Turtle Island: 20th Anniversary Edition (Georgina O'Neil Book 1)

by Darren E Laws

  ‘I dropped her back to the hotel. She’s tired and confused.’ Leroy shrugged

  ‘Well, it’s good to know we’re not an elite group.’

  Frusco grabbed Barbara Dace by the arm, stopping her in her tracks and turning her. ‘You can’t run the video. You have to cut the interview.’

  ‘I won’t be told by you what I can or cannot do, Norman. This is the biggest thing to happen here and just for once we have got the edge. Even if we pulled the whole story from the bulletin, he’ll get his publicity. He’s timed electronic mail to hit the desks of every major network in the World.’

  A make-up girl intervened between the police captain and the reporter as though he wasn’t there and started dusting Barbara’s face, taking the shine from her skin.

  ‘Anyway, even if I could, which I wouldn’t, it’s not my call.’ She nodded towards the cameras. Standing by one was Chris Hurley. ‘He’s the boss.’

  ‘Thirty seconds Barbara.’ The floor manager shouted. ‘Places everybody. Run the VT.’

  Frusco ran over to where Hurley was standing. ‘You’ve got to pull the interview.’

  ‘Yeah sure.’ Hurley replied ignoring Frusco. ‘Good luck, Barbara.’ He shouted over Norman Frusco’s shoulder. Hurley stepped to one side and started to walk to the director’s room. Frusco followed.

  ‘I mean it, Mr Hurley. I can get a warrant.’

  Hurley laughed. ‘Get one.’ then opened the door. Before entering the editing room, he looked back. ‘Any moment now the whole world is going to come crashing around this little Island, Mr Frusco, and we have got a jump ahead of them. So, tell me Captain, what’s the fucking point? You’re the boy with his finger in the dam, Captain.’ Hurley disappeared behind the door. Frusco turned to see Barbara introduce herself to the waiting world knowing Hurley was right.

  Leroy pressed the record button on the video and sat back with his Pizza. Georgina had started to draw a tree chart. At the top was Charles Fleisher’s name, next to that was Rick Montoya’s and his family. A third box had no name just a question mark. From each box ran a line leading to another box. Under the Montoya’s she wrote Korjca Piekarska and Jordan Montoya. She drew a line down to a fresh box and wrote their professions, Police, Lawyer, Nanny and School. Underneath Charles Fleisher’s box she put in his wife, Narla, and his daughter, Harley’s names. A line continued from Fleisher’s name to a box where she wrote Real Estate Agent then underneath that the name of Karen Fuller, Fleisher’s victim. From the question-marked box, she wrote killer and under that his victims. Max Dalton aged 29and Stephen England aged 31. At the bottom of the page she drew a large box and entered the word DIARY. She started to connect lines from the names of people who subsequently she had found out knew each other either by profession or through their private lives. Georgina thought about the connections. Karen Fuller taught Harley Fleisher at the same school that Ray attended. She was also having an affair with Charles. Korjca Piekarska had met Charles once and noted it in her diary. Somehow, he had dealings with Rick Montoya. She put a question mark against the link connecting them. The tooth of Rick’s deceased daughter fell into the possession of the killer. Stephen England also visited Rick Montoya and had been seen by Korjca. Her diagram was beginning to look confused under a mass of connecting lines. But the one thing that was emerging from the jumbled mess of lines was that more of them were connecting to Rick Montoya than anyone else.

  And now for our world exclusive interview with the man who claims to be the Turtle Island killer, known as the Dentist.

  Leroy’s hand grabbed at Georgina’s shoulder and shook her gently. She looked up at the screen.

  Georgina mouthed ‘The Dentist…who comes up with this shit?’

  The image of the Montoya’s kidnapper appeared for the entire world to see.

  Maureen Cochran drew her blinds, locking out the world. For a moment she stood in darkness and listened. Happy that all was quiet she made her way across the room and switched on the light. The television was on low, meant as nothing more than an accompaniment for a lonely lady, but late breaking news bulletin unsettled her. It seemed that death was returning to her little island. The world was going crazy and finally it had caught up with her and tracked her down to the small island, which she thought was a sanctuary against the madness. At times like this she regretted not having married; there were no children to whom she could phone in the middle of the night when her sense of security was warped. She just had herself and that would have to make do. Life was different when she was younger; she had a string of men queuing outside her door, much to the disgust of her father and the eternal shame of her mother. An only child, Maureen had no contemporaries to base her behaviour on, she just knew she liked men and never for a moment dreamed that she would ever be left living her life alone and afraid, but now all the men seemed to have disappeared, either married or dead. She threw another log on the fire and watched the flames lick around it, sparking, jettisoning tiny lighted embers onto the hearth. Maureen shivered; it wasn’t the cold that was getting to her bones though. She sat on the sofa and watched the news report on the television, cursing herself, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to sleep later.

  Part Three

  With the fear comes the consequence

  Thirty-Four

  As night turns black, a thousand souls shall be claimed by the corrupted and they shall feast in my decadence.

  Anon 1573. The Book of Lost Souls.

  The roads began to clog up with traffic within an hour of the newscast. Without warning Turtle Island was thrust into the World’s attention and it wasn’t ready. Cars, trucks and rigs stretched from Independence Bridge to Campbelltown in a slow moving procession searching for what was to become a scarce commodity; Hotels, Motels, bed and breakfast accommodation or anywhere where a bed could be found or put, even car parks. The police, already stretched to breaking point with the murders, now had to cope with a media invasion unlike any other seen before.

  Gary Clarkson put his mother to bed and headed back into the general store. The rain had continued falling throughout the day and still fell with relish from the sky. He spent half an hour explaining to his mother that he was going to open the store and a further half hour reassuring her that she had nothing to be worried about. Sure, there was a killer out there somewhere on their little island upsetting the ph. level of life, but they were safe. He wandered through the darkened shop and turned the closed sign to read open and unlocked the door. As he walked back the lights flickered on signalling to the arriving masses that one little piece of Turtle Island was at least ready for the coming onslaught. He busied himself filling shelves from the stock room until the first of the night’s visitors arrived.

  Frusco spent a sleepless night co-ordinating proceedings, calling in the National Guard to cope with the increasing traffic problems brought about by the invasion. By sunrise, the news crews of every major network had established a base on or near the Island and were beginning to make reports.

  Leroy found two comfortable chairs and pushed them together for Georgina to catch a few hours’ sleep. He pushed himself into a third chair, resting his feet on a table, despite being uncomfortable, fatigue made sleep an easy but fleeting friend. He was woken by the sound of Georgina’s alarm on her wristwatch. Daylight was creeping through the blinds; she continued to sleep until the last ring of the alarm, which finally managed to stir her. Georgina opened her eyes. Her arm was pinned under her head and her face was squashed into the side of the armchair. She had a raincoat for a blanket and her own jacket on top of the raincoat, her back ached and her legs felt heavy. She twisted around, her skirt protested, cutting into her stomach. Leroy moved his feet from the table and hoped that his morning glory erection would die before she noticed. He shuffled uneasily on the chair trying not to draw attention to himself.

  ‘Hi.’ Georgina’s voice was dry, slightly gruff. She coughed to clear her throat. The taste of the Pizza came back to haunt her. Georgina rubbed her face and ha
d to study her watch with intense concentration, before she could manage to decipher the time in her muggy brain.

  ‘Six o’clock.’ Leroy helpfully offered. He leaned forward and stretched his neck knowing from experience that the pain would disappear within an hour.

  ‘God, I need a shower.’ Georgina said relishing the idea of being able to freshen up.

  ‘Well, I didn’t want to be the first to say.’ Leroy joked.

  Georgina pulled a cushion from behind her and flung it at the detective.

  ‘Hey, if you’re lucky I won’t mention your boner to the guy’s in the canteen.’ Georgina replied with lightness in her voice that hadn’t been there for some time.

  Leroy looked down at his crotch. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I didn’t, but you just confirmed it.’ Georgina laughed

  ‘Shit.’ Leroy stood and turning his back, adjusted his trousers. ‘Excuse me.’

  Georgina stretched her body and slid out of the chairs. She pulled the zipper to her skirt up. ‘I’m gonna get a shower and something wholesome for breakfast, before I even look at anything.’

  ‘Good Idea.’ Leroy picked his jacket up from the floor.

  The two detectives left the small office. The computer monitor was still online. As they passed Georgina noticed that the figures on the counter had changed dramatically.

  When Jo-Lynn woke she was aware that her feet and nightdress were dry for the first time in days. She was hungry. It had been a long time since the bread and soup. It had been a long time since he was there. She looked at the soles of her feet. The wounds were beginning to close, though they were still red raw near the edges. She pressed against the torn skin. The pain that shot up her legs went straight to her pain receptors in her brain. The dirty water had infected them. Jo-Lynn stood but nearly fell straight over. Biting into her lip to stop her screaming. She pulled her nightdress up to just above her waist and tied a knot in it, determined to keep it dry, then frailly stepped down into the water. It seemed to be colder than ever and twice as murky. She stayed near the edge, close to the stairs, remembering the rat, and surveyed the room. The rats appeared to be gone. She moved to the centre of the room, to where her chair was. Each painful step was a mile. Jo-Lynn righted the chair then started to drag it over to the wall with the vent. Half way across, the chair legs bounced against something, and for a moment would go no further until she tugged hard to free it. When she reached the vent, she stood on the chair seat and tried to peer down the small shaft where what little fresh air there was, was coming from. She could feel the air on her face but there was not one chink of light. Maybe it was night she told herself. Her mind went back to the obstruction in the middle of the floor. She climbed down off the chair and limped to the area. Bending down she searched with her hands through the muddy water. Her fingers scraped against the stone floor until they came to a tiny dip. She knelt, pulling her nightdress higher above her breasts tying it with a knot, once more determined to keep it dry even at the cost to her dignity. She leaned an arm deeper into the water. Her fingers became her eyes, trying to gauge exactly what she had stumbled across. She could feel a metal ring. Jo-Lynn traced along the edge until she was sure. Hope began to rise for the first time since she was kidnapped. She was sure she had found some form of a trap door.

  Matthew Gates sat looking at his computer screen eyes wide open, heart thumping through his chest. His friends were equally quiet; five of them were crammed into the small bedroom.

  ‘See, I told you.’ Matthew said looking behind him for approval from his friends, Ralph Ramierez, Matt Colman, Jimmy Freedan and Paul Connor.

  His friends stared at the screen with disbelief. The group of boys, all of them just in their teens were for once at a loss for words.

  ‘Are you sure this is real?’ Jimmy asked, his face a mass of freckles that almost joined to make his skin looked orangey brown.

  ‘It’s real man, didn't you see the news?’ Paul said pushing between Karl and Ralph for a better view. ‘Wow, you can see her tush...oh man, I don’t believe it, she’s just turned round.’

  The gaggle of boys fought hard for a better viewing position around the 17-inch monitor

  ‘Yeah.’ Ralph said. ‘I saw the news, but they didn’t show you this.’

  ‘D’you think it’s for real?’ Matthew asked, briefly glancing a look behind.

  ‘We can vote on who he stiffs next, her, the boy, or her old man? Then he’s gonna do it live on the net tonight.’

  ‘Yeah, he might even fuck her man, before he does it.’ Jimmy said, adding. ‘She’s a hot looking bitch.’

  The door to Matthew’s bedroom opened. Matthew’s mother entered holding a tray with a pitcher of orange juice and four glasses. Still dressed in her dressing gown. ‘Now you guys don’t be late for school.’

  Matthew quickly clicked on to his previous saved page. The image of Jo-Lynn was replaced with Madonna’s home page from an unofficial web site. She placed the tray down on the desk next to her son, unaware of either her son’s computer activities or the fact that his four friends were getting a choice view of her breasts as she lowered herself to put the tray down. Jimmy Freedan fought hard not to faint; his whole body throbbed with excitement as he managed to glimpse one of Aileen Gates nipples.

  ‘I’m gonna take a shower Matt, keep an ear open for Bob. He’s coming over to drop me off to work this morning. If he comes tell him I won’t be long and show him to the lounge.’ She stroked Matt’s face and kissed his head, then ruffled his hair before leaving. Much to his embarrassment.

  ‘Okay, Mom.’ He watched her leave.

  ‘Your mom is fit, man.’ Jimmy said

  Matt looked at his friend. ‘Seriously sick.’ before clicking the forward icon on his browser. The screen appeared but Jo-Lynn was nowhere to be seen

  ‘Ah man, she’s gone.’ Karl moaned.

  ‘Maybe she’s just outta camera.’ Ralph offered. ‘Taking a pee or a dump.’

  ‘That I don’t want to see. Cheers Ralph, trust you to raise the tone.’ Matt said dryly, forcing a spate of suppressed laughter from the other boys.

  ‘Hey, we should vote.’ Paul said, which surprised Matt, as Paul was the studious quiet thinker in the group.

  ‘Yeah, let’s stiff the bi-artch.’ Jimmy repeated.

  Matt clicked on the icon at the bottom of the page. The voting page appeared with the three faces of Rick Montoya, Jo-Lynn and Ray.

  ‘Look, she’s in the lead.’ Jimmy said barely able to contain his excitement.

  ‘Yeah by two thousand votes, then it’s the boy.’ Matt looked at the counters below the photos. ‘Who shall we vote for?’

  The four boys in unison replied as one. ‘The bitch.’ And laughed.

  Across the country in bedrooms, offices and games rooms people were starting to vote by the thousand, snared into what appeared to be something between a game and reality.

  Matt’s hand hovered over the left-hand button on his mouse while he positioned his cursor under the picture of Jo-Lynn. Only fleetingly did he feel any responsibility when he clicked to the roaring approval of his friends.

  Georgina stood under the piping hot water for what appeared to be an age, allowing the pressurised water to sooth her aching shoulder muscles and ease away the tension in her neck. Her mind was whirring away, thinking about the case. She kept coming back to the diary.

  ‘Rick Montoya knew Charles Fleisher...Why? What did Stephen England want and how did he know Rick?’

  She rinsed the shampoo from her hair and continued thinking, mulling over the options. Fleisher’s name kept returning like a bad penny. Whatever she personally thought about his implication in the killings of Dalton, and England she knew one thing for sure, Charles Fleisher had killed Karen Fuller and was responsible as surely as if he had put a gun to her head, ruining the life of his daughter Harley to the bargain. Then the bad penny that kept returning suddenly dropped. Georgina stepped from the shower cursing to herself. The missing link was rig
ht in front of them all along and not once did they see it. She wrapped a large bath towel around herself and ran out of the women’s shower room across the hall straight into the men’s locker room, past the protesting naked foot patrollers and squad car drivers called in for early duty to cope with the influx of America on to their little island.

  ‘LEROY...LEROY.’ She blurted excitedly, looking over the shower stalls and doors trying to find the detective, apologising to every white and black ass that wasn’t her partners. Leroy was standing under the showerhead facing the door, with soapsuds through his hair, running down his slightly overweight chest and stomach. Georgina stopped at the door and for a few seconds took in the full picture of his nakedness before speaking.

  ‘Leroy, I think I may have found the link.’

  Leroy peered through a half open eye hoping soap wouldn’t run down into it. He thought he had heard Georgina. He wiped his face clear of suds and blinked. Sure enough she was standing there, right in front of him. A clear glass partition was not enough to save his modesty.

  ‘What the...’

  ‘Get dry and meet me in your office.’ She had turned before Leroy managed to complete his sentence. ‘Oh, and by the way Leroy… nice Johnson.’ She smiled then walked out of the locker room to complete shocked silence.

  By the time Leroy reached his office, Georgina was already sitting behind his PC. Files from the ‘Fleisher killings’ lay scattered on the floor and over what little spare desk space was left.

  ‘Do you mind telling me what all that was about in the locker room?’ Leroy looked for once ruffled, and genuinely pissed.

  ‘We have been so dumb. So caught up in it, that we missed something that was so obvious.’ Georgina took a deep breath of apathy, disgusted at her own oversight.