Turtle Island (24 page)

‘So, what brings you back?’

‘You don't know?’ Georgina could not hide the surprise from
the tone in her voice.

‘Oh, I know, I just wanted to see what you knew.’

Georgina was too tired for mind games and cut to the point. ‘I
need a copy of the tape that was sent to you during the Fleisher
case.’ Georgina sat down; her eyes followed the invisible footsteps
above her head.

‘Drink...Coffee, Tea?’

Georgina shook her head

‘I don't have a copy here at home, come to the studio
tomorrow, I can duplicate you one.’ Barbara studied the detective
for a moment. ‘Is that it, only my bath is going cold?’

‘I'll be over in the morning.’ Georgina stood, a creak above
once more. ‘Enjoy your ...bath.’ Georgina smiled and
left.

He waited until the door was closed and appeared at the top of
the stairs, wearing a large towelling gown.

‘She gone?’ He asked.

Barbara smiled, ‘She won't be back. Not tonight
anyway.’

As Barbara Dace ascended the stairs, she let her robe fall
open. She enjoyed watching him watch her. Tonight they would make a
home movie together as they made love and then watch it after,
before making love again.

It was a little before ten o'clock when Georgina pulled up
outside the police station. She took a slight diversion and stopped
off at the house where Charles Fleisher and Karen Fuller were
killed. There were no lights in the house. Six months later it
remained an empty shell, a shrine to the dead, devoid of life but
retaining the lingering scent of death. Images of that night played
through her mind like a movie. Memories that were always going to
be close to the surface, just waiting for the dust to be wiped away
and dragged out like an old photo album or video cassette. She
could see the look of horror on Karen Fuller's face, the almost
inevitable acceptance of her fate as Fleisher's writhing body
thrashed around with the knife. Georgina walked up to the door but
it was locked. Black and yellow tape still sealed the entrance,
even though the case was now just a part of Turtle Island's
history.

Georgina peered through the dirt-encrusted pane of glass that
allowed light into the main room. But there was no light tonight,
barely any moonlight and the house just sat there as a solemn,
malevolent reminder to its past and her past. She wasn’t sure why
she was there, maybe it was just to get the scent back into her
nostrils, maybe it was part of her exorcising the past. On the way
back to the car she wondered how the Fleisher’s daughter and wife
were doing.

The melancholic mood prevailed as her mind skipped to Korjca's
fresh, slightly rounded face. She knew as she left the house that
this time there was to be no mistakes. No more chances for the
killer to cause the small community or her pain.

‘Thanks for coming back. I thought I was going to have to get
a cab home.’ Leroy was sitting behind his desk with his feet
crossed and firmly planted on its over-polished surface. He was
holding a manila folder.

Georgina offered no apology or excuse. ‘So?’

‘So...’ Leroy began. ‘I'm waiting on a fax from my
orthodontist. She was not best pleased at being disturbed during
the evening but I used my charm.’

‘And she's still helping?’ Georgina mocked.

‘I am a very charming man. I asked her to check her records to
see if she treated either the Fleisher family or the
Montoya’s.’

As he spoke the fax bleeped and paper began to un-spool, being
vomited outwards.

The binary cacophony audible in the background as letters
transferred from code to something more legible on the shiny paper.
Georgina sat on the edge of the desk next to Leroy's
feet.

‘Mrs Dace is having an affair. I think I interrupted something
steamy.’

‘Yuk, old people having sex.’ Leroy rattled a pencil between
his teeth as he talked. ‘Anyway, what makes you so
sure?’

‘There was someone upstairs, bumping around in the dark. We
both heard him, but Dace never flinched, pretended she heard
nothing, there was no car, hers was on the drive. I guess his was
in the garage out of prying eyes. So it's someone she doesn't want
exposed.’

‘I know who it is. The old dog’ Leroy said with a mischievous
smile.

The sound of the fax ending transmission stopped Leroy. He
half turned his body and tore the thin paper from the
machine.

‘So?’

‘So what?’

‘Don't tease, Leroy. Who is it?’

Leroy was reading the information on the fax. ‘ She was the
local school dentist, so she treated both Harley and Ray. The tooth
doesn’t match either of their records. She says that the tooth, a
molar, was showing some signs of decay and had a high level of
discolouring probably associated with eating high concentrations of
one particular food. She has no records for Max Dalton. That was a
long shot anyway. I would have been surprised if she had. Dalton
had only been in the area for less than six months before he was
abducted and killed.’

‘I know this tooth hold's the answer to a lot of questions. It
was placed in my car as a tease, for some perverted
purpose.’

‘Or maybe whoever is doing this, placed it there to waste our
time, throw us off the scent.’

‘No, it’s definitely linked.’ Georgina shook her head. ‘It is
not unusual for the perpetrators of major crimes to be fighting
with themselves. Maybe part of him wants us to stop him. I just
wish he'd left his name and address on a piece of paper instead,
sure would have saved a lot of shit.’

‘What about the tape?’

‘Oh, I'm picking up a copy in the morning. You still haven't
told me?’ Georgina said moving around the desk and giving Leroy her
most pleading, doe eyed look.

‘Told you what?’ Leroy teased.

‘Leroy.’ Georgina playfully punched Leroy on the
shoulder.

‘Ouch! Okay...okay.’

‘Well?’

‘I thought you would have guessed, being a detective an
all.’

Georgina glared, pretending to be at the end of her
patience.

Leroy shifted his feet from the desk. ‘Captain
Frusco.’

‘You're kidding, I didn't know he had it in him. Sounds to me
like its Barbara Dace who’s got it in her though.’

Leroy grimaced, as a cough from behind made him suddenly feel
very uncomfortable.

‘Didn't know who had what in who, Agent O’Neil?’

Georgina turned to face the Frusco, unable to hide the red
flush that was rising from her chest rapidly up her neck and to her
cheeks. She decided it would be the better part of valour not to
answer Frusco's inquiry.

‘I don't have to ask what you're doing here, O’Neil.’ Frusco's
voice had a resigned acceptance to it. ‘But while you're here keep
your investigations to relevant issues, not office
gossip.’

‘Sir.’ Suitably admonished Georgina wanted to slink
away.

Leroy broke the awkward silence. ‘We were just going through
the evidence in the Fleisher case sir. Agent O’Neil thinks there
are areas we missed.’

‘Like what, LaPortiere? The Fleisher case is dead and buried
along with Charles Fleisher.’

‘The tooth that was placed in my car, I had no connection with
Fleisher, I don't think he even knew I existed until...’ Georgina
let the sentence hang in the air

‘We are not going to look to good if you undermine the
Fleisher case, it's buried O’Neil. If you start digging around it's
not going to reflect too well on any of us. Do I make myself
clear?’

‘Are you saying drop the evidence, sir?’

‘No, O’Neil, I'm saying if you open that can of worms and
start fishing you better land more than tiddlers.’

A moments’ silence passed between them. Frusco let his message
settle into Georgina’s mind.

‘Our duty is to find the person who has kidnapped Detective
Montoya and his family.’

‘And killed Korjca Piekarska.’ Georgina added.

‘That goes without saying. It's the Nanny's funeral tomorrow.
I want you there, O’Neil. The cremation is at St Mary's, 10-30.’
Frusco made his way to the door. He looked at O’Neil. The
self-assured Agent that first came to Turtle Island was looking
pale and tired. A shadow of the person that arrived six month's
previously. ‘The priest is a Father Reagan.’

‘Okay.’

‘Whoever is doing this might want to see the results of his
actions. See the whole thing through, as it were. I want
photographs of the mourners; needless to say discretion will be in
everyone's best interest. I'll leave the photography to you, La
Portiere.’

The detective nodded. ‘I'll get a camera from
stores.’

Frusco took out an envelope from his jacket and placed it on
the desk between the two detectives. ‘We received these an hour
ago.’ Frusco shook out three Polaroid photographs of detective
Montoya, bound and bruised. ‘Son of a bitch walked straight in and
left them on my desk. The only fingerprints on the photos are
Rick’s.’ The small mobile phone in Frusco’s pocket vibrated.
‘O’Neil, I don’t need agents or officers fouling in an already
murky pool.’

Georgina watched him leave. ‘Was that a warning?’

Leroy shrugged. ‘I get the feeling you rub him up the wrong
way.’

‘Good.’

Before driving back home, Leroy picked up a camera with a
telephoto lens from the stores department. He threw the camera bag
on the back seat of the car and sank wearily into the driver’s
position. Georgina sat in the front passenger’s seat. The effects
of the day began to catch up with her. It had been a long day since
her early morning run and she was looking forward to a good night’s
sleep.

Leroy drove the car out of the underground car park, a slight
drizzle of rain greeted them. He switched on the wipers. The rubber
blades smeared traffic film across the windscreen, momentarily
obscuring the view.

‘I'm going to run the tooth through the FBI's victims’
records, see if we can obtain a match.’ Georgina said somewhat
fatigued.

‘You know you don't have to book in to a motel tonight...you
could stay with me. There's plenty of room’

‘Thanks Leroy, but I'm not sure it's the right thing.
Especially with you getting back with Lia soon. We wouldn't want to
jeopardise the situation in any way.’

‘Hey, I was only offering a bed. You saying I can't resist
you.’ Leroy did his best to sound affronted.

‘Maybe I'm saying, I couldn't.’ Georgina was telling the
truth. She felt tired and vulnerable and in need of a little
comfort. The truth was she couldn't trust herself tonight. Tonight
she'd have to make do with a hot bath and raiding the miniatures in
the drinks cabinet. ‘Don't look so shocked, fatigue lowers my
standards.’ Georgina mocked Leroy covering the tracks of her true
feelings as usual.

They drove on in uncomfortable silence, until the Motel
appeared; flashing it's broken pink neon sign.

‘Should be no trouble getting a room, late October is hardly
high season.’ Leroy parked the car.

‘Pick me up early?’ Georgina asked.

‘7-30 okay?’

Georgina nodded. ‘Yeah, I want to get to the TV studios and
get a copy of that tape before going on to the funeral.’

‘I better not see you to the door, in case you hold me against
my will and ask me to perform all varieties of deviant sexual
acts?’ Leroy said.

‘Your loss, Leroy…your loss.’ Georgina smiled. The whites of
her eyes were losing battle to the network of bloodshot
veins.

She got out of the car and pulled her luggage from the trunk.
Georgina shut the passenger door but could hear Leroy bid her
goodnight.

‘Goodnight, O’Neil.’ The Detective engaged drive and pulled
away, leaving the weary agent struggling against both fatigue, the
weight of her luggage and the case notes stuffed under her arm. She
gainfully tried to retain grip on the suitcase as she headed toward
the reception.

Slowly she submerged into the water. It licked at her nose,
trying to find passage into her lungs; there was a brief temptation
to breathe in. She allowed it to lap gently against her upper lip.
Parting her mouth slightly, she took in a small amount of water and
projected it down the length of her body. Georgina wondered at the
miracle of babies and their ability to breathe liquid for the nine
months before birth. The water was steaming hot, as hot as she
could bare and within seconds of entering the bath she noticed her
skin reddening. The radio was playing Van Morrison singing ‘Crazy
Love’ and Van’s voice was the velvet glove offering respite and
comfort from the world outside the front door. She wanted to read,
wanted to relax for a moment, just get away to a saner place or
maybe just some other, any other, place. But her eyes were too
tired to read and all that she had was the case report anyway. She
picked up a sponge and squeezed the hot liquid over her face.
Georgina watched the hot water cascade down toward her eyes until
the last possible moment before blinking. A memory. Why memories
choose certain times to return was as much a puzzle as the
recollection itself. Maybe it was provoked by stimuli, the hot
water; the momentary peace. Georgina didn’t know, but the memory
was there as fresh as the day it occurred. She was nine or ten, not
much older, sitting in a bath of hot water, listening to her mother
arguing with her father. The voices often travelled up the stairs.
The sounds of a family tearing itself apart and all the time
Georgina feeling she was somehow to blame. She found she was
holding her breath for as long as they argued. The slightest action
of her breathing would be the trigger to some sort of catastrophe.
Then as the voices died she inhaled and submerged under the hot
water, the water acting as a buffer against the resumed hostility,
which invaded the house like some sort of demon. No one knew
Georgina's mother was dying, no one knew that was the reason for
her argumentative nature. Often Georgina would find her mother
sitting alone crying, blaming herself for the arguments, the
confusion raging in her head, a mystery. Georgina would sit under
the water looking at the light bulb hanging from the centre of the
ceiling, waiting until her lungs were ready to burst. Often, when
she broke out of her artificial womb, she would find that the
arguments had miraculously stopped.