Turtle Island (15 page)

‘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.

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 that 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

‘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
down hill 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
[email protected]. 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.