In the hotel lobby reception area, Somkhun was taking statements from the family members, one by one. He hadn't expected the first one to be quite so challenging.
In front of him sat a grief-stricken "socialite," a woman with a dignified, detached air and head-to-toe designer brands. She hid her swollen, red eyes behind oversized sunglasses, silent except for the occasional sob. When she lifted a Cartier-ringed finger to push aside the unmistakably YSL-logoed temple of her shades to wipe away tears, the expensive branding seemed more conspicuous than her sorrow. Her presence made Mrs. Louis, sitting beside her with simple plastic earrings and eyes red from crying, clutching a tear-soaked tissue, look like a fresh college graduate.
Mrs. Mark appeared to be in her thirties, perhaps older, with visible signs of cosmetic enhancements. She'd been married to Mark for ten years. Four years ago, they immigrated to Australia, settling in Western Australia. While the Southern Hemisphere was still in winter, Mark had recently taken his annual leave. Two months prior, after a four-year wait, their employer-sponsored visa had finally been approved. They'd just received their Australian permanent residency. With their new life finally beginning, they'd come to this southern Thai island, the closest tropical getaway.
Everyone who'd met her agreed: Mrs. Mark was a woman of impeccable taste. But it wasn't just about brands—refinement was etched into her bones. She was skilled at styling. Even on a beach holiday, she brought multiple pairs of sunglasses and scarves for different looks. Unlike the other young tourists who wandered the island in flip-flops, she would never walk around in beachwear, and certainly never exposed her midriff—at most, she showed a tasteful amount of back.
She rarely swam. Even at the pool, she would always wear a full face of makeup. For snorkeling, she insisted on the kind of full-face mask that wouldn't smudge her foundation—not to protect the reef, but to preserve her image. Though, in fairness, she did care about the environment: she sorted her trash in the hotel room, even though the resort didn't require it.
She ate shrimp with a knife and fork—never her hands—and always reapplied lipstick after meals. She held herself to high standards, but treated others with courtesy. Whenever she needed something from Ada, she would always say, "Sorry to bother you," and "Thank you so much."
Mark, on the other hand, was a different creature altogether.
He liked to gnaw on T-bone steaks with his hands and brazenly pick his teeth with floss after a meal. But his lack of polish wasn't crude—it came off as genuine. He was generous, especially with tips. Whether it was the restaurant staff or housekeeping, he never hesitated to show appreciation. Even Ada had received tips from him—twice.
He was friendly—almost aggressively so. The kind of person who could strike up a conversation with anyone. After only two days at the resort, he'd already become casually familiar with half the guests—especially the women. Despite their differences, the couple seemed to be deeply in love.
Mark had an enormous appetite for oysters—grilled or raw, it didn't matter. Over those few days, the chef at the buffet had grown so used to it that he'd plate up oysters for him in advance as soon as he saw him.
Who could've imagined a typhoon would hit southern Thailand?
In Mrs. Mark's experience, typhoons only struck Vietnam or the Philippines. So, when the warnings came, she was deeply disappointed. She said she had planned a day of fishing, scuba diving, and a night of partying on land. The Butong coast in Na-Khi province was full of lively night markets, entertainment areas, bars, and red-light districts, and she wanted to experience them all. She'd even packed her overnight bag for the mainland. Receiving the hotel's typhoon alert, she reluctantly unpacked, only to discover her expensive wristwatch was missing. Mark had then volunteered to go look for it. That afternoon, before the typhoon hit, she'd done yoga and had an aromatherapy massage at the spa. Perhaps Mark thought she'd forgotten it there and went to check, only to meet his fate in the lotus pond.
"We were on vacation. Our new life had just begun. We were so happy…" Mrs. Mark's voice broke into sobs again. "I have to accept this reality. We had such a good relationship. We took a honeymoon trip *every* year—"
Somkhun cut in abruptly, "You had a good relationship? Then why would he run off alone to such a remote spot? Did you have a fight?"
His question provoked fury. "What's your point?! Even couples who get along have spats! The point is, when I got mad, my husband *comforted* me!"
Beside her, Mrs. Louis rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly. Just then, her child started fussing loudly. "Sorry, so sorry," she murmured, gathering the child and practically fleeing the scene.
"Then why did you wait so long before looking for him? Weren't you worried?" Somkhun pressed.
Mrs. Mark hesitated. Her tears paused.
"Yes… we had a small argument. I was upset—the typhoon ruined the vacation, and I'd lost something important, and he… he looked so indifferent. Like all my careful planning didn't matter to him. I got mad. When he left the villa, I assumed he just needed space, maybe went to the bar to cool off. So I let him go. But then time passed and he didn't come back. I looked around the bar, waited for a while, then went back to the room… still nothing. That's when I started to panic."
She sobbed again.
"We worked so hard to go from China to Australia, and from Australia, we traveled the world—always the two of us. Now, I'm going back alone." She started crying again, but being a stickler for appearances, she held back her tears until she pulled out a neatly folded Hermès handkerchief from her old-model Louis Vuitton bag. Only then did she begin to "officially" cry.
What surprised Ada, though, was that while Mrs. Mark seemed poised and distant on the surface, she was actually very sensitive about her husband's interactions with other women. She would find various ways to assert her ownership over him, sometimes in a way that seemed undignified and lacking in grace. Once on the beach, she even almost had a confrontation with another female guest.
Mark had been lying face-down on a lounge chair by the beach. His wife sat on the edge, massaging his back. Her shawl and hat rested on the adjacent lounge chair.
A striking young woman—a stranger—approached and said curtly, "Miss, would you mind clearing your things? If you're not using this chair, I'd like to."
Mrs. Mark frowned. "Can't you see we're a couple? We need two chairs."
"But you're both on one. This chair's not in use," the woman replied, and promptly sat down.
Mrs. Mark paused… then, with stunning audacity, plopped down on the very same chair—right beside the stranger.
Unexpectedly, Mrs. Mark paused, then did something astonishing: she sat down on the chair herself, squeezing in beside the other woman. "Well, this chair is so big, you're not using the other half anyway. It's fine if I sit here, right?" she said.
The stranger glanced at Mark, who remained silent,probably deciding that neither of them was a person of quality, and walked away in a huff.
Somkhun had also heard about this feisty incident from Kevin. Leaning closer to the manager, he asked quietly, "She's that protective? What happened to that woman they had the run-in with?"
"Let me check," Kevin said, scrolling through records on his phone. "She was a solo guest, English name Kelly. She arrived two days before them. She left first thing this morning."
Somkhun's gaze drifted to Mrs. Louis, now outside by the pool trying to soothe her child. He stepped aside and murmured to Kevin, "Any friction between these two bereaved wives?"
Kevin thought for a moment. "There's one other thing, not sure if it counts," he said hesitantly. "Feels a bit like gossiping behind their backs. I only heard it indirectly."
"I'm the police. I'll judge its relevance. Go ahead," Somkhun urged.
"It was Mrs. Louis who told us," Kevin recalled. On the day the five families arrived on the island, as usual, he and key staff were at the pier to welcome them, offering blessings and traditional Thai floral wristbands. The Marks were at the front, hopping onto a resort buggy and leaving immediately. Mrs. Louis lingered at the back, seemingly deliberately keeping her distance.
Apparently, Mrs. Louis got seasick easily and wanted to sit at the front of the boat. But those seats had gone to the Mark couple. Mr. Louis offered to swap places, suggesting they switch with the front row.
Mrs. Mark flatly refused to sit in the cramped back row. However, she did offer a compromise—Mark could switch with Mrs. Louis, so that she and Mrs. Mark would sit together up front.
But Mr. Louis didn't like that idea. He didn't want his wife sitting next to a stranger. The suggestion irked him—and tensions flared.
Mrs. Mark, feeling slighted by what she perceived as a subtle prejudice, grew cold.
Thankfully, a Western couple, the Perrys, who were sitting nearby, stepped in. Not wanting the disagreement to sour the group dynamic, Mrs. Perry gave up her seat and resolved the situation.
Somkhun listened, then smiled knowingly. "That's interesting. So, there were two families in the front, but Mr. Louis chose to ask the Chinese couple to switch, not the white couple. If I were Mrs. Mark, I wouldn't be happy either."
Kevin blinked. "I honestly never thought of it like that."
Somkhun shook his head slightly, as if he was used to such things. He was almost done with the statement.
"Oh—and they did find her watch," Kevin added. "At the spa. After Mr. Mark's body was discovered."
"Loving couple, petty fight," Somkhun murmured, scribbling a few quick notes before drumming his pen on the notebook. Then he grabbed a beer from the side table, downed it in one gulp, and let out a satisfied belch.
"All right," he said, "send in Mrs. Louis."