‘Have a good time ladies.’ They were gone before he had finished the sentence.
Rick, Georgina and Leroy sat on the riverbank watching Ned Freeman's boat, ‘The Ingénue’ move majestically, almost silently toward them. The boat was an old converted fishing vessel about twenty-five feet long powered by a Cummins diesel engine. The maximum river speed barely tested the boat’s engine. Ned dressed the part to please the punters’, silver side-burns ran down his ruddy weather beaten face from his ears to his cheeks, the sort of lamb chop side burn that Elvis would have been proud of. His fisherman’s hat covered the disappearing but matching silver thatch underneath. Blue eyes sparkled beneath the rim of his cap, eyes that had seen more life than most. Nobody knew his age, nor would he tell if anyone asked, but he had been around as long as most folk cared to remember.
The boat pulled alongside the bank, chugging to a slow, seasoned, halt. Ned's dog, Nemo, barked a greeting to the detectives. The small, wiry, Jack Russell scampered around the boat, his paws slipping on the wooden surface. Ned stretched his arm out and pulled Rick, Leroy and Georgina on board, his grip still powerful and firm.
‘Hi, Ned.’ Rick had been on Ned's boat many times, taking Ray and Jo-Lynn out on Sunday excursions and the odd holiday. He bent down and stroked Nemo who gathered excitedly at his legs. ‘Hello boy.’
‘So, who do we have here?’ Ned asked.
Georgina showed her I.D
‘F.B.I.’
‘Hi, I'm Leroy La Portiere, Rick's partner.’
Ned shook their hands. The hand shake as firm and powerful as before, nearly too strong.
‘Pass the map, Leroy?’ Rick took the map and unfolded it. ‘Can you take us on the full tour, Ned?’
‘Don't mind where I take you, as long as you're paying.’
Georgina handed him a form, P114ex. ‘Fill that in and send it to the address at the bottom of the sheet. Don't worry it's freepost, you'll be fully reimbursed for any expenses you incur.’
‘Sheets ain't money, honey.’ Ned said smiling
Rick opened his wallet. ‘How much Ned?’
‘Full tour could take anywhere up to four hours, I could be picking up paying customers.’
‘How much Ned?’ Rick repeated not particularly wanting to play the game.
‘$150.’
Rick had a fifty in his wallet. ‘Leroy, what you got?’
Leroy searched through his pockets. ‘Forty five and some pennies.’
‘Give us the forty five, bro.’ Rick took the cash added it with his own then looked at Georgina.
‘I gave Mr Freeman the official P114ex form.’
Rick nodded at Georgina beckoning her away from Ned. ‘Look, if you don't pay the man, we don't get no nice trip up the river. 55 bucks and we are on our way.’
Reluctantly Georgina fished inside her purse and pulled out a fifty.
Rick smiled and handed the money to Ned.
‘I owe you five.’
Within two minutes the boat was turned and they were heading toward Turtle Island.
Even at such a slow pace the Ingénue offered the detectives the chance to catch a cooling breeze on the deck. The blue grasses, tall grass and reeds that grew along the river were home to a rich variety of wildlife. Thrush and Oriole flew overhead resting in the trees and prairie grasses. Georgina breathed in; relaxing momentarily, wondering how such violence could be brought to such a quiet and peaceful place. The killer was obviously deeply disturbed but it never failed to fascinate her how that even in such tranquil idyll’s the most evil acts were perpetrated. She could understand why people go off their heads in New York or L.A…but here?
‘Peaceful, ain’t it.’ Leroy joined her by the port side of the vessel.
‘You read minds too.’
Leroy looked at her, enjoying her beauty, enjoying being close to her. ‘Sometimes.’
The breeze created by the boats movement flattened Georgina’s hair, parting it in the centre. She tried vainly to push it back but gave up after three futile attempts.
‘So, what’s the story here?’ She asked casually, hoping the relaxed atmosphere would enable Leroy to be a little more forthcoming about the events of the past few weeks.
‘You mean the case?’
She nodded.
‘Just checkin. Ain’t much of a story other than what you already know.’ Leroy turned and rested his back against the handrail. He watched Nemo scurry around following his master, Ned, who in turn was busying himself tidying the mooring ropes. Leroy looked into the bridge and saw Rick steering the Ingénue. ‘I want to do that.’ Leroy sounded genuinely envious of his partner’s promotion to Vice-Captain or whatever they had on boats. 1st mate, yeah that was it, 1st mate. As Ned passed by walking to the stern of the boat, Leroy called to the Captain. ‘I’d like to do that, drive this boat.’
Ned stopped in his tracks. ‘Steer the ship, detective, Steer the ship.’
‘Yeah, whatever, boat, ship, steer, drive.’
Ned called to Rick. ‘Ten minutes, Mr Montoya, ten minutes.’ and continued with his business checking the condition of the ropes.
The Ingénue maintained its course against the tide moving toward Turtle Island.
‘Kinda touchy.’
Georgina smiled, a rare event, but one that Leroy was glad to witness. ‘Probably seen Jaws too often.’
‘I wondered who that guy reminded me of; it’s that Irish guy in the film.’
‘Robert Shaw. He played Quint.’
Georgina smiled again; Leroy was hoping it was going to become a habit.
‘Yeah, he was great, shoulda got the Oscar, great film. So, you a film buff?’
‘I'm an only child, my dad used to take me every weekend.’ The memories of afternoons and evenings spent with her father in darkened cinemas rekindled fond memories of their relationship
‘You’re very close to your old man.’
‘Yeah. You?’
Leroy thought about his father, the relationship they had was good. Together they covered most aspects of what would be deemed a closely bonded relationship, it still would have been today had his heart been stronger. For such a large man, -he stood over 6’5’’ and weighed in at 17 and a half stones-everyone thought he would live forever. He was strong as an ox and never complained of illness, bar the one day he took to his bed never to get out. ‘My father was one of the best. I don’t know how my mother coped when he died. I was 24 years old at the time, and had had a lifetime of memories and fun with him, but I had younger brothers and sisters. I was the eldest of five children, ages ranged from 24,’ Leroy pointed to himself with both hands. ‘down to eight, my baby Sis’ A smile came to Leroy’s face just thinking of Merrill, his younger sister.
‘Your father must have been quite young when he died?’ Georgina turned around and rested against the hand rail, like Leroy
‘He was forty-eight. My mother had just turned forty; my father was her first and only man. She was thirteen when they met and sixteen when she fell pregnant with me. Fell pregnant isn’t that such a stupid phrase. Makes you sound unwanted, unloved, nothing could have been further from the truth.’
‘Your father...was he Dominique La Portiere, the centre for the Philadelphia Warriors?’
‘Yeah, that was my old man, he played NBA for five years, until he busted his knee in a…’
‘Coach accident. They were returning from playing the Celtics. The bus ran off the road.’ Georgina searched her memory for the details. ‘The driver had been drinking and fell asleep. Your dad and the driver were the only casualties.’
‘You really are a fan.’
Georgina nodded. ‘I saw your father play once. Long time ago when I was a little girl.’ Georgina held up her index finger with her thumb closed close to it. ‘Very little... I must have been around eight years old. He was great.’
‘Yeah.’
Ned walked past Georgina and Leroy. ‘You can see Turtle Island from the bridge. Tell Mr Montoya that you are to relieve
him at the helm.’
Leroy saluted. ‘Aye, aye Cap’in.’
Georgina laughed as they strolled to the bridge. For a few moments this was summer in the country, it wasn’t searching for a killer or trying to find clues, it was something happy couples do. She reflected on the moment.
Leroy took control of ‘The Ingénue’ and steered her against the flow toward the Parlandale fork, where the river split into two, circumnavigating Turtle Island. Rick studied the map with Georgina, his finger tracing possible routes from the various tributaries that fed in to the river.
‘If we take the right fork we pass the storm drains and the old mill plus a whole load of dwellings built on the river.’
‘What are these?’ Georgina pointed to three marks constructed across the width of the river.
‘They’re called the Three Wise Men. Bridges built about seventy years ago, they used to link to the mainland, they’re unusable by car or just about any other vehicle now.’
‘So the only way on to Turtle Island is over Independence Bridge...or by boat.’
Ned sat close by petting ‘Nemo’, watching and listening to the detectives. He slowly peeled an orange, cutting the rind with a sharp knife before splitting the segments revealing the fruit’s soft fleshy contents. He popped a piece into his mouth, speaking as he mashed the segment to pulp. ‘That’s not entirely true.’ Ned stood, casting Nemo to one side as he joined the detectives. Rick looked puzzled
‘There are a host of tunnels leading from the storm drains, some are merely excess water chambers which drop one hundred to two hundred feet to underground rivers, but others are access tunnels used during construction.’ He offered Georgina and Rick a slice of the orange, which they both took.
‘Left or right?’ Leroy shouted from the bridge, slowing the boat at the fork.
Chapter Thirteen
He showered, dressed and read the newspaper before pushing out a further one hundred press-ups. Lunch was light, mostly fresh fruit, some poached eggs and a slice of wholemeal bread, toasted on one side. The television had been buzzing with stories and assumptions about a man found wandering on the highway from Turtle Island. One intrepid reporter even managed to link the man with two other missing locals, speculating whether ‘a serial killer’ might be at large in the small island community. He laughed, spurred on by his newfound infamy. There was a need for release burning inside of him. There would be no escape this time, although even that mistake served a purpose. The computer screen flickered and buzzed. He moved the mouse and the screen saver of two men torturing a boy disappeared, to be replaced by a list of names. The first two were highlighted in red, number three was flashing on and off…waiting. He highlighted the name with the cursor and clicked the left hand button on the mouse, the screen changed once more and a picture along with the resume of his next victim appeared.
Charles Fleisher sat behind his desk in the Office of Bradwell, Shawsted, Fleisher; Real Estate Agents. As a senior partner of the small Island business, Fleisher's association with the company stretched over ten years since joining the then fledgling company. It took time until he was trusted enough to be brought on board as a partner. As time passed so did the elder partners, some into retirement, some relocated to busier areas where the action was faster paced and some to the Green Pastures Memorial Gardens outside Campbelltown, Charles though was happy where he was. He liked certain things to be predictable. Fleisher felt good, pumped up. A lunchtime workout always managed to get the adrenaline flowing, if he was true to himself (which he often was) he felt horny. The day was quiet. He didn't have an appointment until 4-30 in the afternoon. Three and a half hours to kill. Charles flicked through the roller deck, stopping at Harley's school. Visions of Karen Fuller, Harley's teacher, formed in his mind. His fingers were dialling the number before thoughts of the consequences were able to stop him. It was nearly one. She'd still be at lunch. Two minutes of hanging on the line listening to a Phil Collins medley were rewarded with the sound of her sweet voice on the end of the receiver.
‘Hello, Miss Fuller.’
Karen Fuller didn't take much persuasion before succumbing to an offer of dinner, she never did. Charles knew where it would lead, exactly where it always led. He put the phone down and breathed deeply trying to control the surge of adrenaline. Sometimes he felt as though he would explode. His mind went back to Narla and thoughts of last night. He phoned Narla. ‘Hi, darling. Got to work tonight...probably till 11 or so, hopefully gonna tie up selling the Kingsley plot...Yeah , put the champagne on ice...I love you too. See ya later hon.’ He put the phone down, it was that easy. The deception made him buzz.
The Kingsley plot was just about done and dusted. At four thirty he would meet with representatives from 'Harper Pellum' at five he would be shaking hands and taking his usual ten per cent rake off on top of their normal fee. Easy money.
Beep! An incessant tone registered Stephen England’s every breath. A tiny pulse monitored his life in static green flashes on the small screen above his head. Cara Morton sat patiently by his side, holding his hand and talking to him. The doctors told her that under the medication he had been given, Stephen was likely to remain unconscious for some time. They wanted to give his body time to repair and his mind more importantly time to adjust.
Dr Martinez opened the door to the private room and poked his head through the gap.
‘You still here?’
Cara looked at the Latino doctor. ‘I want to be here when he wakes.’
Martinez pushed the thin wooden door open further and entered. ‘You know that could be some time, you really ought to get some rest.’
‘No, I’m alright, anyway this is hardly strenuous.’
‘Not physically.’ The doctor walked toward the bed and stood beside Cara ‘But mentally it can be quite exhausting.’ He rested his hand on her shoulder as a sign of compassion for her plight and gently squeezed. Cara appreciated his strength and encouragement, and knew the doctor was right. She had been at Stephen’s side for almost ten hours and apart from the occasional bout of activity on the monitors, which the doctors assured her was nothing to worry about. ‘Probably nightmares’. He had not moved or shown any sign of waking. Cara yawned and stretched. The sterility of the room and the temperature were beginning to have an effect.
‘Maybe I will have a break, get a coffee.’
Dr Martinez picked up Stephen’s chart and noted his body temperature and pulse rate before signing his initials and logging the time. ‘Tell you what, we have a private room for relatives, it has got a bed and a telly, picks up cable.’
‘Wow, cable hey?’ Cara mocked, smiling for the first time in ages.
‘There’s no one in there right now, why don’t you get a coffee and something to eat and rest in there for a while.’
The prospect of a few hours rest appealed to Cara.
‘And you’ll call me if Stephen wakes?’
Dr Martinez crossed his heart with his index finger. ‘The very minute he wakes, I will personally call you.’
‘Okay.’
Ned pulled the Ingénue to a halt by the side of a quay and leapt onto the wooden platform with impressive agility. He tied the ropes to a mooring ring and called his dog. Although equally aged, Nemo leapt with similar impressive style.
‘That completes the tour, you’ve circled the entire island.’
Georgina O’Neil felt disappointed. She didn’t know what she expected to find but felt somewhat cheated as to gaining anything new, except for a greater acquaintance with the lay of the land. She had studied and noted the location of houses, both empty and occupied. She had made notes of possible places that were more likely to be where she would choose to, if that way inclined, kidnap and torture people. Singular, isolated properties close to the river. There were three in particular that she wanted to have a more detailed look at. Two of them, Rick informed her, were vacant; the third occupied by Chris Hurley, owner of the local radio and television stations.
It w
as four o’clock and the sun was still high in the sky, Rick and Leroy were both of the impression that they had wasted a day; that the world was moving apace without their presence. This was not how they liked to work, but Frusco insisted they co-operative with O’Neil fully. There were worse ways of spending an afternoon other than sightseeing around Turtle Island with a beautiful woman.
‘Your cars should be about half a mile beyond the trees.’ Ned said, watching the landlubbers disembark. Georgina had phoned ahead and asked Frusco to get some deputies to move their vehicle to their new location, just by Independence Bridge. Rick thanked Ned; Leroy swigged on his bottle of coke and saluted the captain and his dog.
The trees Ned pointed at were Oak and Tupelo, the wild grasses that ran to meet them were waist high and peppered with wild flowers. Agent O’Neil nodded a curt goodbye to the smiling seafarer and was already strolling through the maize fields toward the thick clump of forestation.
‘Frosty.’ Ned informed Nemo. ‘That’s why I don’t like women.’ He rubbed his faithful friend’s head. ‘Only whores and dogs.’
Nemo barked approval.
Chapter Fourteen
It was a rare moment, the house was totally silent. Narla Fleisher sat drinking black coffee enjoying the tranquillity. Harley was visiting friends after school and Charles was working late, so she contemplated an evening reading by the river with a bottle of wine and a Korean take-away from the village. She breathed in quietly, listening to her heartbeat, the sensation of beginning to drift away made Narla sit up sharply and shake her head. God, she’d have to go easy on the wine tonight. One glass, two at the most. Narla stood and gulped down the last of her black, sugar free, coffee and decided that she had to wash her face to shake of the after effects of last night. As usual, it was only now, some nine hours after she woke that the full force of her hangover kicked in. She made her way to the bathroom, where she threw cold water over her face, enjoying the coolness from the oppressive mugginess that pervades the long hot days. Water from her face ran down on to the silk blouse she was wearing.
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