I'll keep it a secret for you. Just know that we're going to the Pu Cai area. If we don't return by noon on Sunday, notify the district police, clearly stating the area and the reason."

Cloud nodded, his expression became serious, without any of his usual joking. "Please be careful. I'll stay home and take care of Nau and Mun, you and Nguyen can rest assured."

"Thank you," Khue said, gently squeezing her friend's hand, a short gesture but enough to convey her deep gratitude to her colleague and friend who has always stood by her side without a word of complaint since the day she began to turn over the old story.

In the evening, after dinner, Nguyen brought to the shared office a stack of documents he had just printed out from his laptop and spread them out on the table for Khue to see - illustrations of common types of injuries in falls from different heights, which he learned more about after the afternoon's conversation.

"I looked it up a little more," he explains, pointing to each illustration. "In general, if you slip on a slope covered with slippery rocks like the terrain in this area, the body will often hit many times during the process of sliding down before stopping, leaving many injuries in different positions, with increasing severity. If it is a free fall from a steep cliff, the injury will be strongly concentrated on the first landing point, usually the head or back depending on the fall position."

"So if the actual scene shows that the area is only full of gentle slopes, with no steep cliffs high enough..." Khue said, leaving the sentence hanging, not daring to draw his own conclusions before having actual evidence.

"Then we will have a very big question to ask the people who investigated this case eight years ago," Nguyen finished the sentence for her, his eyes serious. "But I don't want you to put all your hope in a hypothesis before we verify it with our own eyes. Maybe the terrain has changed over time, maybe there are factors we haven't anticipated. Science requires objectivity, Khue, even though I know that's very difficult for you in this matter."

Khue nodded, appreciating his caution, although in her heart she still couldn't stop the growing hope that finally, after eight years, she was about to reach a piece of undeniable truth.

That evening, after planning the weekend trip in detail, Khue sat alone in the room, looking out the window at Pu Cai peak, which was in darkness, with only the outline of the mountains dimly visible on the starry sky. She thought of her father, of the afternoons he took her up the mountain as a child, teaching her how to read tracks, how to love and respect this forest. She whispered, almost unconsciously, as if she were talking directly to him through a gap of eight years and a deep rock crevice: "Dad, I'm about to find out the truth. I promise I won't let you suffer unjustly forever."

Outside the window, the night wind blew through the leaves, creating a gentle whispering sound, like a silent response from the forest that had silently witnessed everything for the past eight years, patiently waiting for the day the truth would be revealed.