Chapter 2 – Moth to Light

The man threw himself into work - as one does, especially if that one is Rustin Cohle. Of course, he was unable to avoid the uncomfortable conversation with his investigation partner and the Friday night that went ashtray.
'Where the fuck you've been?' Marty greeted him upon entering the station on Monday morning.
Rust raised his head up quietly, not failing to notice that many of their coworkers glanced in their direction; hoping for a scene, that was undeniably on its way.
'Good morning to you, Marty.'
'Don't play that with me!' The blond man growled, trying to keep his words muffled. 'You goddamn disappeared in the middle of the night! If you didn't like the fucking girl, have the decency to tell her.'
The man sitting behind the desk raised one eyebrow, staring at his now furious partner in front of him. After a long, meaningful pause, Rust's face softened a bit and he began explaining: 'Look, I'm sorry. This wasn't how I planned either. A boy thought I wanted something from his little girlfriend, punched me in the face and we got kicked out.'
'You could have called.' Marty pointed out. Fair - Rust admitted to himself.
'I'll call her.' He offered to make things right, and although Marty still ground his teeth together, he let it slide. He knew his partner better than expecting anything more from him.

Rust spent another night browsing through archives and going through a pack of cigarettes. The night seemed endless and his eyelids refused to grow heavy as time passed. He, of course, forgot to call Jessica - if you can call a decision to avoid a fatal encounter forgetfulness, that is. Phoning her seemed pointless; he wasn't trying to achieve anything with her, and she would have an easier time moving on if she believed him to be an asshole.
Similar nights went by and he researched murder case to murder case, from dusty files to even dustier ones. He meticulously laid every picture out, but it wasn't the friendly collage you'd make on a weekend with your family: pictures of the victims in the states they found them, lifeless bodies stretching, giving in to gravity or maybe a greater force. He observed the photos that were mostly amateur shots, but still – sparingly, a there was a sort of passion to the picture taken. Maybe a simple dedication to the job, finding the perpetrator; or maybe something more sinister gripped the photographer's mind. Rust stood there in the middle of the night, staring straight into the eyes of death and he noted to himself: humans wilt very similarly to flowers. After a couple minutes of contemplation, he returned to the archives to browse through data again. As he was searching through the names and dates, his eyes locked on one. The monitor was almost blindingly light, but he could read it clear: Williams, Leannah. 1973-10-05.

Rust parked his red Ford truck by the entrance of the mall. What made him believe she would leave by that end, he couldn't reason it. He lit a cigarette and looked at his watch. 4.50. 5.00. 5.17. 5.35.

But she was nowhere to be found. Friday - nothing. Saturday - no sign of her. Sunday he tried another entrance. Next Monday, another. He figured out the employee entrance by Tuesday, and spent most of his week waiting by that door, sitting in his car.

On Thursday, he took another long look at her case file. Lost hope meeting her, he carelessly left out the folder in the past couple of days. 4.57. 5.08. 5.24. 5.32.

Rust took the file in his hands again. Maybe he misread something. Maybe there was a mixup in his research. Maybe someone lied. 5.43. He glanced into his side mirrors by habit.

And there she was - knitted, skin-tight jumper, shamelessly short schoolgirl skirt. The man threw the case file on the seat next to him. He watched her from his mirrors as she talked with a colleague of her's while lighting a cigarette. Rust fixated his eyes on the wheel. He did not plan out how to go over to her. He figured he would improvise, but his limbs felt heavy and numb. His mind raced, and he was about to leave it as he heard his blood pumping through his veins even faster. The rhythmic sound filled his head…

Then a sharper beat woke him. Somebody knocked on the window. Rust turned his head in the direction of the sound to see her standing by the car. He rolled the window down.
'Mr. Cohle.' She crossed her arms on the window seal. 'What brings you here?'
'I was just passing.' He lied in his usual tone.
'Is that so?' She smiled wickedly. 'My coworker there says you've been parking around the mall for the last few days. She was just about to report you to the police.'
'So first thought was to check who the stalker is?'
'Not all stalkers have a toreador red Ford to roam 'round town.' She pointed out.
'Hop in.' He instructed without reacting to her statement.
Leannah opened the car door and waved her colleague to assure her. Then she bent her head down, only to be faced with her own picture.
She stared at the folder, taking it in her hand.
'Is there something, officer?' She asked in a serious tone, almost frightened.
'Don't worry.' He grabbed the papers and threw them on the backseat. 'I'm not here to arrest you.'
Her face read distrust; she was not convinced by his words, and had every reason not to be.
'I'm off duty. I don't have a badge or gun.' He elevated his hands.
Leah furrowed her eyebrows. She carefully scanned the car: the backseat, the space by his legs and side. She even glanced over his head, to the roof of the truck, then with a quick move, she opened the glove compartment to find papers and a black notebook in it. It was not the first time she had performed this little séance, and by the meticulous execution, he knew she was experienced in it.
She slowly slipped into the car, never taking her eyes off Rust.

'I've seen you'd been indicted for possession.' He began as they were riding around town.
'Yes, Sir.' Her attitude was icy, unlike last time.
'Downtown gang, marijuana and cocaine. With an unregistered gun, after a 35-minute car chase. Which seat?'
She turned her head to him. 'You tell me.'
Rust glanced at her, and recognising his mistake, he backpedaled.
'I need your help.'
'Well, bringing up my past mishaps is not the way to ask for it.' She replied angrily. 'What's your point?'
A short silence set between them, while Rust only focused on the road.
'I'm sorry.' He muttered. 'I'm not the best at…'
'Human contact?' She sighed. 'Don't tell me.'
After another silence, she spoke again. 'Can I say no if I don't wanna get involved?'
He looked at her. 'No obligations.'
'What if I can't help?'
'Nothing happens.'
'What if something goes wrong?' She was setting the basis and boundaries of their negotiation, smartly testing the waters.
'I'll be there and make sure you're fine.'
'What about you?'
'Nobody will know you were involved.' He answered simply. 'It's not an official investigation.'
'So what is it?'
'There's been a murder about a month ago.' He began. 'Investigation came to a halt and we found barely any leads.'
'How do I come into the picture?'
'The victim was high on LSD and crystal meth when she was killed.' He explained. 'If you could take me to the group you're associated with…'
'You could put them behind bars?' She darted back.
'That's not what I meant.'
'I don't hang around with them anymore.' She pursed her lips, putting her head in her palm as she rested her elbow on the window seal.
'You don't have to cover for them or yourself.' Rust said seriously. 'What I want is to get to cook.'
'I'm not sure I can help you, Mr. Cohle.' She remained closed off; it was like talking to a different person compared to the bubbly girl he got to know in the middle of a weekend night.
'Why's that?' He asked dryly as they stopped at a red light.
'The problem is I know none of them did it, but I'm not sure you or your pals do.' Leah looked him in the eye and the man withstood her gaze. His mind raced similarly than hers, as his blue eyes scanned through her thoughts.
'My goal is to get to the killer, not to get a suspect I can throw to jail. If I would want to have it over with, I could have passed it to that stupid task force.' He voiced her concerns. 'I understand if you find it risky and don't trust me. But I want to catch this man.'
'Why?'
'It wasn't his first victim. And certainly not his last. The longer he's out, the more time he has for his next attack, and the colder the case becomes.' He gestured with his free hand. 'The easiest way to get to him is through drug trafficking. Everyone's connected through that - if I get to the dealer, I can eventually get to the cook.'
Leannah stared out the window and the streets passing. No answer meant she was thinking - and as such, she was considering his proposal. Rust waited patiently, but knew he couldn't let her mind go on long enough that it would unavoidably find a reason not to cooperate and cement itself against any reason. And he had no abundance of pros to begin with. He had to get her in the middle of the process: 'Can you take me to him?'
It took her a long minute before she answered.
'I can.' The girl replied. 'But you have to assure me you leave them alone.'
'Like I was never there. Heard no names, saw nothing.' Rust said simply.
'I mean it.' She insisted, much more confidently this time.
'How come you take my word when it's you, but insist on having assurance when it comes to others?' Rust placed a cigarette in his mouth, and lit it while keeping his eyes on the road.
'Maybe my priorities are set right.' She was cocky.
'Or horribly wrong.' He commented.

It was now Thursday, and Rustin sat in the station, revising his own notes and the forensic evidence while the rest of his colleagues chatted up by the coffee machine. Dan was telling about his recent – and, Rust though to himself, pathetic - catch of a drugged thief who wanted to make so sure he wasn't caught he even shot an old man unlucky enough to enter the store after him. Suddenly, the phone rang. He threw the document to the table, and grabbed the phone much more hurriedly than he normally would. He was waiting for a call.
'Cohle.'
'You, me. Tomorrow night. Be casual. Pick me up at 8.' And hanged up.