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

by Darren E Laws

  The answers were there all along. Leroy cursed their laziness, his own. So much of what had happened could have been prevented. Leroy watched the hungry videocassette recorder swallow another tape and steeled himself. The pile of un-viewed tapes had diminished and now there were only three left including the one being seated in the recorder. As the image flickered, Captain Frusco broke Leroy’s concentration.

  ‘Who’s this?’

  Leroy leaned across and stared at the picture. A naked man in his late thirties to early forties was walking around a bed. Leroy didn’t recognise the young boy lying on the bed.

  ‘This is gettin' messy... who is that?’ Leroy tapped his pencil on the screen, the lead tip stabbing the man in the back. ‘Put it on hold a moment?’

  Frusco hit the pause button. The image was not too well defined but with a little tinkering and image enhancement Leroy knew that if the man had a record then they could make a positive match.

  ‘Key player?’ Frusco asked.

  ‘Any unknown face is a key player. It’s odd how camera shy the adults are compared to the focus they put on the children. Can we get this enhanced?’

  Frusco nodded. ‘If the lab can’t handle it, I’ve got a couple of favours to call in over at MRTV. They’ve got state of the art equipment there.’

  Leroy pulled the tape from the machine. ‘Okay. If anything else breaks, call me.’

  As Leroy left the small darkened room he switched on his mobile phone and dialled Georgina’s number

  ‘So where was your mother when your father first started to come into your bedroom?’ Georgina’s voice was soft but direct. She aimed her question wanting answers but at the same time aware of the girl’s sensitivities.

  Narla interjected, she was standing at the door holding a tray with fresh drinks. ‘I can answer that, I am an insomniac, always have been. I have two ways of sleeping, Miss O’Neil. Both of them come from a bottle, both of them taken in the right quantities result in unconsciousness.’

  Narla placed the tray down on the coffee table and handed a glass of orange to Harley and a fresh cup of coffee to Georgina.

  ‘I know this is tough Mrs Fleisher, but I need to hear Harley’s version of events.’

  ‘Sure, but there are areas I’d rather you didn’t stray into for too long. If you don’t mind, I will sit here. I promise I will try not to butt in.’

  O’Neil nodded. ‘Harley, when did you father first start visiting your room at night?’

  Harley thought back, though the memories were fresh she wanted to make sure that she answered correctly. ‘I don’t really know, maybe I was five or six when he first started coming in. He told me he loved me, then he would kiss me...you know….’ She paused, breathing slowly before continuing. ‘Then it was every night. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong, to me this was how all daddies behaved.’

  Narla sat back in the seat opposite, an anguished look etched on her face.

  ‘He made films and introduced you to other people…’

  ‘My special Uncles. Daddy told me to keep them a secret and not tell mummy. I guess by then I knew something was wrong, but it had been going on so long I just wouldn’t admit it to myself.’

  ‘You know this girl?’ Georgina pointed to a photograph of Jordan Montoya that Harley had chosen.

  Harley didn’t answer but chose to nod affirmation.

  ‘You know her daddy?’ Georgina pressed on, even though she could tell Harley was beginning to clam up. Harley looked at Georgina; painful tears were welling in her eyes.

  ‘I know this is tough.’ Georgina placed her hand on Harley’s arm.

  Harley shook her head. ‘Not sure…there was so many faces, so many different men.’

  ‘How many special uncles was there, Harley?’

  Harley wiped away a tear then looked away. She tried to count and remember the faces. The faces she wanted to forget, the faces that often returned in her dreams when she closed her eyes.

  ‘Eight, maybe nine. I’m not certain, I never counted’

  ‘Do you know their names, any of them?’

  Harley nodded. ‘Some, first names only.’

  Georgina’s heart began to race. She was close to a breakthrough.

  ‘My daddy used to talk with them all the time on computer.’

  ‘Your daddy’s computer was checked out; we found nothing. We even looked at his work machine.’ She could feel her heart begin to sink.

  ‘That’s because he used my computer to talk to them.’

  ‘Your computer?’

  ‘Yeah. My computer. Daddy bought it for me for my seventh birthday.’

  ‘Where is it now, Harley?’

  Harley pointed to the ceiling and whispered conspiratorially. ‘It’s in my bedroom.’

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘Sure.’ Harley jumped up and grabbed Georgina by the arms, pulling her from the sofa. ‘I use it all the time to talk to our new neighbours in Texas. Mommy said I hogged the line, but she only said that because she wants to talk to Dexter. They get very slushy.’ Harley pretended to gag.

  ‘Who is Dexter?’

  ‘Mommy’s new boyfriend. So, she went and got a broadband connection.’

  Thirteen stairs and a short hop across a tiny landing brought Georgina into ‘Harleyland’; wall to wall posters, Will Smith, Ben Afleck, Matt Damon, Mark Wahlberg, Brad Pitt and Leonardo di Caprio. It looked like the average room of any eleven-year-old girl whose hormones were beginning to kick in.

  ‘Wow. Some poster collection.’ Georgina said impressed.

  ‘Yeah, Mommy lets me hang them. When we're out shopping, she would often buy me one. She's great, really cool.’

  Georgina's sight rested on the cream coloured PC mounted on an antique wood desk.

  ‘Sorry about the bed.’ Harley apologised, quickly pulling the quilt up and straightening the pillow. ‘I usually make it when I come home from school, that's if Mommy hasn't come in and blitzed the room. She a 'clean’ freak.’

  Georgina made her way to the desk.

  Narla appeared at the door. ‘Everything alright?’

  Georgina wasn't sure who the question was aimed at, so she decided to let Harley answer.

  ‘I'm showing...’ Harley was unsure about using the detective's Christian name or her formal title and by the time she had made up her mind Georgina stepped in.

  ‘Harley's showing me her PC. We never got to see it before. I'm hoping that there is information in here that can help us.’ Georgina patted the computer monitor. ‘We didn't know until now that Charles used this PC for Internet access.’

  Harley moved in beside the detective, sitting down in the chair in front of the computer screen. She fired up the PC. Narla entered the room and watched with Georgina and Harley as the computer went through various checks before launching. Harley dragged the mouse across the screen, rested the pointer on the start icon and clicked. Two lists appeared, filled with various programs. She ran the cursor down until it rested on a line marked AIA.

  Georgina recognised the logo for American Internet Access, she had seen it in various magazines and billboards but had never delved further. The opening screen appeared, a gaudy mauve background with the flag of the union fluttering in the foreground. A box marked 'Sign on' and another that read ‘password’ were to the right of the flag. Harley moved the cursor to the sign on box and clicked on an arrow. Another list appeared, this time a row of six names; people who shared the account with Harley. Georgina noticed that Charles name was absent from the list.

  ‘Who are these people?’ Georgina asked.

  Narla read the list over Harley's shoulder. There were no names that she recognised apart from Harley’s, which sat at the top. Harley pointed to the first name under her own and dragged the cursor down the list watching each subsequent name become highlighted.

  ‘They're all dad's. You can open up to 12 separate accounts with this ISP.’

  Narla looked puzzled. ‘ISP?’

  ‘Internet
Service Provider.’ Harley said barely hiding her disgust at her mother's ignorance.

  Looking suitably shamed Narla shrugged her shoulders. ‘I guess I should really keep up with all of this, but it was more Charles territory.’

  ‘Do you know any of the passwords to access the accounts, Harley?’

  ‘He never let me in the room when he was on-line. I tried; you know all the usual things. Our names, pet names, nicknames, house names, birthdays. Backwards and forwards and then I got lucky.’

  ‘You managed to guess the password?’

  ‘Yeah, it was Lucky.’

  Georgina smiled. ‘Very clever.’

  Harley leaned forward and typed Lucky in the password box and hit the enter button, within seconds Georgina was in.

  ‘Choose the name underneath your own, Harley.’

  Harley clicked on the name, Frank Timms.

  Georgina placed her hand over Harley's and guided the cursor to a column marked file. She pushed down gently on Harley’s finger and clicked; another list appeared. Georgina guided Harley down to a line that read Personal Filling Cabinet and double clicked. The screen changed and an animated filling cabinet appeared with the middle drawer opening. A folder popped up out of the cabinet and opened. On top of the folder was the name Frank Timms.

  ‘If I’m right this should hold every e-mail and attachment that Frank Timms has downloaded.’ Georgina ran down the long list of e-mails, reading the subject titles. ‘Maybe you should wait downstairs, Harley. There may be things here that you really don't need to see.’

  Harley looked at her mother. Narla didn't say anything but nodded, gesturing for her to go downstairs. The girl stood without protesting and walked silently down to the kitchen.

  Georgina's hand hovered over the mouse for a moment, before she clicked and opened the first e-mail. The sound of her phone ringing stopped her from opening it. ‘Yeah.’ She answered distractedly, her eyes reading the long list of electronic post, scanning for anything that she might recognise.

  ‘Hi, Georgina, it's Leroy. We got another break, a John Doe on one of the tapes. I'm on my way to get the image enhanced to iron out the fuzzy edges. I think we can get a positive ID on this guy.’

  ‘Where are you now?’ Georgina asked, her finger finally clicking the mouse. The e-mail opened.

  ‘I'm taking it to the TV station. The guy's in the lab are still snowed under trying to find out where the web site is that our mutual friend is operating. Frusco's pulling in favours with Barbara Dace.’ Leroy replied.

  ‘Tell the lab rats to start looking at AIA as being the net provider. Things are starting to...’ Georgina fell silent as her brain started to decode what she was subconsciously reading.

  ‘Georgina?’ Leroy shook his phone. He hated cell phones at the best of times and cursed their poor reception, which always seemed to occur when they were needed most.

  ‘Georgina?’ Leroy repeated.

  ‘...Listen Leroy, I’m gonna call you back, something’s come up.’ She closed her cell phone, snapping the small trap door shut that covered half of the black plastic phone. Her eyes furiously read then re-read the message.

  Thirty-Seven

  She could have grabbed his ankles as he walked down the stairs. ‘Why didn’t she do it?’ Arlene Trimiota cursed the lack of fight and recourse in the lawyer. She had heard all about the deathcam site and as soon as her husband had left for his shift, hauling tobacco across the country, she fired up her computer and went on-line. Arlene had been trying to access the site for over four hours when she suddenly found herself inside. Since then she stayed on-line, determined not to break connection until she had witnessed an execution. Her husband, Earl, had bought her the PC to stop her getting lonely at nights when he was away haulin’ bacca’ ‘cross the States. Earl had a laptop fitted in his cab with a cell phone connection that ran from the truck. Many a night the two of them would spend an evening apart but linked via their modems, and many a night Arlene would spend on-line talking filthy to some guy in Alaska or Albuquerque. God knows, there was even a guy in the Soviet Union, only they don’t call it that no more. But today she was gonna stay watching this lawyer woman and see if she gets it.

  ‘Damn Woman.’ Arlene complained watching Jo-Lynn’s failure to take action against this man who was holding her captive. Arlene admitted to herself, more than a little perverse enjoyment in watching the black woman’s predicament. ‘Your fancy job don’t help you out none now does it honey.’ She watched the man step down the final step, tray held out in front…

  Jo-Lynn knew that now might be her best chance. He had left the door open. Somewhere down the passage that led off from it, she could hear a television set on. The sound of children’s laughter drifted through. Above the canned recorded joviality came the solitary laugh of a small boy. The laugh she knew so well. She could hear Ray. The sound of her son fogged her mind, ending any remote possibility of trying to escape. Jo-Lynn was suddenly paralysed with raw emotion. She found herself accepting the tray of food and watching him turn and walk back up the stairs. The word escaped from her lips like a pathetic new born kitten’s mew; a name. The reason she had kept her sanity. ‘Ray.’

  He was approximately half way up the steps. The sound of her voice made him stop. He turned to see the shambles of a woman, shaking uncontrollably. Tea spilling out of her cup onto the plate of toast which eagerly sopped up the hot liquid.

  Her voice a little stronger this time. ‘Ray.’

  He continued his journey, allowing a laugh to escape his lips as he neared the top.

  Jo-Lynn summoned up all the strength that she had in her body, breathed deeply and this time screamed. ‘WILL.’ Just as he slammed the door shut.

  She wanted to throw the tray to one side, smash it into the wall but part of her told her not to. Part of her was saying ‘Eat the food, drink the tea. If you are to escape you will need to be strong.’ She knew to listen to that part of her rationale. It was her instinctive side, the side she had come to know well and rely on in her job. Jo-Lynn sat and started to eat the toast and a mug of tea; it tasted like the best meal she had ever eaten. She cherished each mouthful, savouring what seemed to be a multitude of flavours, the tea, hot and sharp tasting, each sip quenching her thirst. With the final swallow of the last chewed mouthful came a moment of sadness; Jo-Lynn finished off the last dregs of tea in her mug and sat for a moment in contemplation. She twisted the ring on her finger, using some of the melted butter left on her plate to lubricate it and slowly pulled the ring upwards and off. She lifted her nightdress until it rested on her shoulders and tied it so it wouldn’t fall into the water, then stood up and entered the thick brown murky pool and headed for the trap door. Finding the edge of the door under the water, Jo-Lynn started to rub her wedding ring along the lip, hoping to free it. She could feel the ring grind and knew that the rusted edge was doing irreparable damage to her wedding band but not to the large solitaire diamond. She kept scraping it along and occasionally would tug, waiting for a little movement…hoping.

  The early morning drizzle had finally given way to a full-blown downpour. The rain bounced off cars and overfilled guttering and down pipes, running along the gutters in little ravines, spurring at the sewer inlets before going deep down into the underground system. Leroy pulled his car to a halt, what should have been a ten-minute journey was stretched in to twenty-five minutes as he tried to navigate through the milling throngs of journalist’s and TV crews that failed to have their spirits dampened by the weather. Turtle Island was fast becoming a carnival and Leroy could only see the media circus hindering their progress but here he was knocking at their door asking for favours. He entered MRTV’s prestigious building and asked at the reception to speak with Barbara Dace. A request that was met with utter refusal until Leroy produced his badge. Within minutes he heard a lift bell ring and saw Barbara Dace exit. She was beginning to look tired, only having caught two hours sleep since the story broke. Leroy noticed the ever-present cigarette in her
hand as well as a carton of coffee. She drew on the cigarette

  ‘Breakfast.’ She explained and washed the carbon monoxide down with a glug of caffeine.

  ‘Most crucial meal of the day.’ Leroy replied smiling.

  ‘So, Mr LaPortiere, what brings you here? I’m sure it wasn’t to discuss my dietary habits, which...’ She drew on the cigarette once more. ‘...are even beginning to disgust me.’ She exhaled a plume of blue smoke, which passed Leroy’s cheek.

  Leroy produced the videotape.

  ‘Got an image, it needs cleaning up, clarifying. I was hoping you could help.’

  The expression on Barbara’s face changed to one of surprise. ‘I thought you had specialists to deal with that sort of thing?’

  ‘Yeah, we have but they’re kinda busy. I need this right now.’ Leroy tried to look apologetic while retaining a mood of authority.

  Barbara took the tape. ‘Okay, as long as we get to transmit whatever you have on that tape.’

  ‘If you transmit this then you’ll lose your license.’ Leroy wagged the tape in the air

  ‘No, I just mean the face. I take it that this is John Doe or am I mistaken?’ Barbara continued walking to the open lift.

  ‘He’s a player. We can’t be sure if he’s the key player yet though.’

  Barbara stepped back into the lift. ‘I’m waiting Detective, I’m waiting.’

  Norman Frusco tapped the National Reserve pilot on the shoulder and asked him to swoop down to the house where Charles Fleisher was found. From the air the picture became whole and with the clarity came a sense of shock. Turtle Island, his Island was in danger of becoming grid locked. The helicopter twisted and snaked along the river that amputated the Island from the mainland. The river that made Turtle Island into the anomaly that it was, surrounded by water and the water surrounded by land. The rain on the windscreen threatened to obscure his vision totally. The operation of the wipers had become almost pointless, merely smearing an opaque landscape. Frusco watched a detachment of troops scouring the land below, searching from house to house, moving on, crossing the next field. All the time he was hoping that Agent O’Neil and Leroy were having more luck than him.