Turtle Island (34 page)

‘I've spoken to doctors and all sorts of people.’ Harley began
without further prompting. ‘They keep telling me I've nothing to be
ashamed of...’ Harley looked squarely in to Georgina's eyes. ‘You
can’t help but feel though it’s your own fault, that maybe somehow
I…I don’t know, I just feel as though it is all my fault. I didn’t
know, I used to think that what was happening to me was normal. I
thought it happened to every little girl or boy. Daddy told me it
was special love…’

‘At the time did you feel he was lying?’

Harley looked puzzled. ‘No. I know now though that what he did
was wrong.’

‘He was wrong Harley and yes, he was very ill.’ Georgina
changed tack. ‘I see that you’re going to be moving soon. Are you
happy about that?’

‘Yeah, it’s really cool. I’ve already got friends where we’re
going. I kinda want to leave here. There are memories here that I
want to forget. The doctor...a child psychologist.’ Harley
continued. ‘The doctor said that it was important that I should try
to remember the good times I had spent with dad. That he will
always be here.’ Harley pointed to her head and her
heart.

‘I know there are things that you want to forget, Harley, but
some of those things might help me to catch bad men that might hurt
other children. This person may have been someone your daddy knew,
maybe someone he introduced to you.’

Harley looked unsure. Georgina sensed a flicker of reticence.
Harley sat back in the chair. She looked down at her feet; lost for
a few seconds.

‘Okay.’

Georgina opened the small folder she had brought with her and
fished through it until she came upon a group of photographs. She
pulled them out and laid them on the table. One by one, face up.
Six colour photos, all close up portraits. Stephen England, Max
Dalton, Detective Rick Montoya, Jordan Montoya, Ray Montoya and
Jo-Lynn Montoya.

‘I want you to tell me if you have ever seen any of these
people, Harley? Look carefully and touch any of the photos of
anyone you recognise.’

Harley sat forward and studied the photographs. Within seconds
of glancing at them, her arm stretched forward and her index finger
stabbed at five of the photos, dragging them forward.

If she could just get her fingers around the small metal ring,
Jo-Lynn thought she might be able to pull open the trap door. She
had been working at the ring for what seemed like hours and was
pretty sure that he would be back soon. She had lost count of how
many hours or even days it was since he had been there. She needed
something hard to get under the rusted metal ring, some sort of
tool to prize it upwards so she could gain purchase. As she
struggled with it, her fingernail bent back, half ripping away from
the skin beneath. She screamed out in frustration and pain and fell
back into the mucky water. Jo-Lynn landed seated in waist-high
water. She put her torn fingernail to her mouth, trying to ease the
pain, not wanting to look at the damage. As she sucked on her
finger, the glint of her wedding ring caught her eye; she had an
implement she could use, the solitaire diamond set in the centre of
the ring.

A noise at the top of the stairs caught her attention. He was
coming. She got to her feet and ran, as best she could, to the
landing by the steps to where her nightdress lay. She pulled it
over her head catching the broken nail and cursing the pain.
Jo-Lynn huddled into the corner, pulling her knees up.

She pretended to be asleep but watched from the corner of her
eye as the door at the top of the stairs opened. He appeared;
walking carefully down each step. His face was covered with a ski
mask, which merged seamlessly with a black polo neck jumper. His
hands were gloved, holding a tray. The aroma of the food hit her
nose before she had even seen it. His hands were full. A thought
ran through Jo-Lynn’s mind. She could pull him over but would she
have enough strength to struggle with him and escape. She stayed
curled watching his slow thoughtful approach, step by step. Fate
was walking down the stairs. Her fate.

John Borland watched from the comfort of his bedroom. He
watched the drama unfolding. He was aroused. When wasn’t he
aroused? But this was different, this was real; real life, real
death and he got to choose. He got to vote. John Borland voted more
than once. He was hooked up on-line permanently for the past 18
hours, stopping only to eat, defecate and re-supply himself with
fresh tissues. Occasionally he would look out of his window at the
snow-covered landscape of Troy Falls, Minnesota. He would look at
the sleepy town and plan.

The answers were there all along. Leroy cursed their laziness,
his own. So much of what had happened could have been prevented.
Leroy watched the hungry videocassette recorder swallow another
tape and steeled himself. The pile of un-viewed tapes had
diminished and now there were only three left including the one
being seated in the recorder. As the image flickered, Captain
Frusco broke Leroy’s concentration.

‘Who’s this?’

Leroy leaned across and stared at the picture. A naked man in
his late thirties to early forties was walking around a bed. Leroy
didn’t recognise the young boy lying on the bed.

‘This is gettin' messy... who is that?’ Leroy tapped his
pencil on the screen, the lead tip stabbing the man in the back.
‘Put it on hold a moment?’

Frusco hit the pause button. The image was not too well
defined but with a little tinkering and image enhancement Leroy
knew that if the man had a record then they could make a positive
match.

‘Key player?’ Frusco asked.

‘Any unknown face is a key player. It’s odd how camera shy the
adults are compared to the focus they put on the children. Can we
get this enhanced?’

Frusco nodded. ‘If the lab can’t handle it I’ve got a couple
of favours to call in over at MRTV. They’ve got state of the art
equipment there.’

Leroy pulled the tape from the machine. ‘Okay. If anything
else breaks, call me.’

As Leroy left the small darkened room he switched on his
mobile phone and dialled Georgina’s number

‘So where was your mother when your father first started to
come into your bedroom?’ Georgina’s voice was soft but direct. She
aimed her question wanting answers but at the same time aware of
the girl’s sensitivities.

Narla interjected, she was standing at the door holding a tray
with fresh drinks. ‘I can answer that, I am an insomniac, always
have been. I have two ways of sleeping, Miss O’Neil. Both of them
come from a bottle, both of them taken in the right quantities
result in unconsciousness.’

Narla placed the tray down on the coffee table and handed a
glass of orange to Harley and a fresh cup of coffee to
Georgina.

‘I know this is tough Mrs Fleisher, but I need to hear
Harley’s version of events.’

‘Sure, but there are areas I’d rather you didn’t stray into
for too long. If you don’t mind, I will sit here. I promise I will
try not to butt in.’

O’Neil nodded. ‘Harley, when did you father first start
visiting your room at night?’

Harley thought back, though the memories were fresh she wanted
to make sure that she answered correctly. ‘I don’t really know,
maybe I was five or six when he first started coming in. He told me
he loved me, then he would kiss me...you know….’ She paused,
breathing slowly before continuing. ‘Then it was every night. There
didn’t seem to be anything wrong, to me this was how all daddies
behaved.’

Narla sat back in the seat opposite, an anguished look etched
on her face.

‘He made films and introduced you to other people…’

‘My special Uncles. Daddy told me to keep them a secret and
not tell mummy. I guess by then I knew something was wrong but it
had been going on so long I just wouldn’t admit it to
myself.’

‘You know this girl?’ Georgina pointed to a photograph of
Jordan Montoya that Harley had chosen.

Harley didn’t answer but chose to nod affirmation.

‘You know her daddy?’ Georgina pressed on, even though she
could tell Harley was beginning to clam up. Harley looked at
Georgina; painful tears were welling in her eyes.

‘I know this is tough.’ Georgina placed her hand on Harley’s
arm.

Harley shook her head. ‘Not sure…there was so many faces, so
many different men.’

‘How many special uncles was there, Harley?’

Harley wiped away a tear then looked away. She tried to count
and remember the faces. The faces she wanted to forget, the faces
that often returned in her dreams when she closed her
eyes.

‘Eight, maybe nine. I’m not certain, I never
counted’

‘Do you know their names, any of them?’

Harley nodded. ‘Some, first names only.’

Georgina’s heart began to race. She was close to a
breakthrough.

‘My daddy used to talk with them all the time on
computer.’

‘Your daddy’s computer was checked out; we found nothing. We
even looked at his work machine.’ She could feel her heart begin to
sink.

‘That’s because he used my computer to talk to
them.’

‘Your computer?’

‘Yeah. My computer. Daddy bought it for me for my seventh
birthday.’

‘Where is it now, Harley?’

Harley pointed to the ceiling and whispered conspiratorially.
‘It’s in my bedroom.’

‘Can I see it?’

‘Sure.’ Harley jumped up and grabbed Georgina by the arms,
pulling her from the sofa. ‘I use it all the time to talk to our
new neighbours in Texas. Mommy said I hogged the line, but she only
said that because she wants to talk to Dexter. They get very
slushy.’ Harley pretended to gag.

‘Who is Dexter?’

‘Mommy’s new boyfriend. So she went and got a broadband
connection.’

Thirteen stairs and a short hop across a tiny landing brought
Georgina into ‘Harleyland’; wall to wall posters, Will Smith, Ben
Afleck, Matt Damon, Mark Wahlberg, Brad Pitt and Leonardo di
Caprio. It looked like the average room of any eleven-year-old girl
whose hormones were beginning to kick in.

‘Wow. Some poster collection.’ Georgina said
impressed.

‘Yeah, Mommy lets me hang them. When we're out shopping she
would often buy me one. She's great, really cool.’

Georgina's sight rested on the cream coloured PC mounted on an
antique wood desk.

‘Sorry about the bed.’ Harley apologised, quickly pulling the
quilt up and straightening the pillow. ‘I usually make it when I
come home from school, that's if Mommy hasn't come in and blitzed
the room. She a 'clean’ freak.’

Georgina made her way to the desk.

Narla appeared at the door. ‘Everything alright?’

Georgina wasn't sure who the question was aimed at so she
decided to let Harley answer.

‘I'm showing...’ Harley was unsure about using the detective's
Christian name or her formal title and by the time she had made up
her mind Georgina stepped in.

‘Harley's showing me her PC. We never got to see it before.
I'm hoping that there is information in here that can help us.’
Georgina patted the computer monitor. ‘We didn't know until now
that Charles used this PC for Internet access.’

Harley moved in beside the detective, sitting down in the
chair in front of the computer screen. She fired up the PC. Narla
entered the room and watched with Georgina and Harley as the
computer went through various checks before launching. Harley
dragged the mouse across the screen, rested the pointer on the
start icon and clicked. Two lists appeared, filled with various
programs. She ran the cursor down until it rested on a line marked
AIA.

Georgina recognised the logo for American Internet Access, she
had seen it in various magazines and billboards but had never
delved further. The opening screen appeared, a gaudy mauve
background with the flag of the union fluttering in the foreground.
A box marked 'Sign on' and another that read ‘password’ were to the
right of the flag. Harley moved the cursor to the sign on box and
clicked on an arrow. Another list appeared, this time a row of six
names; people who shared the account with Harley. Georgina noticed
that Charles name was absent from the list.

‘Who are these people?’ Georgina asked.

Narla read the list over Harley's shoulder. There were no
names that she recognised apart from Harley’s, which sat at the
top. Harley pointed to the first name under her own and dragged the
cursor down the list watching each subsequent name become
highlighted.

‘They're all dad's. You can open up to 12 separate accounts
with this ISP.’

Narla looked puzzled. ‘ISP?’

‘Internet Service Provider.’ Harley said barely hiding her
disgust at her mother's ignorance.

Looking suitably shamed Narla shrugged her shoulders. ‘I guess
I should really keep up with all of this, but it was more Charles
territory.’

‘Do you know any of the passwords to access the accounts,
Harley?’