Turtle Island

by Caffeine Nights Publishing

  ‘Got the search warrants, Rick?’ Leroy leaned forward.

  Rick waved them in his face bouncing the small wad of paper of Leroy’s nose. The comic moment broke the tension briefly but the feeling wasn’t to last. Everyone in the car knew that this would probably be the last light moment of the night. Frusco pulled the car to a halt some twenty yards from the chopper, another police vehicle pulled up aside. Frusco was first out followed by Rick and Leroy, Georgina took a deep breath and joined them. Four uniformed officers, dressed in black, suited with Kevlar body armour and helmets with toughened bullet protecting visors, ran to another waiting helicopter. Their faces painted with nightstick to dull glare from greasy, light reflecting skin. They entered the other copter with a graceful ease that suggested that the manoeuvre was born out of practice. Georgina put her foot on the landing board and was hoisted inside by Leroy. Before she had sat down, the helicopter had left the ground and was already twenty-five foot in the air, starting to veer into a sharp right turn, a manoeuvre, which helped Georgina locate her seat quicker than she anticipated. She thumped onto the cushioning of the seat with little elegance, much to the amusement of Frusco seated opposite.

  ‘You really do hate flying, don’t you?’ Leroy’s deep voice boomed over the noise of the helicopter engine and rotors and into the headphones Georgina had just placed over her ears.

  Georgina didn't answer, choosing to spend her energy and thoughts on securing herself with the safety belts instead. She sat back and gripped the black harness, which criss-crossed her shoulders, tugging on the black meshing and generally checking her safety.

  The chopper raced along, nose slightly down, allowing the detectives an excellent view below. The night sky was clear with perfect visibility. Georgina breathed deep, trying to calm her nerves. She was aware of each breath, long and shallow.

  Within what seemed to be seconds, Rick spoke into the small mic connected to the cans on his head. His voice sounded metallic.

  ‘Turtle Island up ahead.’

  Even in the darkness, Georgina could see the river snaking around the Island. The moon's glow reflected off the river’s surface, highlighting its progress, circumnavigating the landmass. She opened her map and found the mouth of the river. The first house was no more than a mile in. As the two helicopters swept past, it was obvious that the property was abandoned. The house was old and left in a state of disrepair, broken windows and no door with much of the roof’s slating missing. Frusco told the pilot to carry on.

  He could hear them coming. He watched the bright searchlights weaving, scanning the fields. Searching, searching for him.

  ‘Come and get me.’

  Karen Fuller tried to move her tongue. Pushing it against the towelling robe belt that Charles had used to gag her. She wanted to swallow, finding it almost impossible. Saliva dribbled out of the corner of her mouth, leaving a damp patch on the pillow. Sober reality cast a shadow of degradation over the past twenty-four hours. But she couldn't deny she had done things that even thinking about them now, hours later, had given her a massive thrill. The thrill of pain, of pleasure, of being helpless. It was dark once more, between fear and uncertainty lay hunger. Karen had not eaten since their meal the previous evening. She hadn't seen Charles for hours, but the uncertainty was part of the fun. She tried to move her arms and legs but to no avail, fishing wire cut in to her wrists and ankles. Spread-eagled and naked, secured to the bedposts, Karen Fuller wanted to shout for Charles but the gag blocked out any sound she could muster. Had Charles simply forgotten about her? Dark thoughts ran through her mind, visions of being left alone. She tugged at the fishing line once more but there was no way it was going to break. The cutting effect on her wrists gave her the impression that her hand would sooner be amputated than the line would break. What little she knew about fishing drew her to the conclusion that the breaking strain of the line must have been greater than her body weight. The need to urinate now occupied her thoughts. Somewhere in the distance she could hear a low buzzing hum. The noise was getting closer.

  Georgina marked a dark blue ring from a thick tipped felt pen and ringed a circle on the map. A big black X obliterated the red circle of the house they just flew over was.

  ‘Over half way there, three to go.’ Georgina said to herself. ‘Don't barf now.’

  The copter swooped in a sharp upwards motion, leaving Georgina's stomach on the floor; she leaned nearer the open door, allowing a little fresh air to hit her face. A bright light was burning in the near distance, like a beacon it drew the two helicopters toward it.

  ‘Fifth time lucky maybe?’ Frusco said to know one in particular.

  Georgina hoped so, just so she could be on the ground. As they drew nearer it was obvious that the light was emanating from what should have been an unoccupied property. The house was a large two story wooden construction; white slatted bargeboards covered the facia. Frusco asked the pilot to sweep past low, circle and land in the field adjacent to the house, some 60 yards from the river. They needed to get in quickly on foot.

  Frusco, Rick, Leroy and Georgina were going to go in through the front, while the other team in the second chopper were going round the back. Adrenaline was starting to push away Georgina’s phobia; this definitely had possibilities. The helicopter hovered briefly before setting down on the soft ground. Georgina stepped from the helicopter; the rotor blades had shifted enough air to cool the immediate temperature by about 15 degrees. Rick and Leroy were already running ahead, Frusco lagged a little behind. Georgina soon caught up with the portly detective. They were now running at top speed toward the door of the house. The ground was uneven with the grassed lawn overgrown. Georgina was very aware of her footing. The second team were already in position around the back of the house, awaiting instruction. Frusco made the door last, puffing heavy, seconds after Georgina. He composed himself and nodded to Rick and Leroy

  ‘Let’s go.’

  Charles Fleisher had been watching the television when he heard the sound of the two helicopters landing nearby. He quickly rose to his feet and walked to the window. Pulling the curtain back, Charles saw the two vast machines taking off again and flying back toward Missouri.

  ‘Strange.’

  He headed to the bedroom; she would be ready now for another session. Karen was still tied to the bed, small traces of blood appeared around her ankles and wrists. She was moaning, it was hard to tell exactly what she was saying. All Charles heard was moaning. Karen lifted her head and saw Charles standing at the entrance of the room. He was holding a knife. She dropped her head back to the pillow, struggling was painful and a useless waste of energy. The fear was exciting, she felt incredibly aroused. Charles walked toward the bed; with each step he took, Karen's excitement grew. She had enjoyed the pain. At first she was sceptical. The lack of freedom, the humiliation, the sheer raw pleasure. Together they had done things that she had never in her wildest moments dreamt of doing. Sex before was purely perfunctory with men and boys who had no imagination, the focus was always on them, on what they wanted and was often over so, so quickly. She wasn’t sure if she would like games, but once the boundaries were withdrawn, Karen was introduced to another world. A world where pain and pleasure walked hand in glove, where humiliation enticed with fear heightened their lovemaking. Charles stood naked in front of Karen. His right hand gripped the handle of the carving knife. Its stainless steel blade sparkled. He straddled across her body, his genitals brushing against her stomach. Charles shimmied down her, tracing the knife's blade between her breasts, trailing it down her stomach, stopping at the small mousy blonde coloured mound of hair between her legs, before gently entering her with the tip of the blade. Karen gasped as the cold steel entered her body. Karen wanted to move, to struggle, but the knife inside her kept her still, stiller than she could ever imagine being. Charles removed the knife and placed the tip of the blade in his mouth. His eyes closed tight as though with pain. The blade jerked further in to his mouth with each cry, until Karen saw
a trickle of blood run down his chin and splash on to her thigh. Karen's need to urinate now was overwhelming, brought on now through fear though. She wanted to scream but all she could do was watch this crazy naked man eating a nine-inch carving knife. Charles coughed and pulled the blade from his mouth.

  ‘Don't struggle.’

  Blood ran from Charles mouth down his neck and chest. He slashed the knife to his right and at once one of Karen's arms were free. He raised the knife and was about to slash out again to free her other hand.

  Leroy pulled back his size eleven boot, aiming it at the middle portion of the flimsy door.

  The door gave way with the first kick and within seconds Georgina was entering the house behind Rick and Leroy. Frusco was on the radio as he entered ordering the team at the back of the house to enter. With quick succession they entered and cleared all the rooms on the ground floor. Rick ran up the stairs gun ready, in front of him. Georgina followed. Her firearm raised, pointing to the ceiling. Leroy and Norman Frusco took the steps that led to the basement. The door to the room ahead of Rick and Georgina was ajar. Rick pushed straight through. Any procedure learned through training, discarded. Georgina feared the worst; being three steps behind Rick she was too late to pull him back. She grasped outward with her hand, reaching for his jacket to pull him backwards, but he was gone.

  The door flew open and Charles Fleisher turned to see a man pointing a gun, shouting at him. Charles was sitting straddled across Karen Fuller. His right arm continued to slash through the catgut, which tied Karen's left arm. Fleisher saw the flash from the barrel of the weapon and briefly felt a stinging sensation. Karen Fuller's free hand was fumbling with the gag around her mouth, desperately trying to free it, when the side of Charles head exploded, showering her in blood, bone and brain tissue. The dead weight of Charles body collided with Karen pinning her to the mattress. Charles dying body convulsed, flailing wildly, the knife in his hand scoring deep flesh wounds across Karen’s face, neck, arms, stomach and thighs, until a second shot rang out, stopping Charles in his tracks, leaving the knife embedded deep in Karen’s bare chest.

  Georgina lowered her smoking gun.

  ‘Jesus fuck, Rick!’ She ran past a motionless Rick Montoya and started to pull Charles Fleisher from Karen Fuller’s body. Helping hands arrived, reaching out, pulling the dead estate agent away. Georgina looked up to find Leroy there, ready with a sheet to cover the teacher's nakedness.

  ‘An ambulance is on its way.’ Leroy touched Karen’s arm, while Georgina untied the gag around Karen’s mouth.

  ‘He...He was going to...kill her.’ Rick finally said.

  Karen rasped, wincing through the pain. Her voice gurgled as though she was swallowing water while talking. ‘No…no.’ Blood seeped through the white sheet, spreading outwards like blotting paper eating ink.

  ‘Where the hell’s the ambulance?’ Georgina shouted knowing that they were helpless to the teacher’s plight. Karen raised her arm and gripped Georgina’s sleeve. She coughed, vomiting blood, then breathed in as deep as her lungs would allow, but never breathed out. Her body stiffened, convulsing in a brief shudder before falling limp. Georgina shook Karen, trying to get a response. She quickly lay her down on the floor and pinched Karen’s nose and blew air into her failed lungs. ‘Pump her chest Leroy.’

  The large detective knelt by Karen Fuller’s side. ‘The knife? I can’t.’

  ‘Pull it out…she going to die.’

  ‘She’s already gone.’

  ‘Just pull it out, Leroy.’ Georgina didn’t wait she leaned across Karen’s body and grasped the handle of the knife and with one quick tug pulled the blade from her chest.

  ‘Now, pump her chest.’

  Leroy moved forward and started to decompress Karen’s chest. Georgina waited for him to stop and pinched Karen’s nose again and breathed into her mouth, only one side of Karen’s chest rose. Georgina breathed again, repeating the process another three times. Her own lips suddenly felt wet, sticky warm fluid painted her own mouth as Georgina tasted the teacher’s blood, returned to her mouth via Karen Fuller’s filling lungs. Leroy stood and dragged Georgina away. ‘She’s dead.’

  Georgina stormed over to where Montoya was glued. ‘What the hell were you playing at? You know procedure for entering a room, especially where a kidnap or hostage victim is being held.’ She grabbed Rick's lapels shaking him violently.

  Rick stared blindly. ‘He...had...a...knife, I saw him slashing across the girl with it. I thought he was killing her.’ Rick repeated himself. His voice was monotone, as dead as the body of Karen Fuller.

  ‘Come on.’ Frusco pulled Rick out of the bedroom allowing some of the uniforms in.

  The distant wail of sirens announced the arrival of the paramedics and back up. The siren grew louder and louder and then stopped.

  Forensics moved into the house once the bodies were cleared for transport to the pathology lab for post mortems. Georgina and Leroy hung around, trying to uncover anything fresh, searching the house for fresh evidence to incriminate Fleisher. Georgina moved from room to room searching methodically, taking her time, lifting and moving every conceivable object. She entered a door, which lead to the basement and found a full video-editing suite with monitors and scores of videotapes.

  ‘Leroy?’ Georgina backed out of the room and called up the stairs to the upper half of the house.

  Time ran quickly into the morning and an entire night had been spent on the search for evidence for a case that was now closed as far as the state of Missouri and Norman Frusco was concerned. Georgina knew she was wasting her time, Frusco had his man; the media had their story. She would rather have spent the time asleep in her motel room but for the nagging lingering doubts that pervaded her thoughts. Leroy moved from room to room, intrinsically searching for anything that would take his mind off Lia.

  The press and TV were banging at the door within an hour of the incident. Barbara Dace heading up the long line of reporters vying for exclusive access. Barbara stood on the door demanding to the police guard that she spoke with either Captain Frusco or the FBI agent, Agent O’Neil. Georgina was within earshot, she recognised Barbara Dace’s voice. She came to the door.

  ‘What can I do for you Mrs Dace?’

  ‘I was hoping for a little payback for the help I gave you.’ Barbara was her usual assertive self; even so, her voice had an edge to it tonight. Dace’s cameraman John Keller was waiting behind her, looking tired and in need of a long vacation.

  ‘Mrs Dace.’ Georgina’s voice was firm; there was no way she was going to be intimidated by either Barbara Dace or any of the other reporters standing line. ‘When forensics have finished here, I promise you will be the first and only reporter allowed inside the house, but until then would you kindly fuck off.’ Georgina’s voice didn’t change pitch or tone but she knew it had the desired effect when Barbara’s jaw hit the ground. Georgina smiled and closed the door politely.

  ‘Hey, that was cool.’

  Georgina turned to see Leroy standing, laughing.

  ‘Have you ever thought about working in public relations?’

  ‘You know those leeches really crawl on my skin sometimes.’

  ‘I guessed. You kinda gave that away.’

  The letterbox to the door opened and Barbara called through. ‘So, when do you think forensics will be finished?’

  They watched totally enthralled. The small community of Turtle Island was unexpectedly thrown into the limelight and their attention had not been captured so collectively since the Oklahoma bombing or that dark day in New York, September 2001. Images filtered through the air, through cables and broadband telecommunication lines. Riveted, the populace never moved from their seats, choosing to watch the news unfold in front of their eyes, and then the beginning of the exodus of the curious and the morbid as they began their pilgrimage to the house on the far side of the Island where Charles Fleisher kept Karen Fuller captive and eventually killed her. It was a trickle at first, then a con
tinual steady flow of people ready to pay homage, then a rush. Each of them curious to see firsthand, to feel and breathe in the air, the very same air Charles Fleisher breathed. A group of inquisitive onlookers encamped outside Fleisher’s realty agency, though what they expected to find was as much a curiosity, some even settled outside the Fleisher household. Narla Fleisher watched the whole event unfold via news broadcasts. Their daughter, Harley watched with her in stunned silence, at first disbelieving, then finally relieved. At four in the morning she finally slunk beneath the covers of her duvet. Harley Fleisher would sleep soundly for the first time that night in years, there would be no more interruptions and no intrusions in the middle of the night.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Georgina lay on the bed in the bare surround of her motel room, exhausted. The only light in the room was coming from a small table lamp that sat on the locker by the bed. She noticed the sheets had been changed for the first time since she arrived. Even though she desperately wanted to close her eyes and sleep, her mind was still racing. The 'coming down’ period after a case's resolution always left her drained but restless.

  The horrible feeling that she had taken a life stuck in her claw, even if it was a lowlife like Charles Fleisher. Somewhere inside his twisted mind there must have been the fragments of a decent person and to have extinguished anything that may have once been good unsettled her, redemption is always for tomorrow. Charles Fleisher was the first person she had ever shot, let alone killed and she had to come to terms with it, figure out in her mind what it was now that separated her from him. Both of them were now killers, even though the government sanctioned her, it didn't address the internal moral battle. She had stopped someone from living, snuffed them out, stopped them...Full stop.