There Is More Light Than Dark

Chapter Seventy Three

Saturday August 20

'So Vincent is over in Italy?' Lewis looked hard at McCoy who had put the phone on his bonnet and was flicking through his notebook looking for pages of information he suddenly needed to re-read in the context Detective Bernardi had given them. They'd thanked Doctor Wang and ran out together as soon as the call had ended.

'Yep, he's Mason Stepper.' McCoy was nodding his head as he re-read the pages he had taken when he was sorting out the boxes from the Sampson house a few weeks before.

'He's fucked up, that what he is.' Lewis was shaking her head as she pictured what Bernardi had described. She couldn't have heard the screams of the families and the vineyard workers but she pictured them looking out of the windows of the barn at him before the smoke clouded them out. Two generations of devoted workers and families, snuffed out by a man she had sat in front of only a months or so ago and smirked at. Desired, even.

She wondered if he'd stood there and watched them.

'How could anyone do that?' There would be no advice Roger Lewis could have given her at that moment that would have had her understand.

This was the first time McCoy and Lewis were on the same playing field as the Sampsons and they both felt violated. The very thing they had longed to experience now would haunt them, even McCoy with his weathered hardness. Being Vincent, even remotely understanding what he had done, was more than he could handle.

'We need to get back to the station and sort out what we do from here, Lewis. You get us a coffee, I'll call ahead and get Frank to liaise with the AFP on this pronto. Leave your car here, we'll both go in mine – we need to talk through this shit.'

They'd gone through three intersections before the heater kicked in and McCoy started recapping out loud.

'So this kid, he....' He was still struggling to believe a kid could be so bad. And so good. Things made sense and he knew it - those feeling he'd had at the Sampson house, that room, those scribblings in red. He'd let himself feel sorry for Vincent, and maybe the kid deserved that after he'd been through what McCoy thought he'd been through, but then he'd let feeling sorry for him turn into a blanket pass.

Where the fuck did those sort of feelings come from for McCoy?

He pursed his lips but stopped himself – he knew his mum would be proud.

Lewis looked over, half guessing what McCoy was thinking. She waited, gave him time to get it together.

'He's abused by his Dad. After his mother dies.' McCoy tipped his head to the side. 'Or is killed. Did he know what his father had done? Did his father know that he knew? Otherwise, why hurt the kid, you know?' McCoy knew he didn't need to look over at Lewis – there'd be no understanding of a father hurting their child from her.

McCoy stopped and slammed his hand into the wheel. Lewis looked over figuring it was in frustration and she got it.

But she was wrong.

'Lewis, why would a man kill his wife and hurt his child?'

Lewis shook her head. McCoy waited.

'What, you really want me to answer?' She didn't even want to consider it let alone say anything out loud.

McCoy nodded impatiently. 'You've gotta be able to think like them, Lewis. I keep telling you that.'

She put her coffee to her mouth but paused and took a deep breath. McCoy stopped at the next red light and looked across at her. He was excited – happy excited – as he finally felt like he was putting it all together.