There Is More Light Than Dark

Chapter Eighty Three

Sunday August 21

He heard the rhythmic pulsing of the Ford motor before he saw the headlights, even out there with no light pollution. He'd described his position as well as you'd expect a detective to do and she had little trouble following direction.

He got out of the seat as she pulled up behind him, her headlights revealing the degree of bonnet crumple via the hills and valleys the shadows played in front of him. He walked back to her car before she got out.

'Lewis, thanks for coming. I... I'm sorry I dragged you out here.' He was waiting for her, wanting her to ask why, but Harper Lewis didn't flinch.

'No problem at all, Detective, of course. My God, are you OK? What happened?' She made sure to ask more like a partner than a daughter but she could only keep so much of the concern out of her voice.

'Yeah, I'm fine. It was a fucking kangaroo, came out of nowhere.'

They both stood in the pure silence that draped them thick like the curtains that kept prying eyes out of the Sampson lounge room.

'Well let's get back to the station – we'll call the guys to come out in the morning and get your car.' Lewis was keen to get out of the cold.

McCoy felt warm that she'd take charge like that. Even out here in the evening winter chill Victoria was throwing at them, his thawing was almost complete.

'Back to the station? Shit, Lewis – you've probably got plans. Go home once you've dropped me back. You've done enough today. Don't let me get in the way.'

She shuffled awkwardly now and kicked at the dirt that crunched around her feet. He had already impacted her night regardless of what she might have had planned. Which, as it happened, involved McCoy, a long car trip and a truckload of news on the Sampson case.

"Detective, I've got some things to tell you in the car on the way back. I think you're going to be pretty happy with the information we've received tonight.' She smiled. 'You might find we've got the type of work we've been waiting to do.'

McCoy stopped as he was going to start his partly rehearsed monologue about being sorry and keeping her shut out of the lighthouse picture. About being a prick in general.

She'd said 'we've received'. Through all of his arsehole shallowness and imperious ambition, Harper Lewis still wanted to have everything right down the middle.

Dean McCoy had never felt so shallow and ashamed. Not since the evenings he'd spent mumbling and crashing dishes and slamming doors when his mother's illness had derailed his career plans, anyway. And he still shrunk into the couch when he thought about the way he'd carried on then.

Lewis walked to the road side and opened the passenger door, waiting for McCoy to come over. He did, slowly, but stopped close to her and held the top of the door.

'You know, Lewis, I've got some information of my own for you. I've....' He stopped as he saw her looking at him with eyes that held nothing but worry and the type of trust he'd once reserved for a few people himself. And although he expected to, almost wanted to see it, there was no judgement. His mother had held the same aspect when she asked him to look after her.

And before he could finish what he wanted to tell her she hugged him. In the middle of the blackness that swamped and swarmed over the bush that surrounded Tyabb, Harper Lewis gave him all she knew.

And Dean McCoy hugged her back like he hadn't hugged anyone for a long time.

And somewhere between the wreck that McCoy had created and the plan they would set at the police station that would serve as the beginning of the end for them all, they told each other everything they had found out in the last few days. About how he had found nothing at the McCrae lighthouse and had started heading for the next one on his map – at Cape Liptrap – until he'd come a cropper with the roo on the back road on the way.