There Is More Light Than Dark

Chapter Eighty One

Sunday August 21

Harper Lewis described everything she could verbally to the Sergeant who took the information to both State and federal Police authorities to distribute to their officers. And then she had to input the same information on every database around the country. Hours had passed before she finally considered the information was in every place it needed to be and sat back in her chair.

McCoy had sent her a text that he had some other chasing up to do and told her he'd check back in later that afternoon. By the time Harper Lewis rubbed her eyes and thought about a coffee it was well past afternoon.

She'd sat there silently, somewher between thinking and recuperating, checking her watch every ten minutes. She was waiting for McCoy to come back and give her a hand on the phones more so than whatever the hell he was off doing, as she hoped some kind of reports might start to come in.

And when an hour had gone by and there'd been a few 'maybe' calls from places as far afield as Cairns and Perth she started to really get annoyed at his handballing just when things had got interesting. And close.

Harper Lewis could have called him herself and demanded he come back and be her partner. She could have clocked off and gone on her way for the day, enough OT to last her a week. But she stayed near the phone that might ring if he called, or if any other members of the force had something to report.

She had worked hard with the AFP tech crew throughout the afternoon to get the clearest shot of Lola's face they could. She couldn't help but watch mesmerised as Vincent walked through the airport with that little girl and they were talking and smiling as if they'd always been meant to be together.

And maybe they had.

She re-watched it a dozen times and wondered every time whether Lola felt anything like she used to feel, looking up at her father. Watching for a sign she might have felt frightened or anxious. For her looking at Vincent when he didn't know it and marvelling at how he would negotiate people and places. Just as it might have for Harper years ago, for Lola it seemed just him being him was all it took to be content and happy.

And feel safe.

Now she zoomed in on a picture of Lola and looked hard into her eyes. This face shot for the APB would be fine. But it was like looking at a single frame and being asked to determine the plot as far as her own interest held.

She couldn't help but purse her lips and shake her head, willing away the tears as her hand reached for the satchel under the desk; watching this pseudo-family get to be together when she no longer could.

By the time she had finalised the image she was happy with and taken a few more calls that lead nowhere, her watch showed her it was just past 7 pm. It was cold and dark outside and she felt the chance of anything coming through in the short term was slim.

And McCoy still hadn't called.

She sat for another ten minutes as most of those who were dumb or unlucky enough to still be there finished up for the weekend. It was a Sunday night and only a few would need to stay beyond seven pm. Word had got around about the size of the thing Lewis and McCoy were working on and there had been a mixture of congratulations and resentment, but mostly the latter. It might have been 2016 but seeing a young female detective strike it lucky still made most of the other detectives bristle. Seeing any other detective get a case like this would do that, but for a newbie to strike it lucky like this just wasn't fair.

And when the newbie was a young female who seemed to fall on her feet, well it was open season.

She could've gone home to her unit and waited for McCoy to contact her from there but she saw the coffee machine still had pods next to it and decided she might continue her own search at the station. Roger hadn't been in her ear much in the last week or two but now she heard him saying 'The smart fly sleeps on the swatter – he'll have to be alerted when it's about to be used.'

She grabbed the strongest rated coffee pod she could find and heard it rasp and gurgle and hum its way into the cup. When it was done she sat back down at her computer and searched on the various systems Victoria Police could use to find information and links between people. There were the usual acronyms, LEAP, TIS – she could recall what they stood for at a pinch but none of that mattered too much these days. Bernardi's information and confirmation had helped her understand that Vincent's Italian barrage wasn't so random, but she still didn't understand exactly why. In fact, if it was the what, or, rather, who, she now was sure that it was, it made even less sense than a random mass killing would have.

But now she was trying to find what came next. And that meant who came next. If the who had taken him to Italy, then it was likely the who that brought him back.

And that could only mean Lola.

But where? Where the hell will this crazy bastard try and hole up; find his next place to do as he pleased?

On that count Harper Lewis remained stranded, completely unaware that her partner understood that part better.

And as for knowing exactly the why – well maybe Vincent himself didn't really know that either.

At the Births, Deaths and Marriages office on Wednesday she had trawled through all manner of relationships, marriages, births and deaths, tax returns – and had found the family in Italy that Chiara had left behind. Had never talked about or acknowledged, except to Vincent as she lay knowing he would be at the full mercy of her husband.

Chiara knew Vincent would listen but she didn't have the energy to implore him as she wished she could, lying there in that bed waiting to die. And what could a ten year old do anyway? If the drugs had let her, the despair Chiara Sampson felt could have torn her limbs off as she told him things she knew he couldn't act on.

Not then, anyway.

And it was all confirmed by Bernardi's talk earlier today. Chiara Sampson, or Chiara Ruffalo as she had been born, now had no other living relatives other than Lola as far as she could find.

Not here or in Italy, now that Carlotta and Valentina were dead.

Just before the time came where she'd finished the dregs of the last coffee and was reaching to log off her computer, the phone rang. A quick glance told her it still wasn't McCoy. She picked it up reluctantly, but it was going to change everything again.

And little did she know but a few minutes later she would have both the ultimate lead and a call from McCoy who would need to come clean, and ask for help.