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

  He mumbled. ‘Love you baby.’ and continued his sleep.

  She sat awake for a few moments feeling his body so close to hers, enjoying the comfort of his body until she closed her eyes and slept.

  MONDAY

  Georgina woke with her arms still wrapped around his stomach. She was drenched with perspiration, her underwear cold and clinging against her skin. Realization slowly emerged through hazy memory as Georgina remembered where she was. She tried to pull her arm free, but his arm and side trapped it. As she pulled away, her fingers brushed against him. Waking him. Charles Fleisher turned smiling. Georgina woke screaming to an empty room. Lost for a second, she tried to gather her thoughts, everything was alien, strange. She scoured the room; her clothes were in a pile on the floor by the bed. As the confusion of nightmares gave way to the certain reality of day, Georgina smiled, chiding herself, more through relief than anything else though. Leroy appeared at the door, panicked, and dressed in a robe with shaving foam covering half his face.

  ‘JESUS.’

  Georgina looked suitably apologetic. ‘Sorry...bad dream.’

  Leroy entered the room and sat down on the bed next to her. ‘Are you alright?’

  Georgina pulled the quilt up to cover her breasts, even though she was still wearing her bra, she felt a little awkward with the situation. ‘Yeah...sorry if I scared you.’ She looked around for a clock. ‘What time is it?’

  The sound of the phone ringing delayed Leroy’s answer. ‘About...who can that be?’ He stood. As he was leaving the room to answer the phone he said. ‘10-45.’

  Shocked that she had slept for so long, Georgina threw the quilt off and stood. Almost instantly regretting it, as her head pounded a samba rhythm that was a characteristic of drinking too much alcohol. She swayed for a second, gingerly holding her head, waiting for the room to become motionless. Leroy appeared at the door again, this time Georgina made no attempt to cover herself, more concerned with remaining vertical and holding down the contents of the previous nights consumed brandy.

  ‘That was Frusco. He wants to see me.’

  Georgina opened one eye, then slowly the other. Her hand was still trying to stop her head from rolling off her neck.

  ‘And he said if I manage to bump in to you, he’d like a word with you as well.’ Leroy smiled. ‘I’ve nearly finished in the bathroom, looks like you could do with a shower. I’ll put out some clean towels, that’s if she’s left me any. And when you’re ready, breakfast will be waiting.’

  The thought of food was the last straw and Georgina rushed past Leroy hand held firmly to her mouth, bouncing off him in the doorway, running toward the bathroom.

  ‘I must be losing my touch.’ Leroy said to himself. The sound of retching from the vacuous bathroom confirmed another lost battle to drink. Georgina staggered out of the bathroom looking considerably worse than a few moments previously.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You go ahead and take the shower now; I’ll finish off later.’ Leroy wiped the remainder of the soap from his face. ‘I’ll put some coffee on.’

  Georgina slunk back in to the bathroom.

  Leroy heard the shower start as he filled the kettle with water and placed it on the flaming gas ring on the hob.

  The pressure of the water on Georgina’s face and body was therapeutic as it slowly began to wash away the grogginess. The shower gel was a man’s sports gel, but at this stage it was the least of her worries, besides it smelled nice, comforting. She lathered her short black hair and rubbed the residual soap in to her face, blinking out the invading bubbles before they began to sting. She stayed under the powerful jet of water for fifteen minutes before she felt fit enough to face the world and Leroy. When she pulled back the mottled screen a fresh pile of towels had been placed on the closed toilet lid, with a robe draped on the top. She hadn’t heard Leroy enter, but the towels and robe were not there before she stepped into the shower. She wrapped a towel around herself and began to dry quickly. Georgina then put the robe on and began to dry her hair, which because of its length was a short task. Georgina placed her bra and knickers in her pocket and taking a towel with her, continued to rub her scalp as she wandered down to the kitchen. Leroy was putting the finishing touches to scrambled eggs on toast with fresh coffee and orange juice.

  ‘Thanks for the towels.’

  Leroy looked up. ‘No problem.’

  Something unspoken passed between them for a moment. Leroy was the first to break the silence. ‘I’ve laid some deodorant and a brush and some other bits and pieces I thought you might need on the bed. They’re mine so you might smell a bit testosteroney. Breakfast will be waiting when you’re ready.’

  ‘Thank you, Leroy.’ Georgina paused. She turned and walked to the bedroom. As promised arranged on the bed was a can of deodorant, two hair brushes, her clothes and the remnants of the perfume Leroy had bought to remind him of Lia. She sat on the edge of the bed and dressed, combed her hair, applied some make up from her handbag and began to feel human again. She sprayed the perfume on her wrist and breathed in its heady aromatic scent.

  ‘Lia used to do that.’ Leroy’s voice startled her. How long had he been standing there?

  ‘To answer your question, not long. I just came down to say breakfast is served.’ He smiled a genuine smile.

  ‘How did you know what I was thinking?’ Georgina smiled back, feeling comfortable in his presence.

  ‘I get paid to know what to ask.’

  Frusco was in better form than Georgina hoped, but he still applied a lot of pressure on her to get her to modify her report. She sat at his desk staring into the face of the cat that had his cream last night. O’Neil wondered who the Milk Maid was. Georgina reluctantly amended her report, withdrawing criticism of Montoya or the department, more for Leroy’s sake than anything else. She didn’t want to blot his copybook. The post mortem results on Max Dalton were sitting on Frusco’s desk addressed to Georgina. She noticed that the envelope had been opened. Frusco argued that his secretary opened all the post and had overlooked that it was not addressed to her boss. She slipped the report from the envelope and began to read what was obviously now second hand news.

  The water in Dalton’s lungs was that which matched the river sample, no surprises there. Lips and tongue were removed with pinking shears a short time before drowning. He would have died from massive blood loss or trauma had he not drowned. Anal trauma was caused by penetration from a projectile of some sort, definitely not penile. There was no trace of sperm or DNA material other than that which was his own. At the time of death Max Dalton ejaculated, a not too uncommon occurrence. Semen was present in his urethra. The report concluded that Dalton had been kept hostage for approximately three weeks before his eventual death. Georgina closed the report. Certain in her mind now more than ever that Charles Fleisher did not carry out the Turtle Island murders, but she also had no proof to the contrary, only instinct. She looked at Frusco.

  ‘Case closed.’ Frusco took her case report and offered her a ride to the airport, which she declined until Leroy offered to be the chauffer.

  Georgina asked Leroy to make a detour to Rick’s house. Korjca answered. Her hair was pulled back and she was wearing a flattering tight fitting tee shirt and jeans.

  ‘Mr Montoya is upstairs; I will call him for you. Come in.’ She bounded up the stairs. Leroy and Georgina walked through to the lounge and sat waiting until Rick appeared.

  ‘Hi, what brings you out here?’ Rick Montoya was dressed in a pair of baggy training bottoms and a vest. Sweat ran down his chest from his weight’s session.

  ‘Georgina’s going home, thought she like to say goodbye.’ Leroy spoke for the detective.

  ‘Would you like a drink, tea, coffee or something stronger?’

  ‘Coffee.’ Leroy and Georgina answered simultaneously.

  ‘I just wanted to say...’ Georgina just wanted to say the opposite of what she did say. ‘I just wanted to say the case is officially closed and to than
k you for your hospitality.’

  Rick knew what she wasn’t saying to him and was relieved. ‘I know I messed up...and it’s me that should be saying thank you. I don’t know what happened...I guess I just froze, never happened before.’

  ‘And it won’t again.’ Leroy was quick to say.

  Korjca entered carrying a tray with coffee mugs and a steaming pot. She poured the coffee and handed a mug to each of the men before handing Georgina hers with a serviette. Georgina noticed a phone number written in tiny lettering, Korjca’s thumb brushed against Georgina’s hand, the slightest touch. Georgina drank from the coffee and wiped the corners of her lips with the tissue before placing it in her pocket.

  ‘I’ve taken a month’s leave, try to sort things out.’ Rick said, looking downwards, trying to avoid eye contact with Georgina.

  ‘Good.’ Georgina looked at Rick, trying to read his guilt. She wondered whether she was seeing the real Rick Montoya.

  ‘You know it will haunt me for the rest of my life. The fact is that had I killed him Karen Fuller would still be alive.’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ Georgina couldn’t hide her feelings any longer.

  ‘I know...I know.’ Rick was wringing his hands together, still looking down.

  Georgina finished her coffee. ‘Gotta make a move, 8-45 flight.’

  It was only 4-17pm but she had to be driven back to the motel and pack yet before the drive to the airport and the dreaded flight.

  By five twenty she had packed. After a quick phone call to Leroy she was ready and on the road to the airport. Leroy was quiet, never prompting conversation and only answering in monosyllables until they reached the departure lounge. He was carrying her bags; the last call for her flight had been announced.

  ‘Well, it looks like it’s time.’ Georgina smiled weakly. She hated goodbyes nearly as much as she hated flying. She leaned forward on her toes and kissed him tenderly on the lips. ‘Thanks for looking after me.’

  ‘I could say the same. It’s me who should thank you.’

  ‘What about Lia?’

  The tall detective leaned forward and kissed Georgina. Then he let her go and said. ‘I’m still working it out.’ He breathed deeply and looked away for a moment. ‘I’m...I’m making plans, don’t know what I’m gonna do yet though.’

  Georgina’s flight to Maryland was called over the loudspeaker.

  ‘Gotta go.’ Georgina needed to get away before she totally cracked. She squeezed his hand.

  She took her bags from Leroy and made her way along the gateway to the waiting plane.

  PART TWO

  With the waiting comes the fear

  Twenty-Four

  Six Months Later

  He had waited for a long time, had been patient, let life return to normal on Turtle Island. Now was the right time to strike…now that no one expected it. That would show them, show them how wrong they had been. He watched them from the comfort of the swimming pool. The neatly housed pool was ideal to watch them, a blessing, especially now the winter nights were drawing in. Every night for the past fortnight he had lodged in the poolroom and watched them through his binoculars. The perfect family, playing, laughing, he had even watched them making love in their bedroom, through the open curtains. The garden backed onto nothing other than more open land, they often walked around their bedroom naked. He watched them do all the things he had been denied and now was the time to stop it, now was the time to regain the power. He knew that the time was right. There could be no other way, succession and relinquishment. He was always right. He put down the binoculars and rummaged in the rucksack for the pistol and knife. He hoped to use the knife, get up close and personal, feel the warm blood through his fingers; it gave him such a rush. He would wait until the last light went out, and then wait a further twenty minutes. He was almost giddy with excitement. Tonight, was to be the night. No more waiting.

  Maryland. Portmorion

  The piece of paper was crumpled and tired looking. A little frayed at the edges, just about the way that Georgina O’Neil felt. She had just returned from a kidnapping in Boston, a three-year-old boy, taken by his estranged father and held for ransom; three million dollars from his ex-wife's wealthy family. Five weeks taken from her life trying to bring the case to some sort of resolve. Hunting down the father and boy. Covering thousands of miles, searching every lead. Having her worst fears confirmed when the mother received the boy’s toes, before, and against instructions parting with the ransom just to find the boy dead, lying face down in a puddle of diesel in a lock up garage, seventeen miles from the family home. The father escaped the country with the money and little or no chance of being caught.

  The world had been beating Georgina up for the past year and feeling at an all-time low she sank exhausted into the comfort of her bed vowing never to get up. The piece of paper turned up as a reminder of the past, a time only briefly forgotten. There were times when she had wanted the company of a friend, a companion, someone to talk to, whinge to about her job, cry with when like tonight things looked black. She had dialled the number only to hang up before connection was made, or just to hear Korjca’s voice say ‘hello’, at the last-minute Georgina lost her nerve and hung up. She hated herself for being so pathetic, why did friendships and relationships cause her so much anxiety? Eighteen hundred dollars of psychotherapy had failed to find a reason, the only thing she did know was that the longer it went on the harder it was becoming for her to form anything close to a friendship, let alone relationship. She worked hard, always got on well with her colleagues but remained detached, or rather, kept a detachment. Preferring to keep work colleagues at arm’s length. She picked up the phone and dialled the number, willing herself to say talk, just say hello. The phone rang twice before Korjca’s voice mail system cut in, informing Georgina that her phone was either busy or not turned on. The tone to leave a message beeped. Georgina waited for a couple of seconds, deciding whether or not to leave a message. Her mouth began to form a word as her hand placed the handset back in to its cradle.

  ‘Closer, closer, closer.’ He mumbled the mantra, girding himself, steeling himself for the moment as he placed the hunting knife in its holster, strapped to his calf. He moved stealthily from the pool house across the grass toward the house. He had waited for thirty minutes after the last light was turned off. Waiting in the dark, watching for any movement, thirty long minutes where each heartbeat thumped, where every movement he made was physically sensual, almost sexual. The feelings inside him were certainly close to those with which he would compare to making love.

  ‘Closer.’

  He reached the French doors. Opening a zip pocket in the upper arm of his black blouson jacket, he checked the syringes lying dormant wrapped in a small cloth. The needle tips covered with small rubber stoppers. The Dormicium inside the syringes looking innocuous, but he knew the drug was powerful enough to send a rhinoceros to sleep for a fortnight when administered in the right volumes, too much and the sleep could be permanent, not the outcome desired tonight though. Not tonight. As expected, the French doors were locked but they were worth a try anyway. He moved along the outside of the house to the rear door from the integral garage. The garage, like many, was used as a storeroom. Mainly for the boy’s toys, it had probably never seen a car since it was built. He had watched, from the fields behind the house, through binoculars, watched the boy playing on his bike, shoot a few hoops, and leave the door open, as he always did.

  ‘Closer.’

  He pulled the knife free from its holster and entered the house. Switching on the small torch housed on his black beanie hat, he stepped cautiously over the scattered toys toward the door that bordered the inner sanctum.

  12-30am. Georgina couldn't sleep even though she was exhausted. She lay awake. She wanted to speak to someone, call her father, have someone to talk to. She looked at the clock again that sat on her bedside table. The green luminescent glow radiated 12-33am. She had called him later than this early hour
, usually to the chagrin of his wife, Cally, her stepmother who, aged 34, was only three years older than herself. She did not deny her father happiness with a much younger wife, because Cally had stepped into the picture when Georgina's father was on the brink of an abyss. Barely managing to hold himself together after the sudden death of his wife and her mother.

  Georgina thought about her mother, she missed her as much as anyone would miss their mother, but it was always true that she was closer to her father in many ways. They both had a joy of the academic; Georgina had toyed with the idea of teaching or lecturing after her degree. She never dreamed for one moment during the years at university that she was to follow in her father’s footsteps. She was daunted by failing or more precisely not living up to measure. The thought of not being able to fill those footprints almost decided an alternative career. After she had enrolled with the FBI and passed training at Quantico, her bond with her father deepened. She shared thoughts and ideas about cases with him, usually the ones that had her stumped. He enjoyed the challenge and the closeness they shared through the secrecy of the work. They thought their dependency on each other was their little secret, thought it was not a secret, certainly not to her mother. If anything, it was Cally who had a hard time accepting the closeness of their relationship; sometimes Georgina sensed Cally's jealousy over the time Wynan O’Neil gave his daughter. As Georgina was about to dial her father’s number, the image of Harley Fleisher appeared in her mind, she wondered about the relationship the little girl had with her father. There was a feeling of unfinished business that haunted Georgina, not just her curiosity over Korjca and the piece of paper she was holding. There was not the feeling of satisfaction with the case that usually accompanied the successful resolution of her work. She dialled her father’s telephone number. The phone rang twice