Chapter 14 — Summer Rescuer

Duong Xanh Town Police Headquarters is a two-story building located near the central market, where Nghiem Bao Long, the town police chief who has been with this place for nearly twenty years, was sitting behind his desk when Thao Nhi and Bach Duong walked in, carrying copies of old newspaper pages they had just found.

"Uncle Long," Thao Nhi started, her voice both determined and a little shaky, "I want to ask about my father's accident record, eight years ago. I know you were a young police officer at that time, participating in the scene processing process."

Nghiem Bao Long, a man in his fifties with an angular face and experienced eyes, sighed softly and put his pen down on the table. "Nhi, I predicted that one day you would come and ask about this. But you also know that old case files, even though the investigation has ended, still need an official process to be accessed again."

"I didn't ask to see the entire file," Thao Nhi said, placing the photocopied newspaper pages on his desk. "I just ask you to confirm, based on what you remember, or what you can say without violating regulations - did the investigation process at that time ignore the element of abnormal flow caused by dredging operations?"

Mr. Long picked up the newspaper pages and skimmed through them, his face gradually becoming heavy. He was silent for a long time, long enough for Thao Nhi to feel her heart stop beating from nervousness.

"I'll tell you what I can say, not as a police officer, but as someone who knew your father and admired him," Mr. Long said finally, his voice lowered, carrying a confiding tone rarely seen in the man who always maintained the seriousness of his profession. "That day, I was the youngest police officer in the crime scene team. I remember, the main investigator, a long-retired man, recorded the statements of two victims who were rescued by their three children - both of whom said they felt the water 'pull unusually hard, like someone was pulling their legs out to sea'. That statement was in the original transcript."

"But it's not in the final report," Thao Nhi said, her voice shaking.

"No," Mr. Long confirmed, his eyes avoiding looking directly at her out of embarrassment. "I don't know exactly what process caused that detail to disappear between the initial record and the final report presented to superiors. I'm just a low-level police officer, with no right to decide the content of the report. But I remember, there was a closed meeting between the district police leader at that time and the dredging company's representative, just a few days before the final report was completed."

Bach Duong, standing next to Thao Nhi, spoke up, his voice was calm but sharp. "Do you know who the company representative attended that meeting, sir?"

Mr. Long thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I was not allowed to attend that meeting, I only heard about it from my colleagues. But I remember, after that meeting, my superiors' attitude changed completely - from intending to expand the investigation into the cause of the flow, they switched to quickly concluding that it was your father's personal fault."

Thao Nhi felt a sharp pain go through her chest, not surprise, because she had suspected this for a long time, but the pain of hearing an insider confirm what she had always believed to be true. She closed her eyes, and in that moment, the memories of that day came rushing back, no longer the disjointed fragments of a sixteen-year-old child, but reassembled more clearly than ever thanks to what she had just heard.

She imagined her father, standing on the beach that afternoon, receiving news that someone was in distress. He rushed into the water without any hesitation, like the instinct of a veteran rescuer, swimming to save the woman and her son who were floating in the swirling water near the dredging construction site. He brought them both close to shore, handed them over to his teammates, then returned to find the third person - the man still stranded far away.

But this time, when he swam back out, the current had changed in a way he could not have predicted — because no one, including him, knew that the dredging work going on at that moment had silently created an undertide stronger than anything he had faced in his twenty years on the job. He saved the third man, pushing him within reach of his teammates waiting on the life raft, but he himself, exhausted from two consecutive upstream swims, no longer had the strength to save himself.

"My father is not subjective," Thao Nhi said, her voice trembling with anger and pain, opening her eyes to look straight at Mr. Long. "He saved all three people. He was simply exhausted, having to fight a current that no one warned him about that had become much more dangerous than usual."

"I believe in you, Nhi," Mr. Long said, his voice also choked. "I believed that eight years ago, but I didn't have enough power or evidence to change the conclusion that was made from above. That's the thing I regret most throughout my career."

Bach Duong put his hand on Thao Nhi's shoulder, feeling her body trembling with pent-up emotions. "Mr. Long," he said, his voice still maintaining the necessary calmness, "can you officially assist us in reopening this case, based on the new evidence we have just collected, combined with the current situation that is repeating itself alarmingly?"

Mr. Long was silent for a long time, his eyes looking out the window, where he could see the silhouette of a crane at Kim Cuong Vinh construction site in the distance. "I can't promise anything, because this is beyond the authority of a town police chief. But I promise, if another serious incident happens, I won't stay silent again. I owe your dad that, and I owe this whole town that."

When Thao Nhi and Bach Duong left the police headquarters, the afternoon light dyed the small street in a soft orange-yellow color. Thao Nhi stopped in the middle of the road, letting the tears she had held back throughout the conversation finally flow, not from simple suffering, but from a feeling of both liberation and confirmation after eight long years.

"My dad was a hero," she said, her voice shaking between tears. "Not a careless person like the report said. He saved three lives before..."

Bach Duong pulled her into a gentle hug, letting her rest her head on his shoulder in the middle of a deserted street. "Your father was always a hero, Thao Nhi. Now, the whole world will know it, not just me."

They stood there for a long time, until Thao Nhi's tears gradually dried. When she raised her head, her eyes had a different look — no longer a dull, unresolved pain, but a new fierceness, tempered by the truth that had just been confirmed.

"I need to go see my mother," she said. "My mother deserves to know what I just heard, even though I'm not sure how she will take it."

When Thao Nhi arrived at the restaurant, Mrs. Hoa was cleaning the kitchen alone after closing time. Seeing her daughter's still emotional face, she immediately stopped, sensing that something important had happened.

"Did you find something?" she asked, her voice shaking.

Thao Nhi recounted everything she had just learned from Uncle Long — about the testimony of the two missing victims, about the secret meeting between the district police leader and the dredging company representative, about how her father had saved all three people before exhaustion. Mrs. Hoa listened in silence, her hands clasped tightly together, tears rolling down her face, which was lined with many wrinkles from years of hard work.

"Eight years," Mrs. Hoa said, her voice choked, "eight years I wondered if I was blaming an innocent person, every time I heard someone whisper that your father had been 'reckless'. I never believed it, but I had no way to prove the truth, and I was afraid, afraid that if I made a fuss, people would smear your father's name even more."

"Mom, you don't have to be afraid anymore," Thao Nhi said, holding her mother's hand tightly. "I will bring the entire truth to light, no matter what the cost. Dad deserves to be known for who he really is — a person who sacrificed his life to save three others, not a careless person."

Mrs. Hoa hugged her daughter, mother and daughter stood silently in the middle of the small kitchen, letting the tears of eight years of repression finally be somewhat released, even though they both knew that the battle to regain full justice was still ahead and had not ended.