Turtle Island (38 page)

‘Get in close, John.’ Barbara told the experienced cameraman
what he didn't need to know, but he knew Barbara too well to be
insulted. He zoomed in until the rectangular roof filled the
camera's viewing area, then waited to see the sardines inside the
tin. Fire-fighters moved around the driver’s side, they appeared to
be talking to the driver, who must have miraculously been alive.
One of the firemen was pointing forward. The last of the cutters
were pulled away and a group of four rescue workers each elected to
grab a corner of the severed car roof. As the roof began to open,
Keller felt a trickle of sweat run from his forehead, over his
eyelid and down the corner of his eye. He blinked away the salty
invader from the corner of his eye and in that blink the roof was
carried away, exposing four blackened occupants inside the car.
Keller’s mind tried to assemble the scene inside the vehicle. He
couldn't hear the fireman telling the driver not to look behind,
but he could see the reaction of two of the hardened rescue workers
as they staggered away from the car. John Keller could also see,
quite clearly see, the bodies of two children, scorched black. Fire
had ravaged their tiny bodies until they were shells that had begun
to merge with the molten interior. The driver appeared to be almost
free from any burns whatsoever. John Keller could see that he had
lost some hair from the back of his head, he could also see what he
thought to be the man's wife lying forward with her head tilted
virtually all the way back, her eyes wide open and a bloody grimace
spread across her features. He had seen enough, Keller moved the
camera away from the car, choosing to get a panoramic view of the
chaos that had brought Turtle Island to gridlock. As he moved past
the crash site and in front of the hastily erected blue screens,
Keller caught a brief glimpse of two familiar figures. He used the
zoom facility on the camera. This time he tapped Barbara on the
shoulder.

‘Take a look.’ He offered the reporter the viewfinder to look
through. Barbara shifted across the seat and peered through the
tiny eyepiece.

‘O’Neil and Frusco.’ Barbara turned her attention to the
pilot. ‘Frank, I don't care where you put this bird, but take us
down.’

The wind from the rotors blew the blue plastic tarpaulin
taught, threatening to rip the freshly hammered stakes out of the
ever-softening ground. The rain was pushed with even greater force
into Georgina and Norman Frusco’s face and body. Frusco shielded
his eyes as he looked up at the approaching helicopter, Georgina
turned away, trying to avoid the worst of the spray until the
blades stopped whirring. Keller was out of the chopper first. His
camera was already cradled on his shoulder, filming the devastation
on the ground. Barbara Dace made a beeline for Captain Norman
Frusco, her lover.

‘What’s wrong Norman, phone not working?’

‘For the past few hours, actually, no.’

‘The world’s going mad.’ Barbara tried to light a cigarette
but the elements conspired against her. In frustration, she threw
the wet cigarette to the ground. ‘Got a patch going spare,
Norm?’

Frusco searched through his pockets. He pulled out an unopened
pack of twenty cigarettes, he fished again inside the deep pockets
of the soaked trench coat and returned hold yet another pack plus a
couple of nicotine patches.

‘One or two?’

‘Jesus, the way I feel today, there ain’t enough patches in
the world.’ Barbara took the two patches from Norman. She peeled
the backing paper off the first patch, pulled at the neck of her
blouse and slapped the patch on the top of her left arm. ‘Got any
gum?’

Frusco smiled. ‘Only nicotine gum.’

‘You know, Norm, I think we were made for each other. How come
I never met you thirty years ago.’

‘I was waiting. I’m just reaching my peak now.’

Barbara leaned forward and delicately moved one of the few
remaining strands of hair that had blown down across his face and
gently placed it back on his head. The hair didn’t even make an
attempt to hide the huge bald expanse in-between.

‘Captain, there’s a message for you on the radio.’ Georgina’s
voice interrupted the moment.

Frusco gave Barbara the pack of nicotine gum and turned toward
the erected blue PVC walls. Barbara opened the pack of gum and
shook one of the small tablets out of the cardboard pack. She
offered the pack toward Georgina. Georgina shook her head. Droplets
of rain were disturbed from her hair and searched for another
surface to cling to. O’Neil and Dace stood in uneasy, wet, silence,
awaiting Norman Frusco’s return.

Leroy rubbed his eyes. He had finally finished watching the
last videotape from Charles Fleisher's sordid collection. It left
just the one unknown face, the tattooed man. Leroy lifted the
phone. He looked at his watch; nearly three hours had passed since
he last talked with Andy at the TV station. He had been promised an
hour but he was as much to blame; searching the videos had robbed
time from him, time he could ill afford. Leroy pressed the
receiver, a constant dull tone emitted from the handset. He pressed
the receiver button once more. More of the same.

‘Shit.’ Leroy cursed. He pressed the on button of his cell
phone. This time a signal came through. Pulling a business card
from his pocket, Leroy proceeded to press out the number on the
small illuminated pad. The connection rang for three short rings
before a woman answered the phone.

‘Hello?’ The voice was stressed, slightly out of breath and
the background noise roared through the earpiece denting Leroy's
eardrum. She sounded puzzled and nervous at the same
time.

‘Georgina?’ Leroy asked unsure.

‘Yeah.’

‘What the hell's that noise?’

‘I’m in a helicopter on my way back to you.’ She was shouting.
‘The phones are back.’

‘What do you mean, back?’

‘The lines have been down all afternoon, it's crazy out here.’
She fell silent for a moment then said. ‘Whoa!’ loudly. ‘Jesus H.
Christ, I'm gonna die.’

‘What in hell's name is going on?’ Leroy demanded.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll be with you soon to explain. The roads are
jammed solid, what with the crash an' all.’

‘What Crash?’

‘It don't matter now...’ She fell silent once more

‘Georgina?’

‘Oh man, I think I'm gonna puke. Listen gotta go. Be with you
in…the pilots telling me two minutes, no he’s not, he’s telling me
I have to quit using the phone. …sorry gotta go.’

The line disconnected, leaving Leroy listening to static. He
closed the flip pad to his cell phone and replaced it inside his
pocket. Stopping only briefly to pick up the scraps of paper, he
had scribbled notes on, Leroy headed out of the small basement
room.

He bounded up the steps two at a time, not stopping for the
lift, nor to catch his breath.

The precinct was a hive of activity. Within seconds of his
entering the main processing floor, all of the telephones began to
ring at once, a phenomenon, which brought a huge cheer from all the
detectives and officers. Leroy moved through the crowded floor,
heading for his office. He pulled up his chair behind his desk. The
computer monitor was still on and the link to Death Cam web site
engaged. The numbers under each figure were almost unreadable,
millions of people were passing a judgement of death on complete
strangers with the moral conviction of killing a computer animated
sprite. Leroy felt sickened, wanting to shout through the screen to
everyone that this was real; this was not a game. A young
fresh-faced policeman appeared at the door, almost shyly poking his
head through.

‘Detective LaPortiere?’ He said unsurely.

Leroy nodded

‘I have a message from the Captain. He said he wants you to
ring him urgently. The police officer was gone within the blink of
an eye. Leroy picked up the phone and used the speed dial to
contact Norman Frusco. ‘What now?’ He said to himself, almost
fearing the answer.

‘I've some bad news, Leroy.’ Frusco gasped between breathing
fits. ‘Ned Freeman, the pleasure boat skipper…he...he just dragged
up another body. Apparently a black male.’

‘Rick?’ Leroy asked, concern mixing with
apprehension.

Frusco was standing on the riverbank looking down at The
Ingénue. A group of police divers were scouring the riverbed using
their bare hands. Frusco shrugged his shoulders. ‘We only just
found this guy about ten minutes or so ago. The divers are still
trying to get the body out of the water. Ned found the body over an
hour ago. He couldn’t contact us because the phones were down.
Agent O’Neil is on her way to you; bring her out here with
you.’

Within in a minute, Leroy had grabbed his coat and was
stepping out onto the roof, watching a helicopter approach the
landing pad.

The large circled H on the roof of the police headquarters was
a welcome site for Georgina O’Neil and one that could have come
earlier. Gripped tightly in her right hand was a white wax paper
bag, inside, the contents of her breakfast, partially digested;
melted by the acids in her stomach. From the moment she vomited to
the landing, Georgina clutched the bag for dear life and kept her
eyes closed. She tried to concentrate on the case. Building a
mental image of John Kiers, hoping police records or the FBI's
files would have something on the man, but try as she might, her
mind could do no more than fight with her inherent phobia of
flying, and Kiers was pushed to the back of her mind until she
could strike contact with earth. As she stepped out, much to her
relief, she was met by Leroy who was waving and remonstrating above
the scream of the engines and rotors, which were slicing through
protesting air currents.

‘We gotta get back in. Head back to the river. They've found
another body.’ Then Leroy added solemnly. ‘A black man.’ Knowing
that Georgina was aware of the implication.

Georgina looked at the helicopter, at that precise time there
were very few things in the world that could have persuaded her to
board it again but the prospect of finding Rick Montoya's body was
one of them. Hopefully the site where the body was found might
generate clues that would lead them to their man.

The pilot handed Georgina a fresh sick bag as she boarded,
which she reluctantly accepted before climbing back on
board.

Jo-Lynn felt the sensation of being carried from the murky
pool and rested gently on the wooden decking at the foot of the
stairs.

He placed his head against her chest, listening for a
heartbeat. Panic sent his own heart into a pounding rhythm that
filled his head, confusing him even further. Was it his heart or
her heart that he could hear? His hands fumbled for her wrist, a
pulse; a pulse…surely that was a way to tell. Her chest was not
rising; air was not escaping from her lips. He slapped her face
hard crying out in frustration.

‘Bitch.’ No reaction.

His fingers made contact with the soft, warm skin of her
wrist, searching for a pulse. His eyes stared frantically at her,
and then moving from her arm to her neck, he found what he was
looking for, a strong healthy rhythm, boom, boom, boom.

Jo-Lynn opened her eyes. ‘Fuck YOU.’ Her other hand moved
swiftly.

He did not see the jagged edge of the broken white plastic
spoon but felt it as it travelled deep into his cheek. She used
such force that half of it embedded through the soft fleshy tissue,
breaking off another smaller segment, which she followed up by
sticking into his throat.

Stunned and shocked he fell backwards into the water, his
hands groping at the balaclava, trying to exorcise it, to retrieve
the foreign bodies protruding from his skin.

Jo-Lynn was up on her feet faster than she could imagine
possible, and already had a three-step advantage heading for the
door at the top of the landing. She knew it wasn't locked this
time. He had entered in too much of a hurry, desperate not to be
deprived of his spoils by allowing her to die, face down in the
water. When he had carried her to the platform and laid her down,
he for the first time had shown concern for her welfare, though the
sentiment was lost on Jo-Lynn.

Her hands shot out in front of her pushing against the steel
panelled door. Tortured, angry, pained screaming followed her up
the stairs.

Jo-Lynn knew he was close behind. She was too afraid to look
behind, fearing that seeing how close he was would paralyse
her.

The door opened and Jo-Lynn was faced with another set of
steps, leading up a dark corridor. Light shone down from a hall
above, Jo-Lynn ran as hard as she could, ungracefully scrambling up
the stairs. He was close behind, screaming and cursing obscenities.
During this melee Jo-Lynn realised that she recognised the voice of
her captor; her blood ran cold.

As soon as her foot touched ground, Georgina’s cell phone
began to ring, as did Leroy's. Norman Frusco's was walking up the
grassy incline to greet them. The gale blasting from the rotors
played havoc with Frusco's thinning hair, which he tried vainly to
keep under control whilst operating the minute cell phone with his
free hand. The news was the same to all three detectives. The
killer's live link had gone off-line, replaced by film of him
killing and torturing Stephen England and Max Dalton. The voting
was now closed.