Turtle Island

Turtle Island

a novel

Darren E Laws

The first novel in the Georgina O’Neil trilogy

Caffeine Nights Publishing

Fiction aimed at the heart and the head

Turtle Island

By

Darren E Laws

Published by Caffeine Nights Publishing at
Smashwords

Copyright Darren E Laws 2011

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This
ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you
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then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any
resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely
coincidental

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British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the
British Library

ISBN: 978-0-9554070-5-5

Cover design by

Mark (Wills) Williams

Photography by

Clint Spencer

Everything else by

Default, Luck and Accident

t

By the same author

Tripping

ISBN: 0955407001 Paperback

ISBN: 978-0-9554070-4-8 eBook

Available from all good bookstores and Internet
stores

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Coming soon from Caffeine Nights Publishing

DARK COUNTRY

The second novel in the Georgina O’Neil trilogy

To Natalie

For persuading me that I can actually do it

Smile, you're Dead

Max Dalton did not struggle nor fight; his body hit the water
with a stinging embrace, though he did not feel any pain. He was
past caring; technically still alive, but more than ready to
welcome death.

The water was warm, inviting. Max had no real comprehension of
where he was, and even less now of who he was. Slowly, he
submerged. The warm fluid filled his mouth, the cavern enlarged by
the removal of his tongue, lips and teeth. He breathed the water in
through his nose; at first panic at the realisation that there was
no way of expelling it, then only the comfort of allowing it to
fill his lungs.

The alarm was ringing in his ears with a fuck you attitude
that was sure to get Leroy LaPortiere out of bed, but on the wrong
side. The heat was closing in already and his clock cheerfully told
him that it was just after five thirty in the morning. His
girlfriend, Lia, was lying on top of the sheets, her body
glistening with perspiration like morning dew. Her arm outstretched
touching his naked back.

‘Go to sleep, hon.’ Leroy wanted to roll on top of her and
slip deep inside her.

‘Be careful, baby.’

‘Sure hon, nothing ever happens around here.’

And he was right. He was on the money one hundred per cent of
the time, but a winning streak like that has to end some
day.

After a cold shower, Leroy was ready to face another day.
Breakfast, would consist of an artery hardening and unsatisfying
stop at Wendell’s Diner for an early morning mixed grill, hash
browns and a gallon of extra strong coffee. The longevity of
officers of the law on Turtle Island was not dictated by the rising
tide of crime but by the accelerating spread of saturated fats
through increasingly narrowing arteries.

‘You gonna die.’ A familiar voice came from behind.

‘That is the most sense you’ve talked in a long time my man.
We all gonna die.’ Leroy didn’t need to lift his head from his
grease sodden breakfast to know his partner was standing behind
him. The smell of Giorgio Armani aftershave followed Rick Montoya
around like a dust cloud announcing his arrival. Montoya dragged a
chair over the stone tiled floor and sat next to LaPortiere. He
waited patiently for a passing waitress before ordering his morning
meal.

This is Groundhog Day, TV, Football, Sex and living. The game
plan was that they would meet every day for the next twenty years,
doing the same thing until they cashed their pensions, sold their
homes and sailed around the world. Of course they were going to
sail around the world; why wouldn’t they?

Montoya, like his partner Leroy LaPortiere, worked for
Missouri Police Department. LaPortiere for the past twelve years,
Montoya, only one year in Missouri, twelve in Chicago before
that.

Rick dropped a small brown envelope onto the table next to
Leroy.

‘What’s this?’

LaPortiere opened the manila envelope, noticing that it was
addressed to Captain Norman Frusco, his chief. He withdrew a small
bundle of Polaroid photographs, knowing that it wasn’t going to be
Rick’s holiday snaps.

‘You know, I really thought that this sort of thing was
confined to the big cities.’ Leroy shuffled through the photos.
‘This is the John Doe?’ He studied the victim, or what was left of
him. He stared into the white bloated face, the lifeless eyes; it
was something a movie could never capture, no matter how good the
actor. The mask of death was something that could never be faked
even with the best special effects and yet here he was looking at a
cheap Polaroid and the look was unmistakable.

LaPortiere shivered. ‘Like I told you, we all gotta die
someday.’

Narla Fleisher brushed her teeth vigorously while staring at
her face in the bathroom mirror. She swirled water around her gums,
dislodging toothpaste and various debris from last night’s dinner.
She smiled, thoughts of the previous evening still fresh in her
mind.

‘Honey, Don't forget its parent evening tonight.’ She called
through the adjoining door.

An audible moan came from the en-suite bedroom.

‘Harley's expecting us both, so try not to get tied up with
work, okay?’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Charles Fleisher rolled over in the bed onto his
back and sat up.

The sunlight streamed through the window, which Narla had
already opened to fend off the beginning of the day's intense heat.
Charles massaged away the early morning fatigue from his face,
sweeping back his dishevelled mousy brown hair. Narla walked into
the bedroom, naked from her shower.

Charles admired his wife’s body as much as when he first saw
her naked.

Narla laughed and playfully threw the towel at her husband,
all suburban happiness with no dark undercurrent. Charles leapt out
of bed and grabbed his wife from behind. She enjoyed the sensation
of his bare skin rubbing against her own.

‘Hey, I thought you had enough of that last night.’ She turned
and immediately felt how excited Charles had become. ‘Obviously
not.’

She pushed his powerful frame away from her and he
over-dramatically fell backwards onto the bed. His hands reached
out and grabbing her arms, he pulled her on top of him.

‘I've just showered.’ Narla only slightly
protested.

Leroy studied the pictures for hours. He searched through
files on missing persons. He was wearing the face of a man that had
spent too much time delving through the minutiae of boring details
of boring people’s lives.

‘I think our break is only going to come when we find the
body. The savagery of the killing…the mutilation, the killer wants
us to be aware of his existence.’ Rick broke the
silence.

‘Power games?’

‘Something like that.’

Leroy looked at the photographs. ‘D'you have a
theory?’

‘Curiosity, that's all. This guy really is pulling our chain.’
Rick continued. ‘Sending us the photos.’

‘There might be clues here.’ Leroy grinned

‘He likes to play games.’

‘Yeah, one big power game. The more we look at this, the more
we might learn about him.’

‘Ring Lia, it's going to be a long night.’ Rick settled back
in his chair.

‘Shit man! Lia and I were goin’ out tonight. She’s gonna kill
me and you're responsible. By morning you’re gonna be looking for
another murderer.’ Leroy strolled away, tutting his disapproval. ‘I
need a holiday from this dump.’

‘Harley really is an asset to this school, Mr Fleisher.’ The
grinning form tutor smiled flirtatiously at Charles. She crossed
her legs, allowing her skirt to fall open briefly, exposing long
tanned legs. Charles could smell her. The bitch was in season. Miss
Fuller made no apology nor looked even faintly embarrassed. She
stared into his eyes and pulled the skirt back to modestly cover
her legs.

Narla coughed indignantly. ‘Do you think she's making
progress?’

Charles thought she was.

‘Oh, most definitely.’ Miss Fuller's southern drawl placed her
somewhere between Missouri and Mississippi, what the 'Narla
Fleisher's' of this world would have branded poor white trash,
three or four decades ago, and even now only met at PTA meetings
and on daytime soap operas. Mind enemas for the non-working
classes.

Narla was impressed by Miss Fuller’s simple beauty, her long,
fine, sun bleached hair, her body, with only the merest hint of a
tan, her smooth, moisture holding skin, wrinkle free and
unblemished with a pair of green eyes to die for. Narla imagined a
school full of pubescent boys with permanent hard-on’s.

‘Harley is top of her form in most subjects. She is a very
bright young girl. Her maths still needs some work, but even here
she has excelled against this time last year.’ Miss Fuller
continued

Charles looked across the hall at his daughter, Harley was
sitting with a group of friends they were laughing and chatting the
way ten year old girls do, with feverish excitement, possibly about
the latest hunk boy pop group or an exchange of fashion tips which
will come back to haunt them in future years.

Harley broke from her conversation briefly to look up and wave
affectionately to her father.

Charles smiled back.

Later in the evening, Narla cornered Charles in a quiet
moment. ‘Miss Fuller wants to fuck you.’

Charles laughed. ‘Do you blame her?'

Narla snorted. ‘You smug bastard.’

‘I love it when you talk dirty.’ Charles continued to mock his
wife, enjoying the frisson of the moment.

‘Did you think she was attractive, I know I did?’