Turtle Island

by Caffeine Nights Publishing

  ‘No, it’s definitely linked.’ Georgina shook her head. ‘It is not unusual for the perpetrators of major crimes to be fighting with themselves. Maybe part of him wants us to stop him. I just wish he'd left his name and address on a piece of paper instead, sure would have saved a lot of shit.’

  ‘What about the tape?’

  ‘Oh, I'm picking up a copy in the morning. You still haven't told me?’ Georgina said moving around the desk and giving Leroy her most pleading, doe eyed look.

  ‘Told you what?’ Leroy teased.

  ‘Leroy.’ Georgina playfully punched Leroy on the shoulder.

  ‘Ouch! Okay...okay.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I thought you would have guessed, being a detective an all.’

  Georgina glared, pretending to be at the end of her patience.

  Leroy shifted his feet from the desk. ‘Captain Frusco.’

  ‘You're kidding, I didn't know he had it in him. Sounds to me like its Barbara Dace who’s got it in her though.’

  Leroy grimaced, as a cough from behind made him suddenly feel very uncomfortable.

  ‘Didn't know who had what in who, Agent O’Neil?’

  Georgina turned to face the Frusco, unable to hide the red flush that was rising from her chest rapidly up her neck and to her cheeks. She decided it would be the better part of valour not to answer Frusco's inquiry.

  ‘I don't have to ask what you're doing here, O’Neil.’ Frusco's voice had a resigned acceptance to it. ‘But while you're here keep your investigations to relevant issues, not office gossip.’

  ‘Sir.’ Suitably admonished Georgina wanted to slink away.

  Leroy broke the awkward silence. ‘We were just going through the evidence in the Fleisher case sir. Agent O’Neil thinks there are areas we missed.’

  ‘Like what, LaPortiere? The Fleisher case is dead and buried along with Charles Fleisher.’

  ‘The tooth that was placed in my car, I had no connection with Fleisher, I don't think he even knew I existed until...’ Georgina let the sentence hang in the air

  ‘We are not going to look to good if you undermine the Fleisher case, it's buried O’Neil. If you start digging around it's not going to reflect too well on any of us. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Are you saying drop the evidence, sir?’

  ‘No, O’Neil, I'm saying if you open that can of worms and start fishing you better land more than tiddlers.’

  A moments’ silence passed between them. Frusco let his message settle into Georgina’s mind.

  ‘Our duty is to find the person who has kidnapped Detective Montoya and his family.’

  ‘And killed Korjca Piekarska.’ Georgina added.

  ‘That goes without saying. It's the Nanny's funeral tomorrow. I want you there, O’Neil. The cremation is at St Mary's, 10-30.’ Frusco made his way to the door. He looked at O’Neil. The self-assured Agent that first came to Turtle Island was looking pale and tired. A shadow of the person that arrived six month's previously. ‘The priest is a Father Reagan.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Whoever is doing this might want to see the results of his actions. See the whole thing through, as it were. I want photographs of the mourners; needless to say discretion will be in everyone's best interest. I'll leave the photography to you, La Portiere.’

  The detective nodded. ‘I'll get a camera from stores.’

  Frusco took out an envelope from his jacket and placed it on the desk between the two detectives. ‘We received these an hour ago.’ Frusco shook out three Polaroid photographs of detective Montoya, bound and bruised. ‘Son of a bitch walked straight in and left them on my desk. The only fingerprints on the photos are Rick’s.’ The small mobile phone in Frusco’s pocket vibrated. ‘O’Neil, I don’t need agents or officers fouling in an already murky pool.’

  Georgina watched him leave. ‘Was that a warning?’

  Leroy shrugged. ‘I get the feeling you rub him up the wrong way.’

  ‘Good.’

  Before driving back home, Leroy picked up a camera with a telephoto lens from the stores department. He threw the camera bag on the back seat of the car and sank wearily into the driver’s position. Georgina sat in the front passenger’s seat. The effects of the day began to catch up with her. It had been a long day since her early morning run and she was looking forward to a good night’s sleep.

  Leroy drove the car out of the underground car park, a slight drizzle of rain greeted them. He switched on the wipers. The rubber blades smeared traffic film across the windscreen, momentarily obscuring the view.

  ‘I'm going to run the tooth through the FBI's victims’ records, see if we can obtain a match.’ Georgina said somewhat fatigued.

  ‘You know you don't have to book in to a motel tonight...you could stay with me. There's plenty of room’

  ‘Thanks Leroy, but I'm not sure it's the right thing. Especially with you getting back with Lia soon. We wouldn't want to jeopardise the situation in any way.’

  ‘Hey, I was only offering a bed. You saying I can't resist you.’ Leroy did his best to sound affronted.

  ‘Maybe I'm saying, I couldn't.’ Georgina was telling the truth. She felt tired and vulnerable and in need of a little comfort. The truth was she couldn't trust herself tonight. Tonight she'd have to make do with a hot bath and raiding the miniatures in the drinks cabinet. ‘Don't look so shocked, fatigue lowers my standards.’ Georgina mocked Leroy covering the tracks of her true feelings as usual.

  They drove on in uncomfortable silence, until the Motel appeared; flashing it's broken pink neon sign.

  ‘Should be no trouble getting a room, late October is hardly high season.’ Leroy parked the car.

  ‘Pick me up early?’ Georgina asked.

  ‘7-30 okay?’

  Georgina nodded. ‘Yeah, I want to get to the TV studios and get a copy of that tape before going on to the funeral.’

  ‘I better not see you to the door, in case you hold me against my will and ask me to perform all varieties of deviant sexual acts?’ Leroy said.

  ‘Your loss, Leroy…your loss.’ Georgina smiled. The whites of her eyes were losing battle to the network of bloodshot veins.

  She got out of the car and pulled her luggage from the trunk. Georgina shut the passenger door but could hear Leroy bid her goodnight.

  ‘Goodnight, O’Neil.’ The Detective engaged drive and pulled away, leaving the weary agent struggling against both fatigue, the weight of her luggage and the case notes stuffed under her arm. She gainfully tried to retain grip on the suitcase as she headed toward the reception.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Slowly she submerged into the water. It licked at her nose, trying to find passage into her lungs; there was a brief temptation to breathe in. She allowed it to lap gently against her upper lip. Parting her mouth slightly, she took in a small amount of water and projected it down the length of her body. Georgina wondered at the miracle of babies and their ability to breathe liquid for the nine months before birth. The water was steaming hot, as hot as she could bare and within seconds of entering the bath she noticed her skin reddening. The radio was playing Van Morrison singing ‘Crazy Love’ and Van’s voice was the velvet glove offering respite and comfort from the world outside the front door. She wanted to read, wanted to relax for a moment, just get away to a saner place or maybe just some other, any other, place. But her eyes were too tired to read and all that she had was the case report anyway. She picked up a sponge and squeezed the hot liquid over her face. Georgina watched the hot water cascade down toward her eyes until the last possible moment before blinking. A memory. Why memories choose certain times to return was as much a puzzle as the recollection itself. Maybe it was provoked by stimuli, the hot water; the momentary peace. Georgina didn’t know, but the memory was there as fresh as the day it occurred. She was nine or ten, not much older, sitting in a bath of hot water, listening to her mother arguing with her father. The voices often travelled up the stairs. The sound
s of a family tearing itself apart and all the time Georgina feeling she was somehow to blame. She found she was holding her breath for as long as they argued. The slightest action of her breathing would be the trigger to some sort of catastrophe. Then as the voices died she inhaled and submerged under the hot water, the water acting as a buffer against the resumed hostility, which invaded the house like some sort of demon. No one knew Georgina's mother was dying, no one knew that was the reason for her argumentative nature. Often Georgina would find her mother sitting alone crying, blaming herself for the arguments, the confusion raging in her head, a mystery. Georgina would sit under the water looking at the light bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling, waiting until her lungs were ready to burst. Often, when she broke out of her artificial womb, she would find that the arguments had miraculously stopped.

  Georgina opened her eyes, the view through the water so reminiscent of those childhood days. She sat for a while watching the tungsten world ripple, waiting; like the child she was, until the very last moment before re-emerging. If the world had not been cleansed, then at least she somehow felt exorcised for the moment. She breathed a deep breath filling her lungs with air and wiped the remnants of water from her eyes. Black mascara smudged in to her closed fist. Georgina leaned over the side of the bath and lifted the straight whiskey she had poured and took a sip before sinking down in the bath again, allowing the water to cover her shoulders. The only embrace she would have tonight.

  The water was cold, colder than ever. Jo-Lynn waited in the dark. Cramp and fatigue were diminishing her resolve. Her hopes of being left with at least light were dashed when He taped her mouth again, turned off the light and left her in the dark once more. She was no longer sure if her husband was with her let alone her son. Right now she wanted to die, she wanted to die more than anything else, more than even seeing her son or her husband ever again. She knew she could do it, she could rock the chair and fall head first into the water, and then all she'd have to do would be breathe then it would all be over. Her hands were freezing…her legs were freezing. Never had she felt such despair and such a sense of sheer uselessness, if that was his objective then he had achieved it, but if she tipped the chair forward she would never know what had happened to her son and while she had given up on herself. She couldn’t give up on Ray or Rick. No matter how much she wanted to die, there was no way she could give up on them. The umbilical cord was severed at birth but the maternal bond could never be severed, not while she held breath in her lungs. Jo-Lynn screamed and cried out but the tape muted her despair. She wanted to kill. She wanted to kill. Never before had she known, nor had been able to understand such cold hearted hatred. She believed in good. She had faith, believed that God would always be there, well where the hell was he now. She wanted to kill. Jo-Lynn felt a surge of hope. While she felt such rage she knew there was a chance. Given the chance, she’d rip his fucking head off....

  Somehow she must have fallen asleep, though she could not remember slumber creeping upon her. Sleep has an anaesthetic quality and no matter how long she had been in the arms of its somnambulant cradle Georgina never once felt the coldness of the water. She had dreamt of freedom, warm sunny beaches. Running, moving. She awoke in the cold water of the bath, her body now a ridge of goose bumps as her skin searched for hot air. She pulled herself out of the bath and shivered, quickly wrapping a bath towel around her body to chase away night fingers. As she dried herself she felt totally alone.

  ‘The last person on earth’

  She lifted the near empty glass of whiskey and toasted herself in the mirror.

  ‘Just me and a glass of whiskey.’ Georgina nodded to her reflection and sank the last quarter in the tumbler. ‘My old friend you warm me up on nights such as these.’

  She threw the glass against the opposite wall watching it break in to a thousand fractured spears of glass. She wanted to scream at the top of her voice, cry out her frustration. Georgina wandered into the bedroom and flopped onto the bed.

  An arm shook roughly at her shoulder. Jo-Lynn woke. And as soon as conscious thought replaced the sanctuary of dreams, she knew she must remember the feeling of hatred that had invaded her thoughts earlier. He started to take the tape from her mouth again.

  ‘They don’t have a clue. Lord knows I’ve given them enough. They’re so ignorant. I could give them my address and they’d still take a week to get here.’

  Jo-Lynn smelt toast. He placed a slice of toast near her lips. She could see the light from under the small gap near her nose.

  ‘I need the toilet.’ Jo-Lynn protested. ‘I cannot eat until I have used a toilet.’

  He pressed the toast closer to her lips

  ‘Can’t you hear me I NEED the bathroom.’ she repeated.

  He pulled the toast away and placed it on a tray, which held a mug of coffee. She heard something being opened and could then feel a rubbing sensation by her ankles. Suddenly one leg was free; more cutting then the next leg came unbound. She could feel him working around her back, his hand pushing at her shoulders guiding her upright but partially supporting her. Jo-Lynn never realised how weak her legs would be as they gave from under her, if he had not been supporting her she would have fallen in to the water.

  He pulled her forward a few paces.

  ‘How’s my son. Please can I see him, or if I can’t see him, can I hold him, please?’

  Jo-Lynn felt the tip of cold steel against the top of her leg, followed by a tug as he cut her knickers away. His hands pressed down on to her shoulders, forcing her into a squat, all the time he supported her frame.

  ‘You're kidding? I need privacy.’

  He pushed down on her shoulders.

  Chapter Thirty

  Six O'clock. The alarm rang in Georgina's head a minute before the alarm next to her bed sounded. She reached out and switched the setting to the radio, allowing a little early morning music to gently pull her out of bed.

  Three and a half miles away Leroy was already awake, sitting eating his breakfast, while familiarising himself with the controls of the camera. His telly was on in the background, which he glanced at between the pages of the manual that accompanied the camera. It was Barbara Dace's live report, which grabbed his attention. She was standing outside the Fleisher house, now boarded up, looking abandoned. The sun was just rising and her skin was looking bleached out by the harsh halogen used to light the scene.

  ‘For those that believe that lightning doesn’t strike twice, the events unfolding here on Turtle Island are a little too reminiscent of an incident which came to conclusion here inside this house six months ago. A little over half a year ago I stood inside the house behind me, only hours after Charles Fleisher had been gunned down after killing Karen Fuller, a local teacher at the high school here on Turtle Island. Many people then believed that the death of Fleisher would see an end to a series of kidnappings and murder, which saw the deaths of Max Dalton, Stephen England and finally Karen Fuller. But today I can exclusively reveal on Breakfast News that one of the Detectives in charge of the Fleisher case and his family has disappeared, presumably kidnapped at the hands of a copycat perpetrator. The body of the family nanny was found stabbed to death at the hone of Detective Rick Montoya. I have with me Lieutenant Norman Frusco, the police officer in charge assigned to Turtle Island.’

  Leroy’s jaw dropped open so far it nearly bounced off the table.

  ‘What the...’

  He listened as Norman Frusco shuffled into view, looking ill at ease in front of the camera, in comparison with his lover. Leroy tried to fathom why Frusco was publicising Rick’s kidnapping.

  Frusco delivered a prepared statement. Unfolding a crumpled piece of paper from the inside pocket of his even more crumpled jacket, he began to read.

  ‘A little over two days ago Detective Rick Montoya and his wife and son were abducted from their family home here on Turtle Island. To the person that is responsible I have this to say. You have killed an innocent young woman, and are putting
the lives of Detective Rick Montoya and his family at risk for no reason. We need to resolve this situation but can't if you don't contact us. We need to talk, we know you know how best to do that.’

  Frusco folded the paper and continued staring uneasily into the camera for a few seconds before the camera shifted to the right and Barbara Dace for the close of the report.

  ‘I will be back throughout the day following this story exclusively with the full co-operation of Lieutenant Frusco and the local police force. Barbara Dace reporting for MRTV.’

  He watched the television with fascination, while preparing a tray with scrambled eggs, corn flakes and grapefruit juice with a glass of milk placed to one side. He tidied away used cutlery into the sink of hot water and carefully wiped the worktop clean with a sponge. All the time he whistled, seemingly happy and content. He lifted the tray and walked out of the small kitchen, still whistling as he strolled down the hall. From the room in front of him came the sound of a television tuned to the children's network and the sound of a small child laughing. He pushed the door open with his foot. Ray sat in the middle of the floor about four feet away from the TV.

  ‘Don't sit too close Ray, it ain't healthy.’

  Ray turned, smiling. ‘Okay.’ and shuffled back about six inches.

  He smiled.

  ‘You're late.’ Georgina opened the door and stepped out of the small motel room.

  The weather outside the front door was grey and drizzly but the air temperature was still mild.

  ‘I know, I got delayed. Had to stop of at a shop for some film. The last person who had the camera was responsible for leaving a film in the camera.’ Changing tack, Leroy asked Georgina. ‘Did you watch any TV this morning?’

  Georgina stepped out, closing the door behind her. ‘Nope, just had the radio on. Some FM station that only played Elvis records.’