Turtle Island (31 page)

‘Hello, Mrs Dace. I'm glad you could make it.’ His voice was
going through some sort of processor, distorting it; the hairs on
the back of Barbara's neck began to rise. ‘I'm a big fan of
yours.’

Barbara wondered what sort of reply he was expecting. Thanks,
reverential gratitude, respect. He didn’t give her a chance to
think of a reply.

‘I assume you have had a chance to see my work. Are you a fan
of mine? Don’t worry that’s a rhetorical question.’ All the time he
was staring fixedly in to the camera, his eyes unblinking,
compelling. He was sucking her in with his intensity. ‘Some of my
best work for the whole world to see, and tomorrow, Mrs Dace, I'm
giving America the chance to witness my art, live. Imagine that?
Imagine the thrill of letting the world see.’ His voice hissed and
crackled.

‘Why do you want to speak to me?’ Barbara asked, wanting to
gain some control over the situation. Taking the focus away from
his self-massaging ego.

‘Do you mean, what is the purpose of my contacting you, or,
why did I pick you? There are different answers to both and I
wouldn't want to disappoint you.’

Even though they were only connected via a USB cable, Barbara
felt the link with the killer to be tangible. She felt uneasy with
the fact that he was replying to her, her questions, and the words
that came from her mouth. As much as it was anathema to her Barbara
had to keep him on her side. She knew she had to placate him
without patronising him.

‘I was wondering what the reason was for your contacting me
now, at this present time, but the answer as to why you picked me
would also be interesting?’

‘I have contacted you before Mrs Dace. Remember the video? You
made me a star then, so I figured that I should repay the
compliment and make you a star, in turn by telling the world of my
accomplishments I will achieve what I want. You see, I'm killing
two birds with one stone.’

‘And what is it you want to achieve?’ Barbara asked picking up
on the inflection that he put on the latter half of the sentence.
‘Is it just notoriety?’

‘I could say fame, but that would be a lie. Anyway by the time
this hits the news tonight, you will have done that for me. No,
what I want is justice?’

‘Justice for what?’

‘Oh, I can't give away the ending. That's going to be the fun
part.’ He laughed, inhaling at the same time, producing a
high-pitched squeal. The laughed cut into Barbara's nerves the way
the sound of fingernails being scrapped down a blackboard does.
‘You have seen my web site. Quite a piece of work. The site has
been submitted to all the major search engines. As you can see from
the amount of people visiting it, word is already spreading. Word
spreads like a virus on the net. Words become a plague when
something is hot. I have e-mailed every major TV station in
America, Europe and the Far East. They're starting to run this
story. And they will all be heading for this tiny little Island, as
they do the count goes up from the little people, the people who
have a dark streak, my supporters. The count goes up and the fate
of the Montoya family is decided. I promise you now; I will kill
only one, the person with the highest vote. Tonight America
votes.’

‘Wha...’

The screen in front of Barbara went blank before she could
finish her first word.

Hurley leaned forward. ‘Okay, Barbara?’

She nodded.

‘Right, let's get this report up and ready. We're going to cut
in on the movie with a newsflash and run a trailer for the full
interview for the ten o'clock. Come on people, let’s get to it.’
Hurley clapped his hands, snapping his dazed staff out of their
bewilderment.

Georgina sat alone in the office. She watched the Videotape of
Max Dalton’s torture. She compared it with the film footage of the
web site. Her eyes ached and her head was less than one hundred
metres behind but closing fast. She had reached the point where all
she could do was replay the evidence over and over, but the thought
process was too exhausted to start gelling anomalies or adding
coincidences and compiling facts. It seemed as if there was
suddenly too much evidence, too much to compile and make sense
of.

Captain Frusco made his way to the TV studio. The whole case
unsettled him. Evidence of Rick Montoya’s meetings with Charles
Fleisher and Stephen England had opened un-thought of, unspoken
implications. The counter under the names of Rick Montoya, Jo-Lynn
Montoya and Ray were increasing, like a time bomb ticking away. In
the last hour eighty thousand visits had been made to the site,
word was getting out. The small Island was rapidly becoming
global.

The prospect of sleep, even an hour’s break was somewhere on
par with holding a winning lottery ticket. The computer clock on
the bottom right hand side of Georgina’s screen ticked over another
minute but somewhere between glances an hour had elapsed. It now
said 21-57. Her mind kept coming back to the tooth that was left in
her car, the child’s tooth. Jordan Montoya’s tooth. Why her...Why
the Montoya’s? The questions kept invading her thought process. The
door to her right opened, Leroy struggled in holding a tray with a
flat square box and two polystyrene cups of coffee.

‘Great Pizza...again.’ Georgina sighed.

‘Gotta keep the cholesterol level up.’ Leroy placed the tray
down and patted his stomach, which was a tribute to the lifestyle
that being in the homicide department affords.

‘You know this is the first case I’ve worked on where I’ve
actually put weight on. Two pounds.’

Leroy flipped open the box to a less than enthusiastic
fanfare. ‘Ta-da.’

‘Pepperoni and Chilli?’ Georgina said looking at the
pizza.

‘With anchovies and mushrooms.’ Leroy added

‘May I ask you a question, Leroy?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

‘Are you pregnant? Because that is the most disgusting
combination.’

Leroy pulled a triangle of pizza free from the box. The molten
cheese stretched, refusing to break it umbilical link with the rest
of the Pizza. He moved the box to one side to reveal a second box,
which he handed to Georgina.

‘Here you are.’ He scooped a hot stringy piece of cheese,
which was welding to his lip, and placed it inside his mouth. ‘As
ordered, one regular cheese and tomato with bacon’

Georgina licked her lips in fake expectation. ‘Mmmn.’ She took
a bite from the pizza and mumbled through the masticated food. ‘The
ten’ o’clock bulletin.’ She was pointing to the dead TV screen
sitting on a shelf snuggled between piles of books and
papers.

Leroy leaned forward and through a scattering of coffee cups,
pizza boxes and reports, located the remote control. His index
finger found the on button with automated efficiency. They watched
the ads roll by, before a warning was aired about the content of
the news bulletin ‘which many people may find
distressing’.

‘How’s Anna?’ Georgina asked.

‘I dropped her back to the hotel. She’s tired and confused.’
Leroy shrugged

‘Well, it’s good to know we’re not an elite group.’

Frusco grabbed Barbara Dace by the arm, stopping her in her
tracks and turning her. ‘You can’t run the video. You have to cut
the interview.’

‘I won’t be told by you what I can or cannot do, Norman. This
is the biggest thing to happen here and just for once we have got
the edge. Even if we pulled the whole story from the bulletin he’ll
get his publicity. He’s timed electronic mail to hit the desks of
every major network in the World.’

A make up girl intervened between the police captain and the
reporter as though he wasn’t there and started dusting Barbara’s
face, taking the shine from her skin.

‘Anyway, even if I could, which I wouldn’t, it’s not my call.’
She nodded towards the cameras. Standing by one was Chris Hurley.
‘He’s the boss.’

‘Thirty seconds Barbara.’ The floor manager shouted. ‘Places
everybody. Run the VT.’

Frusco ran over to where Hurley was standing. ‘You’ve got to
pull the interview.’

‘Yeah sure.’ Hurley replied ignoring Frusco. ‘Good luck,
Barbara.’ He shouted over Norman Frusco’s shoulder. Hurley stepped
to one side and started to walk to the director’s room. Frusco
followed.

‘I mean it, Mr Hurley. I can get a warrant.’

Hurley laughed. ‘Get one.’ then opened the door. Before
entering the editing room he looked back. ‘Any moment now the whole
world is going to come crashing around this little Island, Mr
Frusco, and we have got a jump ahead of them. So tell me Captain,
what’s the fucking point? You’re the boy with his finger in the
dam, Captain.’ Hurley disappeared behind the door. Frusco turned to
see Barbara introduce herself to the waiting world knowing Hurley
was right.

Leroy pressed the record button on the video and sat back with
his Pizza. Georgina had started to draw a tree chart. At the top
was Charles Fleisher’s name, next to that was Rick Montoya’s and
his family. A third box had no name just a question mark. From each
box ran a line leading to another box. Under the Montoya’s she
wrote Korjca Piekarska and Jordan Montoya. She drew a line down to
a fresh box and wrote their professions, Police, Lawyer, Nanny and
School. Underneath Charles Fleisher’s box she put in his wife,
Narla, and his daughter, Harley’s names. A line continued from
Fleisher’s name to a box where she wrote Real Estate Agent then
underneath that the name of Karen Fuller, Fleisher’s victim. From
the question-marked box, she wrote killer and under that his
victims. Max Dalton aged 29and Stephen England aged 31. At the
bottom of the page she drew a large box and entered the word DIARY.
She started to connect lines from the names of people who
subsequently she had found out knew each other either by profession
or through their private lives. Georgina thought about the
connections. Karen Fuller taught Harley Fleisher at the same school
that Ray attended. She was also having an affair with Charles.
Korjca Piekarska had met Charles once and noted it in her diary.
Somehow he had dealings with Rick Montoya. She put a question mark
against the link connecting them. The tooth of Rick’s deceased
daughter fell into the possession of the killer. Stephen England
also visited Rick Montoya and had been seen by Korjca. Her diagram
was beginning to look confused under a mass of connecting lines.
But the one thing that was emerging from the jumbled mess of lines
was that more of them were connecting to Rick Montoya than anyone
else.

And now for our world exclusive interview with the man who
claims to be the Turtle Island killer, known as the
Dentist.

Leroy’s hand grabbed at Georgina’s shoulder and shook her
gently. She looked up at the screen.

Georgina mouthed ‘ The Dentist? Who comes up with this
shit.’

The image of the Montoya’s kidnapper appeared for the entire
world to see.

Maureen Cochran drew her blinds, locking out the world. For a
moment she stood in darkness and listened. Happy that all was quiet
she made her way across the room and switched on the light. The
television was on low, meant as nothing more than an accompaniment
for a lonely lady, but late breaking news bulletin unsettled her.
It seemed that death was returning to her little island. The world
was going crazy and finally it had caught up with her and tracked
her down to the small island, which she thought was a sanctuary
against the madness. At times like this she regretted not having
married; there were no children to whom she could phone in the
middle of the night when her sense of security was warped. She just
had herself and that would have to make do. Life was different when
she was younger; she had a string of men queuing outside her door,
much to the disgust of her father and the eternal shame of her
mother. An only child, Maureen had no contemporaries to base her
behaviour on, she just knew she liked men and never for a moment
dreamed that she would ever be left living her life alone and
afraid, but now all the men seemed to have disappeared, either
married or dead. She threw another log on the fire and watched the
flames lick around it, sparking, jettisoning tiny lighted embers
onto the hearth. Maureen shivered; it wasn’t the cold that was
getting to her bones though. She sat on the sofa and watched the
news report on the television, cursing herself, knowing that she
wouldn’t be able to sleep later.

As night turns black, a thousand souls shall be claimed by
the corrupted and they shall feast in my decadence.

Anon 1573. The Book Of Lost Souls.

The roads began to clog up with traffic within an hour of the
newscast. Without warning Turtle Island was thrust into the World’s
attention and it wasn’t ready. Cars, trucks and rigs stretched from
Independence Bridge to Campbelltown in a slow moving procession
searching for what was to become a scarce commodity; Hotels,
Motels, bed and breakfast accommodation or anywhere where a bed
could be found or put, even car parks. The police, already
stretched to breaking point with the murders, now had to cope with
a media invasion unlike any other seen before.