Turtle Island: 20th Anniversary Edition (Georgina O'Neil Book 1) Page 11

  ‘It’s too early to say.’ Frusco guided Narla back to her seat.

  ‘I can’t believe it.’ She shivered as the thought of him pawing over her daughter’s body fought its way through her sub-conscious. ‘Poor Harley.’ Narla looked through the glass partition at her. Harley waved back

  ‘We have a team of investigators who are going to find him Mrs…Miss O’Connell.” Frusco reassured Narla hoping the words didn’t ring too hollow. First though, he had to find his team of investigators.

  Twenty

  The sound of Georgina’s phone ringing broke her concentration, she was determined to score from the three penalty shots she had. Leroy had blatantly fouled her, pushing her from a good scoring chance. The game had become competitive, the testosterone levels rising with the heat and the deficit of score against Rick, Leroy and Jo-Lynn’s team. They were six points down; scoring these three penalties would put the game almost beyond their reach with only one-minute left to play. Georgina had rolled over on the hot hardcore surface, grazing her knee. As she stood in the penalty ‘D’ she could feel a trickle of blood run down her shin. Leroy was mortified. His charge, while illegal was only meant to have been a playful knock to unbalance her. He had been ‘booed off’ and was sitting out a penalty suspension in the sin bin, a wooden bench seat erected with a bench and umbrella for the purposes of eating the fare that followed the game. The phone inside the house started to ring, so did Georgina’s mobile. The detectives looked at each other, they knew something was breaking. Georgina gave the ball to Ray.

  ‘You better shoot the penalties, champ.’

  The boy looked bemused.

  ‘Go on, I’ll be watching from the bleachers.’ Georgina explained. She handed him the ball and ran to her phone; Leroy had already disappeared inside the house to answer the Montoya’s phone.

  Georgina sat down on the garden seat, opened her phone. Ray ran over to her.

  ‘Remember what I showed you, don't be afraid of the hoop and don't be afraid of missing.’

  ‘Thanks for coming today, Miss Georgina. It's the first time I've managed to play with dad since, since…I don't know when.’ Ray’s voice had a sadness that children of his age shouldn't know.

  ‘Well, you show him how good you are. Go on champ, I'll be rooting from here.’

  He leaned forward and hugged her, before running back onto the court.

  She watched Ray, while the case developments unfolded through the ether into her ear.

  Three out of three penalties went in, much to the delight of everyone including Rick, even though it meant he lost the game. Korjca hugged Ray. Then he was smothered with kisses from his mother, much to his disdain as it encroached his street cred. Thankfully none of his friends were there to witness such an outpouring of emotion but he didn’t complain. Secretly, he loved being cuddled, enjoying the security of his mother’s embrace. She always smelled nice and her skin was so soft. He smiled.

  ‘You are a real champ, son.’ Rick ruffled his son’s compact, wiry hair. He was watching Georgina’s face. The relaxed expression was now gone, replaced with a taut seriousness. As her phone call ended, Leroy shouted from the back door.

  ‘Looks like the game’s over.’

  Korjca blocked out the light as she stood in front of Georgina. ‘I’ll get you a plaster for that cut.’ Before Georgina could say anything, the Polish nanny was disappearing into the kitchen. She returned with a first aid box. Korjca crouched in front of Georgina. She was slightly flushed from the physical activity and was sweating as much as Georgina who had been playing for over twice the amount of time. Korjca applied some antiseptic lotion to a wad of cotton wool and started to wipe the line of blood that was beginning to dry on Georgina’s leg. The lotion was cool and pleasant, Korjca’s touch gentle. She wiped continually folding the wad of lint. ‘You have to be careful of germs... no?’

  The cut, once cleaned was small. Korjca held Georgina’s knee while she put a plaster over the wound. Her hands were tiny but gentle; she smoothed the plaster with her thumb, securing it to Georgina's leg.

  ‘Come on we’ve gotta go.’ Leroy shouted once more.

  Georgina drove back to her motel to shower and change while Rick and Leroy showered in the house then headed straight for the station. Within twenty minutes she was back on the road to join her colleagues.

  Twenty-One

  Stephen England was aware of the pain in his mouth and all over his body, but he sat in silence, imprisoned in his own torture. Though his eyes were open all he could see was the nightmare of his abduction. Somewhere in the distance was a voice he recognised, but it seemed the owner of the voice was locked away in a room far, far away. The hammer kept reigning blows on his face. Hitting him violently, smashing bone, chipping, splintering, disfiguring. Dr Martinez shone a small pencil light torch into his eyes. Martinez wasn't even sure if Stephen England could see out of it. The torch's beam was a mild annoyance to Stephen. An intruder from another world, a world where pain existed, he could keep the pain locked out if he stayed where he was, if only he could keep the memories at bay.

  ‘As you can see, he's pretty non-responsive. There is brain activity but the trauma he has suffered may be irreversible.’

  Barbara Dace nodded, taking in the doctor’s prognosis.

  ‘Mr England's fiancée has given us permission to obtain some film footage of him in the hope that it will lead to the capture of his abductor.’

  ‘This is highly irregular and I'm not sure that I can see how it will help.’ Martinez waved a hand in front of the non-responsive patient’s eyes. England didn’t blink; he was too scared to ever close his eyes again.

  ‘It could help the police catch the person who done this…you never know. Might jog someone’s memory or conscience.’

  ‘Whoever is responsible does not have a conscience and if someone is hiding that person, well…’ Martinez left the sentence unfinished. Dr Martinez’s beeper shrilled calling him to the nearest phone. ‘Look, just be quick.’

  ‘Less than five minutes, I promise.’ Barbara Dace crossed her heart.

  ‘Make it three.’ Dr Martinez said as he passed Barbara. He stepped in to the corridor and turned right. Walking away at speed

  Barbara nodded to her cameraman who was waiting outside. An unlit cigarette placed between his lips.

  ‘Okay, John, we've got permission. Ten minutes, let’s hurry it up before the good doctor changes his mind.’

  John Keller picked up a large canvas bag, which housed his camera and portable lighting set-up.

  Barbara waved to Cara Morton who was sitting on one of the hard-plastic bucket seats that lined the wall along the corridor. Her earlier optimism had been replaced with the bleakest depression. A severe jolt of reality had come knocking. She felt angry, wanting vengeance for the unfairness that was being heaped on her life. Filming Stephen’s plight gave Cara hope; hope that the monster who inflicted the terrible injuries on her boyfriend could be flushed out. Flushed out, that was a good metaphor she thought for a piece of sewage that carried out such atrocities. Cara drank the dregs of her twelfth cup of coffee. The murky brown liquid was cold, but Cara was past caring.

  Barbara closed the door.

  ‘Right John, I want to get some close-ups of Stephen’s injuries, plus a long shot of him propped up in bed. We need to convey the appalling tragedy and viciousness of the attack. I’ll do a voice over when we get back the studio.’ Barbara thought twice about plumping up Stephen’s pillows to make him sit straighter

  John Keller looked at his injuries. ‘I don't think we're going to have too much difficulty in conveying the brutality of the attack.’ He switched on his lights. Stephen didn't react. ‘This guy’s face is an ‘R’ rating.’

  The almost silent whirr of the camera was the only sound in the room. John focused on Stephen’s face, the camera lens pulling sharply into focus on his red raw toothless mouth.

  ‘God, what sort of person could do this?’

  ‘I’ve known
one or two directors.’ Barbara was hot on sarcasm. She drew on a freshly lit cigarette

  ‘Hey, you’re not supposed to smoke not in here.’ John’s own unlit cancer stick dangled precariously between his lips.

  ‘Who’s gonna tell...Him?’ Barbara pointed to the semi-comatose patient. An alarm started buzzing and the door to the room opened. A nurse entered demanding that all cigarettes be extinguished. She took the cigarette from Barbara’s lips and in passing snatched John’s unlit prop.

  ‘Cigarettes are not allowed in any part of this hospital.’ The nurse was about to launch in to her routine ‘no smoking’ statement, when she realised what Barbara and John were doing

  ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave, please stop filming now. This is totally against hospital’s protocol.’

  John continued filming.

  ‘We have permission.’ Barbara said undaunted.

  ‘I don’t care. I know hospital protocol and the policies of good healthcare, and nowhere does it state that it is in the patient’s best interests to be filmed while in no fit condition to make a valid judgement. If you don’t stop filming, I’ll have no option but to call security.’

  John raised his thumb, indicating that he had obtained enough footage and lowered the camera.

  ‘Good.’ The nurse said. ‘Things are bad enough here tonight with the police swarming all over the place. I want you out of the hospital in two minutes, Mrs Dace.’

  ‘Oh, you’re a fan.’ Barbara said sarcastically.

  The nurse glared.

  ‘Okay, we’re as good as gone.’ Barbara raised her hands in surrender.

  ‘Now.’ The nurse turned on her heel and left as abruptly as she had entered.

  ‘My God, what was she...The Tobacco Police?’

  ‘I’ve got her down as suspect number one. Does she do dental?’ John laughed

  ‘Come on, if we hurry, we’ll make the eight o’clock bulletin.’

  Barbara and John rushed out of the tiny room, leaving Stephen continuing to stare through the wall, searching for a place of quietness, of peace.

  Outside the small room, there was a row of empty chairs. Cara Morton was gone.

  As Barbara Dace and John Keller hurried along the sterile hall toward the exit, Barbara lit up another cigarette and passed it to John before lighting her own.

  ‘Boy, this would taste better on the back of a good brandy.’

  Barbara nodded. ‘Too damn right.’

  They hit the exit doors and the warm evening air.

  Twenty-Two

  ‘We now have a name, Charles Fleisher and more importantly, a suspect that fits Agent O’Neil’s profile.’ Frusco spoke. ‘That’s the good news. The bad news is that a teacher from the island has been reported missing. Her name is Karen Fuller and it just so happens that she teaches the Fleisher’s one and only progeny. Fleisher was last seen yesterday. He was in the General store, along with Karen Fuller. Seems he may have been having an affair with Karen. She is well known to most of the people on the island. She was reported missing yesterday by her flat mate, about the same time Charles locked up shop and disappeared. General store owner, Gary Clarkson, recalls seeing the couple in his store yesterday but they weren’t together to his knowledge.’

  Georgina should have been happy that the real estate agent fitted her resume of the suspect, but something nagged in the back of her mind. She kept mulling over the case, trying to find the cause of her concern. Norman Frusco’s face loomed in front of her.

  ‘Something wrong, O’Neil?’

  Georgina jerked her head back, distancing herself from Frusco.

  He continued. ‘You seem to be miles away.’

  ‘I was wondering, has there been any information about the tooth found in my car.’

  ‘Only that it is a child’s tooth. To be honest it could have come from anywhere.’ Frusco answered, but Georgina wasn't paying attention. Her brain was trying to logically understand the killer's motives. Nothing made sense.

  ‘With due respect sir, I was thinking..,’ O’Neil began.

  ‘There is nothing to think about. Turtle Island is a small community with a mad man hiding out on the loose somewhere out there. His name is Charles Fleisher. All we have to do now is hope that we catch him and pray to God that Karen Fuller is still alive.’

  ‘Sir, why change now? Why go after a woman now?’

  ‘You heard the tape Georgina, he said he was changing the rules. I guess this is what he meant.’ Rick offered

  ‘No, I don’t buy it. Something’s not right.’

  ‘Too fuckin’ right. The man’s a psychopath. That ain’t right.’ Leroy gave the room his usual concise opinion. ‘All we gotta do is find the sick fuck.’

  ‘I think Leroy’s right.’ Rick offered support to his partner’s theory, such as it was.

  Georgina was beginning to feel manoeuvred out of any chance to express any alternative hypothesis. The ball had started to run downhill and it was gathering pace, she knew she had two choices. Keep up with it or bail out.

  ‘So, where do we look?’ She motioned toward the map pinned to the chalk board.

  Turtle Island was distinctive, ringed by a circle of blue that isolated the small community from the mainland but still surrounded by 69,000 square miles that comprised of the state of Missouri.

  Norman Frusco threw a folder in front of each of the detectives. ‘These are the properties that Charles Fleisher has keys to. Seven of them skirt the river. An area I think that we are all agree is most likely the location that he would be working from.’

  The detectives opened the folder and nodded agreement

  ‘Good. What I propose is that we take a helicopter and buzz around these seven and see if there is any signs of life. It will be dark in an hour, unless Charlie-boy likes sitting in the dark. I think we should have a good chance of finding him.’

  ‘If he’s in.’ Georgina added.

  He sat alone in the dark with just the flicker of the computer monitor lighting his face, files were slowly transferring from his computer via an FTP program to a server that was sitting, for the most part dormant, in another continent. It really was that easy. After the files finished uploading, he clicked onto his browser and checked his web site. DeathCam.net.

  The new images were there and so was something else, something he wasn’t expecting. A message had been added to the main page, something he had not uploaded.

  WANT TO TALK…MUTUAL BENEFIT. A FRIEND

  His lips parted, initial anger turned to a grimace, then a smile. Somebody wants to talk. Somebody had hacked into his server. Quickly he went back to work, opening his web editing suite and composed a reply for his erstwhile hacker.

  DEAREST FRIEND, INTRIGUED. SEND E-MAIL TO INITIATIVE@HOTMAIL.COM. ACCOUNT WILL REMAIN ACTIVE FOR NEXT TWENTY MINUTES ONLY.

  He knew it was a risk, but that was half of the fun. Somewhere in the distance, sirens were wailing.

  The police cars raced along the highway, sirens blaring, lights flashing, demanding a clear road and getting it. Georgina sat in the back next to Leroy. Frusco was driving; Rick sat in the front passenger seat next to his superior. Leroy was staring fixedly ahead, concentrating on the events that were hopefully about to be drawn to their conclusion.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Georgina asked Leroy.

  ‘I’m a bear.’ Leroy smiled. ‘But thanks for your concern. I’ll be okay.’ Even he didn’t buy the tone in which he sold the lie, but Leroy hoped the darkness would hide the pain in his heart and on his face. ‘Gotta work.’

  ‘And what happens when you stop working?’ Her voice was low. She wanted to keep the conversation between herself and Leroy.

  ‘I’m gonna get drunk and then I’ll drink some more. Apart from that I haven’t really made too many plans, you know.’

  ‘If you need to talk?’ Georgina left the offer open.

  Leroy raised his hand and rubbed the stubble on his chin with his thumb. ‘I know...gotta lot of thinking to do. Lia is m
y life.’

  For a second or two, Georgina could see nothing other than a lost child sitting next to her.

  ‘Airport’s ahead.’ Frusco called back.

  Leroy immediately snapped out of his trance. Eyes alert once more ready to work. The car squealed past wire-fenced gates that ran parallel to a runway. Ahead, a helicopter sat impatiently, rotor blades whirring cutting dark skies. It’s bright halogen spotlight, a beacon leading the way, lighting a white path for Norman Frusco to follow. Georgina dreaded the journey ahead of her; not yet on the aircraft and her stomach was limbering up. The prospect of low, night flying filled her with terror. She tried to talk her way out of coming, saying that she would be back up in a vehicle but Frusco wouldn’t allow her, arguing that if the search proved fruitful there would be no time for anything else other than a direct assault on the property. No time to call for back up. He needed every fully trained professional at his disposal.

  ‘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.