‘So, enlighten me.’ Leroy said. His patience already stretched to the limit without the need for any more guessing games.
‘It was so obvious.’ Georgina found it hard to reconcile her revelation. ‘Children, Leroy, children.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’ve checked through the files.’ She spread the folders out. ‘We got films of Fleisher abusing his daughter. Some of the films include other people. How many of those have we followed up and investigated?’
Leroy shrugged his shoulders
Georgina gave a hollow laugh. ‘None...not one.’
‘Wait, wait, what are you saying, that this is some sort of paedophile ring?’
‘I don't know.’ Georgina seemed to be asking for support. ‘But it gets worse. I think Rick is involved somehow.’
Leroy physically staggered. ‘No way. No way, he loved his kids.’
‘I know this sounds hard, but he is linked with Fleisher and Stephen England. Korjca mentions that they both visited the house in her diary. We’re going to have to interview Harley Fleisher. She’s the key and as hard as it is, we’re going to have to view all of Fleisher’s tapes.’ Georgina shivered at the prospect of having to view the vile molestation. Abuse of children sickened her, but she knew it was vital that every tape was viewed for clues.
‘I think Frusco should know.’ Leroy said, his mind churning over the possibilities.
‘There are only twelve and a half hours until eight o'clock.’ Georgina threw her pencil across the table; time was running out and they had no idea where the Montoya's were being kept.
‘Okay. You interview Harley Fleisher; I think she'll be more responsive and open to you. I'll start viewing the tapes. If I find anything, I'll call you.’ Leroy said.
Thirty-Five
The first thing Georgina noticed was the ‘For Sale’ board pitched in the centre of the lawn. A sold sticker had recently been plastered through the bright red lettering. The board was slightly crooked as though it had succumbed to a battering by the weather. Georgina wanted to straighten the sign and fought the urge as she passed. She pulled her identification from the inside pocket of her jacket, making sure that she re-buttoned it, covering the brown leather holster containing her pistol. She rang the doorbell and held the ID out to be clearly inspected. Narla Fleisher opened the door, wiping the corner of her mouth with a drying cloth. Georgina noticed that Narla was extremely pregnant. Her overlarge shirt was straining against the girth of her stomach.
‘Hello, Mrs Fleisher. My name is Agent Georgina O’Neil. We met briefly six months ago.’
The flicker of recognition passed over Narla’s eyes followed by a look of concern, which Georgina immediately picked up on.
‘It’s all right, Mrs Fleisher; there is nothing to worry about, no need for concern. I just want to ask Harley some questions.’
‘May I ask what it is concerning?’ Narla was guarded, naturally protective to her daughter.
‘You may have seen on the television about the kidnapping of one of the detectives and his family that were working on the case here six months ago.’
Narla nodded. ‘Yes, I heard...It’s terrible, but I don’t know what Harley can do to help.’
‘There are certain aspects to this case that are beginning to overlap with the trouble here last year. We just want to make sure that we cover all the angles.’
Narla stepped aside. ‘You better come in. Through to the kitchen if you don’t mind. I was just about to serve Harley her breakfast.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Maybe I can help.’ Narla said, two steps behind the FBI agent.
‘I’m sure you can, but for now I need to speak to Harley’ Georgina turned and smiled. ‘Should I be congratulating you’ Georgina said, looking at Narla’s bump.
‘You can if you want. It was Charles parting gift to me…he drugged and raped me. Narla looked hurt for the briefest of moments then she nodded. ‘I’ll just go and get her.’
Georgina looked around the kitchen. It had a homely feel. The smell of coffee hung in the air invitingly, temptingly. The radio was on low in the background, tuned to a local station playing a mixture of new country and old blues, interspersed with hammy adverts for used car lots and air conditioning companies. Postcards adorned the fridge, attached by magnets. The sound of toast springing from the toaster made Georgina jump, she turned to look at the offender and came face to face with Harley Fleisher.
‘Hello...’ Georgina hand clutched her chest to steady her pounding heart. ‘The toast...kinda gave me a fright.’ she tried explaining.
‘I remember you.’ Harley said. She passed Agent O’Neil and collected a piece of toast to butter. ‘I saw you at the hospital.’
Georgina smiled. ‘Good memory.’ She privately hoped to herself that her memory on other matters would be as concise. Harley buttered the slice and applied a thick layer of honey, too thick for Georgina’s taste. She bit into it then offered Georgina the other slice, which she accepted.
‘Coffee?’ Harley was the perfect host and much more mature than her eleven years suggested. Georgina guessed that after what she had been through in the last year that it was not surprising that she had to grow up. A child robbed of her childhood by her father and by circumstance beyond her control.
Georgina could relate to that on one albeit very different level. She nodded. ‘Coffee would be nice, one sugar, white please.’
‘I hope you have been looking after our guest.’
Georgina span around to see Narla enter the kitchen.
‘Sorry to have left you to Harley’s terrible company but…’ She patted the large mound developing near her stomach. ‘This baby dictates my life these days.’
Harley made a horrible grimacing face, showing the openness and ease of the relationship between mother and daughter.
‘She always needs to pee or puke.’ Harley said with a large amount of mischief.
‘Why, thank you Harley. I'm sure that's far more information than Miss O’Neil needed to know. Even though, sad to say, it is true.’ Narla laughed not at all annoyed or embarrassed by her daughter’s behaviour.
Harley poured some coffee from the pot and passed a mug to Georgina.
‘Thank you.’
Harley smiled. ‘I guess you’re here to ask me about my father.’ There seemed to be no trace of anger, sadness or bitterness in Harley's voice.
‘If you don't mind?’
Harley shook her head while biting through her toast. ‘Why should I?’
‘Is there somewhere comfortable we could sit?’ Georgina directed the question at Narla.
‘Only this could take an hour or so. I have arranged for a call to be put through to Harley's school, informing them that she probably won't be in today.’
Harley's eyes lit up. ‘Cool.’
‘Yeah, sure the sitting room.’ Narla waddled ahead, leading the way.
As they walked through a set of double doors that led directly from the kitchen to a well-furnished lounge, Narla said quietly to Georgina. ‘Go easy on her. She may seem to have coped with everything okay, but sometimes you only have to scratch the surface to find a lot of pain. She's had counselling but what amount of psychobabble can repair the damage that bastard done.’
‘I know you’re talking about me.’ Harley said walking close behind. Her face buried in another thick slice of gooey honey on toast. ‘People always whisper when they're talking about me.’
‘And what about you?’ Georgina grasped Narla’s arm.
‘I have other things to worry about,’ She patted her stomach. ‘like my children. My job is to make sure that they’re okay now.’
Five VCRs worked constantly, hooked up to five different TV screens, each playing a different tape, a different image but the one thing they seemed to have in common was the content of the image. Leroy and Norman Frusco sat watching images that they hoped never to witness again in their lives. Frusco sat next to Leroy. A stack of tapes was
collected and sitting to one side on a melamine table in the darkened room. There were moments where the fast-forward button could be pressed but they were few and far between. Leroy stared at the screen in front of him. The tape had been labelled with a felt tipped pen, C and H, Mouth. It was hard for Leroy to judge, but Harley appeared to be no more than eight or nine when the film was made. The only other thing that was apparent apart from the sickening nature of the film was that there was a third person filming Charles Fleisher's acts of oral sex with his daughter. Leroy pressed fast forward until the end of the tape.
‘Eight down, thirty-four to go. I'm not sure I'm gonna make it to the end of this.’ He reached behind and took the next tape from the top of the nearest pile.
‘This one should be a doozy.’ Leroy flipped the tape around so he could read the title. ‘It's called S and H, G and C-h-tel.’ He put the tape in and pressed play. ‘Jesus.’ The word slipped out of Leroy's shocked mouth.
‘What is it?’ Frusco leaned to one side to see what had caused Leroy's reaction. He looked at the screen, at the familiar face that belonged to the man pinning Harley down to the bed. Charles Fleisher's reflection could be clearly seen filming the debauched scene in a mirror to the side of the bed. Norman Frusco was shocked to the bone. The last person he had expected to see was one of the victims. He watched Stephen England clambering naked, over the top of the small girl. Leroy stopped the tape; not wishing to see anything more than was absolutely necessary.
‘You know, I felt sorry for that motherfucker lying in the hospital like a vegetable.’ Leroy's voice was low, full of anger. ‘It seems O’Neil was right.’
Leroy turned the tape back on. He pressed the fast-forward button. The machine clunked and the images on the screen sped up like actors in an early silent feature, they looked comical, but this was no comedy. The tape whirred on until static fuzz replaced them, and the principle participants changed. Leroy pressed the play button. The man was Charles Fleisher, lying naked on the bed. The girl this time was older, though not much older. She was standing by the bed; Stephen England grabbed her from behind. Both were naked. England moved her forward closer to Fleisher. He pushed down on the back of the girl's head forcing her closer to Fleisher. Leroy wound the tape forward again.
‘There's another person filming.’ Leroy said.
‘Harley?’
Leroy almost laughed. ‘No, she's not there. This is a different day. Fleisher's hair is much shorter; his pubic hair is shaved in the first film, see, here, it’s grown back.’
‘That's a little more detail to observation than I really want Leroy.’ Frusco said trying to lighten the moment.
‘Lots of these sick fuckers like to feel their little girls real close, they don't like hair getting in the way.’ Leroy looked at his captain briefly before returning to the screen. ‘If the camera goes back to its original position, we should catch a glance of him or her, in the mirror.’
‘Who's the girl?’ Norman asked.
The girl on the screen was now sitting on top of Fleisher's chest. England's hands pulled her forward toward his face. The camera moved to a close-up of the girl’s face. She turned as though someone had called her name. Leroy had seen the face before. The green eyes, her straightened black hair, her brown skin, and the smile that she was forcing showed the final confirmation, the missing tooth. Leroy's heart sank further than he felt possible.
‘Jordan Montoya.’
A knock at the door interrupted them, both Leroy and Norman Frusco pressed the stop button on their respective videos, and the craven images were replaced by a blue screen.
‘Come in.’ Frusco shouted.
A fresh-faced young officer tentatively poked his head through the small gap in the door.
‘Sir, all hell’s breaking loose out there.’
‘Okay, I’ll be out…to be honest I could do with a break.’ Frusco stood and arched his back. His neck audibly clicked indicating the tension he was feeling.
Thirty-Six
The residents of Turtle Island woke to pandemonium. Blocked roads, police checks, TV crews, and helicopter flights buzzing constantly over the rooftops of the houses, fields and boathouses.
Norman Frusco had, with the mayor and governor’s blessing, ordered in the National Guard to save his own force being stretched to an unbearable limit. To all intent and purposes Turtle Island was under siege and the prospect of being able to carry out any sort of investigation was severely hampered. Frusco had been awake all night trying to police the worsening situation. He drank his fifth cup of strong, black, coffee within two hours and dissolved another two 'Sta-Awake!' tablets in a glass of water, as he took a ten-minute break from the wall to wall pornography to catch up with events on the island. The television was on constantly. The changeover of staff for the morning shift was beginning; tired officers straggled away for an hour or two’s sleep before continuing work.
Frusco watched Barbara Dace on the small screen; somehow, she still managed to be looking fresh. She was beginning to become a national celebrity, having spent the evening giving interviews to networks and foreign stations. The monitor next to the television was still linked to the Death Cam web site. Frusco clicked on the reload button to refresh and update the site. He watched the figures change and wondered how people could actually vote to end a life.
Georgina sat next to the young girl. ‘How are you coping?’
Harley Fleisher shrugged her shoulders. ‘Okay, I guess.’
Georgina wanted to be tactful but at the same time knew that being direct would save time. She couldn't begin to imagine what was going on in the mind of the little girl sitting next to her, though she could see that Harley was resilient, but Narla's caution hovered in Georgina’s mind. The last thing Georgina wanted was to add to the psychological damage that already existed.
‘I've spoken to doctors and all sorts of people.’ Harley began without further prompting. ‘They keep telling me I've nothing to be ashamed of...’ Harley looked squarely in to Georgina's eyes. ‘You can’t help but feel though it’s your own fault, that maybe somehow I…I don’t know, I just feel as though it is all my fault. I didn’t know, I used to think that what was happening to me was normal. I thought it happened to every little girl or boy. Daddy told me it was special love…’
‘At the time did you feel he was lying?’
Harley looked puzzled. ‘No. I know now though that what he did was wrong.’
‘He was wrong Harley and yes, he was very ill.’ Georgina changed tack. ‘I see that you’re going to be moving soon. Are you happy about that?’
‘Yeah, it’s really cool. I’ve already got friends where we’re going. I kinda want to leave here. There are memories here that I want to forget. The doctor...a child psychologist.’ Harley continued. ‘The doctor said that it was important that I should try to remember the good times I had spent with dad. That he will always be here.’ Harley pointed to her head and her heart.
‘I know there are things that you want to forget, Harley, but some of those things might help me to catch bad men that might hurt other children. This person may have been someone your daddy knew, maybe someone he introduced to you.’
Harley looked unsure. Georgina sensed a flicker of reticence. Harley sat back in the chair. She looked down at her feet; lost for a few seconds.
‘Okay.’
Georgina opened the small folder she had brought with her and fished through it until she came upon a group of photographs. She pulled them out and laid them on the table. One by one, face up. Six colour photos, all close-up portraits. Stephen England, Max Dalton, Detective Rick Montoya, Jordan Montoya, Ray Montoya and Jo-Lynn Montoya.
‘I want you to tell me if you have ever seen any of these people, Harley? Look carefully and touch any of the photos of anyone you recognise.’
Harley sat forward and studied the photographs. Within seconds of glancing at them, her arm stretched forward, and her index finger stabbed at five of the photos, dragging them forward.
If she could just get her fingers around the small metal ring, Jo-Lynn thought she might be able to pull open the trap door. She had been working at the ring for what seemed like hours and was pretty sure that he would be back soon. She had lost count of how many hours or even days it was since he had been there. She needed something hard to get under the rusted metal ring, some sort of tool to prize it upwards so she could gain purchase. As she struggled with it, her fingernail bent back, half ripping away from the skin beneath. She screamed out in frustration and pain and fell back into the mucky water. Jo-Lynn landed seated in waist-high water. She put her torn fingernail to her mouth, trying to ease the pain, not wanting to look at the damage. As she sucked on her finger, the glint of her wedding ring caught her eye; she had an implement she could use, the solitaire diamond set in the centre of the ring.
A noise at the top of the stairs caught her attention. He was coming. She got to her feet and ran, as best she could, to the landing by the steps to where her nightdress lay. She pulled it over her head catching the broken nail and cursing the pain. Jo-Lynn huddled into the corner, pulling her knees up.
She pretended to be asleep but watched from the corner of her eye as the door at the top of the stairs opened. He appeared, walking carefully down each step. His face was covered with a ski mask, which merged seamlessly with a black polo neck jumper. His hands were gloved, holding a tray. The aroma of the food hit her nose before she had even seen it. His hands were full. A thought ran through Jo-Lynn’s mind. She could pull him over, but would she have enough strength to struggle with him and escape. She stayed curled watching his slow thoughtful approach, step by step. Fate was walking down the stairs. Her fate.
John Borland watched from the comfort of his bedroom. He watched the drama unfolding. He was aroused. When wasn’t he aroused? But this was different, this was real; real life, real death and he got to choose. He got to vote. John Borland voted more than once. He was hooked up on-line permanently for the past 18 hours, stopping only to eat, defecate and re-supply himself with fresh tissues. Occasionally he would look out of his window at the snow-covered landscape of Troy Falls, Minnesota. He would look at the sleepy town and plan.
Turtle Island: 20th Anniversary Edition (Georgina O'Neil Book 1) Page 24