Turtle Island (33 page)

‘I know this sounds hard but he is linked with Fleisher and
Stephen England. Korjca mentions that they both visited the house
in her diary. We’re going to have to interview Harley Fleisher.
She’s the key and as hard as it is we’re going to have to view all
of Fleisher’s tapes.’ Georgina shivered at the prospect of having
to view the vile molestation. Abuse of children sickened her but
she knew it was vital that every tape was viewed for
clues.

‘I think Frusco should know.’ Leroy said, his mind churning
over the possibilities.

‘There are only twelve and a half hours until eight o'clock.’
Georgina threw her pencil across the table, time was running out
and they had no idea where the Montoya's were being
kept.

‘Okay. You interview Harley Fleisher; I think she'll be more
responsive and open to you. I'll start viewing the tapes. If I find
anything I'll call you.’ Leroy said.

The first thing Georgina noticed was the For Sale board
pitched in the centre of the lawn. A sold sticker had recently been
plastered through the bright red lettering. The board was slightly
crooked as though it had succumbed to a battering by the weather.
Georgina wanted to straighten the sign and fought the urge as she
passed. She pulled her identification from the inside pocket of her
jacket, making sure that she re-buttoned it, covering the brown
leather holster containing her pistol. She rang the doorbell and
held the ID out to be clearly inspected. Narla Fleisher opened the
door, wiping the corner of her mouth with a drying cloth. Georgina
noticed that Narla was extremely pregnant. Her overlarge shirt was
straining against the girth of her stomach.

‘Hello, Mrs Fleisher. My name is Agent Georgina O’Neil. We met
briefly six months ago.’

The flicker of recognition passed over Narla’s eyes followed
by a look of concern, which Georgina immediately picked up
on.

‘It’s all right, Mrs Fleisher; there is nothing to worry
about, no need for concern. I just want to ask Harley some
questions.’

‘May I ask what it is concerning?’ Narla was guarded,
naturally protective to her daughter.

‘You may have seen on the television about the kidnapping of
one of the detectives and his family that were working on the case
here six months ago.’

Narla nodded. ‘Yes I heard...It’s terrible, but I don’t know
what Harley can do to help.’

‘There are certain aspects to this case that are beginning to
overlap with the trouble here last year. We just want to make sure
that we cover all the angles.’

Narla stepped aside. ‘You better come in. Through to the
kitchen if you don’t mind. I was just about to serve Harley her
breakfast.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Maybe I can help.’ Narla said, two steps behind the FBI
agent.

‘I’m sure you can, but for now I need to speak to Harley’
Georgina turned and smiled. ‘Should I be congratulating you’
Georgina said, looking at Narla’s bump.

‘You can if you want. It was Charles parting gift to me…he
drugged and raped me.Narla looked hurt for the briefest of moments
then she nodded. ‘I’ll just go and get her.’

Georgina looked around the kitchen. It had a homely feel. The
smell of coffee hung in the air invitingly, temptingly. The radio
was on low in the background, tuned to a local station playing a
mixture of new country and old blues, interspersed with hammy
adverts for used car lots and air conditioning companies. Postcards
adorned the fridge, attached by magnets. The sound of toast
springing from the toaster made Georgina jump, she turned to look
at the offender and came face to face with Harley
Fleisher.

‘Hello...’ Georgina hand clutched her chest to steady her
pounding heart. ‘The toast...kinda gave me a fright.’ she tried
explaining.

‘I remember you.’ Harley said. She passed Agent O’Neil and
collected a piece of toast to butter. ‘I saw you at the
hospital.’

Georgina smiled. ‘Good memory.’ She privately hoped to herself
that her memory on other matters would be as concise. Harley
buttered the slice and applied a thick layer of honey, too thick
for Georgina’s taste. She bit into it then offered Georgina the
other slice, which she accepted.

‘Coffee?’ Harley was the perfect host and much more mature
than her eleven years suggested. Georgina guessed that after what
she had been through in the last year that it was not surprising
that she had to grow up. A child robbed of her childhood by her
father and by circumstance beyond her control.

Georgina could relate to that on one albeit very different
level. She nodded. ‘Coffee would be nice, one sugar, white
please.’

‘I hope you have been looking after our guest.’

Georgina span around to see Narla enter the
kitchen.

‘Sorry to have left you to Harley’s terrible company but…’ She
patted the large mound developing near her stomach. ‘This baby
dictates my life these days.’

Harley made a horrible grimacing face, showing the openness
and ease of the relationship between mother and
daughter.

‘She always needs to pee or puke.’ Harley said with a large
amount of mischief.

‘Why, thank you Harley. I'm sure that's far more information
than Miss O’Neil needed to know. Even though, sad to say, it is
true.’ Narla laughed not at all annoyed or embarrassed by her
daughter’s behaviour.

Harley poured some coffee from the pot and passed a mug to
Georgina.

‘Thank you.’

Harley smiled. ‘I guess you’re here to ask me about my
father.’ There seemed to be no trace of anger, sadness or
bitterness in Harley's voice.

‘If you don't mind?’

Harley shook her head while biting through her toast. ‘Why
should I?’

‘Is there somewhere comfortable we could sit?’ Georgina
directed the question at Narla.

‘Only this could take an hour or so. I have arranged for a
call to be put through to Harley's school, informing them that she
probably won't be in today.’

Harley's eyes lit up. ‘Cool.’

‘Yeah, sure the sitting room.’ Narla waddled ahead, leading
the way.

As they walked through a set of double doors that led directly
from the kitchen to a well-furnished lounge, Narla said quietly to
Georgina. ‘Go easy on her. She may seem to have coped with
everything okay, but sometimes you only have to scratch the surface
to find a lot of pain. She's had counselling but what amount of
psychobabble can repair the damage that bastard done.’

‘I know you’re talking about me.’ Harley said walking close
behind. Her face buried in another thick slice of gooey honey on
toast. ‘People always whisper when they're talking about
me.’

‘And what about you?’ Georgina grasped Narla’s arm.

‘I have other things to worry about,’ She patted her stomach.
‘like my children. My job is to make sure that they’re okay
now.’

Five VCRs worked constantly, hooked up to five different TV
screens, each playing a different tape, a different image but the
one thing they seemed to have in common was the content of the
image. Leroy and Norman Frusco sat watching images that they hoped
never to witness again in their lives. Frusco sat next to Leroy. A
stack of tapes was collected and sitting to one side on a melamine
table in the darkened room. There were moments where the fast
forward button could be pressed but they were few and far between.
Leroy stared at the screen in front of him. The tape had been
labelled with a felt tipped pen, C and H, Mouth. It was hard for
Leroy to judge, but Harley appeared to be no more than eight or
nine when the film was made. The only other thing that was apparent
apart from the sickening nature of the film was that there was a
third person filming Charles Fleisher's acts of oral sex with his
daughter. Leroy pressed fast forward until the end of the
tape.

‘Eight down, thirty-four to go. I'm not sure I'm gonna make it
to the end of this.’ He reached behind and took the next tape from
the top of the nearest pile.

‘This one should be a doozy.’ Leroy flipped the tape around so
he could read the title. ‘It's called S and H, G and C-h-tel.’ He
put the tape in and pressed play. ‘Jesus.’ The word slipped out of
Leroy's shocked mouth.

‘What is it?’ Frusco leaned to one side to see what had caused
Leroy's reaction. He looked at the screen, at the familiar face
that belonged to the man pinning Harley down to the bed. Charles
Fleisher's reflection could be clearly seen filming the debauched
scene in a mirror to the side of the bed. Norman Frusco was shocked
to the bone. The last person he had expected to see was one of the
victims. He watched Stephen England clambering naked, over the top
of the small girl. Leroy stopped the tape; not wishing to see
anything more than was absolutely necessary.

‘You know, I felt sorry for that motherfucker lying in the
hospital like a vegetable.’ Leroy's voice was low, full of anger.
‘It seems O’Neil was right.’

Leroy turned the tape back on. He pressed the fast forward
button. The machine clunked and the images on the screen sped up
like actors in an early silent feature, they looked comical but
this was no comedy. The tape whirred on until static fuzz replaced
them and the principle participants changed. Leroy pressed the play
button. The man was Charles Fleisher, lying naked on the bed. The
girl this time was older, though not much older. She was standing
by the bed; Stephen England grabbed her from behind. Both were
naked. England moved her forward closer to Fleisher. He pushed down
on the back of the girl's head forcing her closer to Fleisher.
Leroy wound the tape forward again.

‘There's another person filming.’ Leroy said.

‘Harley?’

Leroy almost laughed. ‘No, she's not there. This is a
different day. Fleisher's hair is much shorter; his pubic hair is
shaved in the first film, see, here, it’s grown back.’

‘That's a little more detail to observation than I really want
Leroy.’ Frusco said trying to lighten the moment.

‘Lot's of these sick fuckers like to feel their little girls
real close, they don't like hair getting in the way.’ Leroy looked
at his captain briefly before returning to the screen. ‘If the
camera goes back to its original position we should catch a glance
of him or her, in the mirror.’

‘Who's the girl?’ Norman asked.

The girl on the screen was now sitting on top of Fleisher's
chest. England's hands pulled her forward toward his face. The
camera moved to a close-up of the girls face. She turned as though
someone had called her name. Leroy had seen the face before. The
green eyes, her straightened black hair, her brown skin, and the
smile that she was forcing showed the final confirmation, the
missing tooth. Leroy's heart sank further than he felt
possible.

‘Jordan Montoya.’

A knock at the door interrupted them, both Leroy and Norman
Frusco pressed the stop button on their respective videos, and the
craven images were replaced by a blue screen.

‘Come in.’ Frusco shouted.

A fresh-faced young officer tentatively poked his head through
the small gap in the door.

‘Sir, all hell’s breaking loose out there.’

‘Okay, I’ll be out…to be honest I could do with a break.’
Frusco stood and arched his back. His neck audibly clicked
indicating the tension he was feeling.

The residents of Turtle Island woke to pandemonium. Blocked
roads, police checks, TV crews, and helicopter flights buzzing
constantly over the rooftops of the houses, fields and
boathouses.

Norman Frusco had, with the mayor and governor’s blessing,
ordered in the National Guard to save his own force being stretched
to an unbearable limit. To all intent and purposes Turtle Island
was under siege and the prospect of being able to carry out any
sort of investigation was severely hampered. Frusco had been awake
all night trying to police the worsening situation. He drank his
fifth cup of strong, black, coffee within two hours and dissolved
another two 'Sta-Awake!' tablets in a glass of water, as he took a
ten minute break from the wall to wall pornography to catch up with
events on the island. The television was on constantly. The
changeover of staff for the morning shift was beginning; tired
officers straggled away for an hour or two’s sleep before
continuing work.

Frusco watched Barbara Dace on the small screen; somehow she
still managed to be looking fresh. She was beginning to become a
national celebrity, having spent the evening giving interviews to
networks and foreign stations. The monitor next to the television
was still linked to the Death Cam web site. Frusco clicked on the
reload button to refresh and update the site. He watched the
figures change and wondered how people could actually vote to end a
life.

Georgina sat next to the young girl. ‘How are you
coping?’

Harley Fleisher shrugged her shoulders. ‘Okay, I
guess.’

Georgina wanted to be tactful but at the same time knew that
being direct would save time. She couldn't begin to imagine what
was going on in the mind of the little girl sitting next to her,
though she could see that Harley was resilient, but Narla's caution
hovered in Georgina’s mind. The last thing Georgina wanted was to
add to the psychological damage that already existed.