There Is More Light Than Dark

Chapter Eighty Seven

Monday August 22

'Vincent!' McCoy's neck was sore already from looking up as the rain became heavier again and he felt it start to drip down his back. He squinted as the window seemed to grow smaller but saw nothing move. He brought the megaphone up to his mouth again.

'Vincent Sampson!' McCoy barked into the megaphone and looked across at Lewis, exasperated. They were no more than a metre apart, crouching under the edge of the tea tree more to shelter from the rain than to hide now. And the thirty metres or so across the bridge to the front door meant they had a better angle from there to see what they needed to see up to where Vincent was.

Lewis shuffled across and spoke quietly to McCoy.

'The front door – there's a padlock on the grate.'

'I know, I saw that. Makes it look normal I guess, as if it's still shut up. That'll be the one the hardware store guy remembered him buying. It was on the list from the second grab at the shop Handley sent through from Apollo Bay. He's in there alright; we've got him cornered.'

Just not beaten, thought Lewis.

'Do we assume he's got the girl in there?' Lewis asked as she started to wonder about how they might really be able to do this without Lola getting hurt, or worse.

'Absolutely, Lewis.' McCoy was looking at the base of the lighthouse and thinking. 'What else was on that list he sent through?'

'Not a lot really – camp cooking stove, gas canisters, cans of food.'

'So they can't stay in the forever – we could try and wait them out I guess?' The lack of confrontation sounded like a decent plan for both of them, given Lola. McCoy was thinking of Brodie and Richard Renshaw and doing everything he could to stop any sort of repeat.

Lewis nodded and shook her head almost at the same time. 'But they have to come out in some way eventually, whether it's today or two days time, don't they?' She paused for a few seconds and the musty smell of wattle settled over them more heavily. 'And he could have brought stuff with him, you know, just topped up at the shop.'

'What did Uebergang suggest? I mean, is there a way we can approach this to... I don't know – crack him?' Not even McCoy knew exactly what he meant by that.

'Well she definitely said that to appease him was the greatest thing – to have a split personality is obviously to be unstable but that will bear out more so under duress.'

'Well we are hardly going to avoid fucking duress here, are we?' McCoy had to smile as he realised the inevitability of it all. He knew they were under-resourced and dealing with a tinder dry situation but he wanted to get the job done, preferably before the tactical team that he knew were coming got their mitts on to it.

Lewis laughed quietly. McCoy looked over, incredulous that she could find something humourous in their situation. He didn't think his quip had warranted anything more than a humpf.

'The wind!' She calmed herself. 'Dad would say the same wind will whistle through some trees but roar through others. I don't know why, but that just came to me.'

McCoy looked at her and smiled, shaking his head. 'Your fucking Dad had a saying for every damn occasion, didn't he? I'm not sure if I'm a whistler or a roarer right now but it's fucking cold all the same.'

Then suddenly over the plopping drops of rain from the leaves above them and the scratching of their feet shuffling in the undergrowth to stop them going numb from squatting they heard thumping and screaming coming from the window they had seen Vincent at a few minutes before and stood up reflexively. They both cocked their heads to try and hone in on who might be making what noises and only heard Vincent's vague shouting with the occasional thud. Both instantly thought of Lola – they'd seen the pictures of Valentina's throat cut and the brutality inflicted upon the face of Peter Sampson post-mortem. They didn't need Dr. Uebergang to tell them what this man was capable of.

McCoy quickly brought the megaphone back up to his mouth. 'VINCENT!' It echoed around the clearing and off the white walls before washing out to sea. The noises stopped from the lighthouse and both detectives stood up now, perfectly still. McCoy went on.

'Vincent this is the police. We need you to stop what you are doing and come to the window so we can see you.' Again they waited and heard the waves smashing onto the rocks past the lighthouse. The rain eased again, now almost stopped. Lewis pleaded with him internally to do as he was asked. The lighthouse remained silent.

'Vincent we are here to make sure no one else is hurt. We need you to come to the window.'

Seconds passed as minutes and the silence remained. Lewis counted the waves breaking and got to twenty before she moved to McCoy and held out her hand to take the megaphone. McCoy looked at her and hesitated, looking back up at the lighthouse window which remained blank and quiet. He shrugged and passed it over to Lewis.

Her hand shook slightly as she brought it up to her mouth. 'Vincent, this is Detective Lewis. We met at the station soon after Avery died.' She had come to see how he viewed the world and she was putting him back in that place hoping he might feel now as did then. McCoy watched her intently now and left the window to itself. Still nothing up above. Lewis kept her gaze firmly on the window and kept talking.

She still didn't know that Vincent didn't need reminding of who she was. She'd only been out of his thoughts when another woman was squeezed in there instead.

'Vincent, we know what happened to you and your mum.' They both felt the silence thicken and the rain stopped altogether now as if it was handing over the stage to those more important, having done its job to wipe the slate clean.

Lewis thought she saw the window cantilever out a fraction further but still no sound and no faces.

'We know Chiara was murdered by Peter, Vincent. And we know Mason came to try and help you.' She paused as she considered her next words carefully. 'To protect you.'

And now they heard Lola cry and the window was pushed open quickly.

Something small and clothed flew out of the window and landed on the footbridge with a light thud and the rain started again, heavy and dense. As the thud hit his gut McCoy was running into the cold towards the white clump of cotton that lay lifeless and still, all thoughts of appeasement and careful cajoling jettisoned, replaced by a blind and panicky rage that may not recognise limits.

And Harper Lewis was right beside him, not daring to think what she might feel when she got there.