Turtle Island (19 page)

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 weights 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 thank 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.

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.