The Accusation

by Wendy James

  ‘I don’t know, mate. But the cops have managed to convince a judge that there’s a good reason. They don’t just hand out search warrants for nothing. Did something happen when they came this morning, Suzannah?’

  ‘No. There was nothing, really. They called in and had a quick look around. Inside and then around the yard. They told me they were looking at a few properties around the place. We weren’t the only ones.’

  ‘They must have found something.’

  ‘But what? There’s nothing to find.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Hal looked thoughtful. ‘The police work in mysterious ways. Anyway, you look all-in, Suzannah. Why don’t you go and wait with your mother? Chip and I can watch the rest of the search.’ He addressed the detective, who had just joined us. ‘If that’s okay with you, detective?’

  Stratford nodded his assent, and I moved back to the warm kitchen, grateful to be released.

  By the time they finished it was almost midnight. I was sitting on the lounge, pretending to watch television. Mary was sprawled out beside me, snoring loudly. Constable Moorhouse was at the kitchen table, drinking her fourth cup of instant coffee and doing a crossword. She’d played three games of Trouble with Mary, losing them all, and between them, she and Mary had demolished an entire pack of Tim Tams.

  ‘It does terrible things to your waistline, shift work,’ Moorhouse said shamefacedly.

  I’d drifted in and out of sleep myself, slightly queasy, my head pounding. I heard the heavy tread of footsteps across the verandah and then Chip and Hal came back into the kitchen, followed by the inspector. He was carrying several small ziplock bags, and the two framed pictures that Moorhouse had photographed earlier in the day.

  ‘I’ll get you to sign for these, if you don’t mind, Ms Wells.’

  I looked over at Hal, who nodded his approval. ‘What am I signing for?’

  ‘We’ll be taking away some items for verification. We’ve also taken swabs from a number of surfaces.’ He held up a plastic bag. ‘The first item is a plastic cup, taken from the basement bedroom.’

  The cup was a familiar one – an old infant’s sippy cup that had been stored in one of the boxes. I felt a sharp pang at the sight of it.

  ‘But that was . . . I’d really rather you didn’t take that.’

  ‘You’ll get it back,’ said Stratford. ‘And there’s this. Also taken from the basement room.’

  He held up a second bag that contained a pair of lacy black and red underpants, brief, and far too small to be mine. I’d never seen them before.

  ‘And this.’ It was the Neel print.

  ‘What on earth do you want that for?’

  He held up the smaller Preston print. ‘And this one too.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What are you taking them for? How are they evidence?’

  I looked at Moorhouse, who was frowning steadfastly down at her puzzle.

  ‘We’ll make sure they’re looked after, Ms Wells. Don’t worry.’

  ‘I’m not worried, I—’

  ‘There’s just one more thing,’ he interrupted, holding up another clear bag, this one containing a cheap plastic brush.

  ‘Now, if you could just sign here, we’ll get these processed as quickly as we can.’

  ‘That girl can’t have been here,’ Chip said quietly as I signed the forms.

  The officer raised his eyebrows.

  ‘If she’d been here, I’d have known.’ His voice was louder, more certain.

  ‘And how would you know, Mr Gascoyne?’

  ‘I told you, we’re engaged. I’ve practically been living here for the past couple of months. If that girl had been here, I’d have seen her, wouldn’t I?’

  The detective looked at him dubiously. ‘Is that right? It doesn’t look like Ms Wells is sharing a bedroom.’

  Chip didn’t hesitate. ‘I still keep all my stuff at home.’

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t speak up earlier.’

  ‘It’s only just occurred to me.’

  ‘And you’re completely sure about the timing?’

  ‘Chip.’ Hal put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, shaking his head. ‘You should probably leave it for now, mate, sort it out when things are a bit clearer.’

  ‘You really should think about this overnight, Mr Gascoyne. If you’re certain, you can come down to the station tomorrow morning, and we can take a statement.’

  Chip said nothing, but Hal gave a short nod.

  ‘We’ll be in touch again shortly, Ms Wells. Now, we’ll let you get to bed.’

  I was desperate for sleep, the headache worse, my stomach churning, and every part of my body aching, but first there was Mary to deal with. Tonight, despite having to wake her to get her to bed, she was perfectly docile and let me lead her to the bedroom and tuck her in.

  She grabbed my hand as I turned to go. ‘Mummy?’ she whispered.

  ‘No, it’s me, Mary. It’s Suzannah.’

  ‘But I want my mummy.’ The eight-year-old child she once was looked at me with frightened eyes. ‘When’s she coming back?’

  I smoothed back her hair, kissed her gently on the forehead.

  ‘She won’t be long,’ I said.

  ‘Where’s she gone?

  ‘I don’t know. But I’m sure it isn’t far.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll see her in my dreams,’ Mary said sleepily, her eyelids fluttering.

  I turned out the bedside light. ‘Maybe you will.’

  Chip and Hal were in the kitchen. Chip had found a bottle of red, poured them each a glass, and the brothers were leaning against the kitchen bench, talking, their voices low and intent, their expressions grim. I watched them for a moment. Though the two men couldn’t have been more different, they shared a sort of ease in the world, and with other people, that I envied. But right now there was no trace of Chip’s habitual good humour; he seemed angry, the tension apparent in his rigid jaw, the vein pulsing near his temple. I was suddenly aware of how little I knew him, how little he knew me. And yet he was here, now. We were in whatever happened next together, linked forever by this unexpected life within me. I wasn’t sure whether to be comforted or frightened by this fact. Right then, I was simply exhausted.

  They paused in their conversation when I entered the room. Chip attempted a reassuring smile, held out the bottle. ‘You’re probably not meant to, but you look like you could do with one of these.’

  I shook my head, tried to smile back. ‘I don’t think that’s going to help, at this point. I might just have a hot chocolate. So what was that all about? Do they seriously think I have something to do with what happened to that girl?’

  I addressed my question to Hal, who took a moment to answer.

  ‘A search warrant is always serious. They have to get permission from a magistrate, which means they must have some sort of corroborating evidence from the girl. Did you get any sense when they came this morning that they thought anything was out of order?’

  ‘Not really. They took pictures of all sorts of things, and of us, but I assumed it was just for elimination.’

  ‘Surely that’s illegal?’ said Chip.

  ‘No. Not if Suzannah said it was okay,’ said Hal. ‘I assume you signed something? And you hadn’t been singled out, had you? They were just checking possibilities.’

  ‘Yeah. They said they had a heap of places to visit. I imagined they were probably checking all the properties around here.’

  ‘That’s probably true too. But there must have been something here that she recognised. That’s why they came back with the warrant. And isn’t the girl saying there were two women? One younger, one older? On the surface, it seems . . . possible, I suppose.’ Hal looked at me steadily. ‘Do you want to engage me as your solicitor?’

  ‘Do I really need one? That seems a bit drastic. Surely this will all be cleared up? It won’t go to . . . court or anything?’

  Hal looked worried. ‘They’ve obviously got something. More than something. They must have serious evidence.
As I said, judges don’t give out warrants without good cause.’

  ‘But this is insane. As if I’d—’

  He held up his hand. ‘I’d rather wait until we hear what the police have to say before you tell me anything more.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, you’re a wanker, Hal.’ Chip rolled his eyes. ‘It’s not like Suzannah’s some bloody druggo.’ He reached an arm around my shoulders, gave me a steadying squeeze. ‘You don’t really have to bung on all this lawyer crap, you know.’

  For the first time, Hal looked faintly amused. ‘If I’m going to be her lawyer, I have to, ah, behave like a lawyer.’

  ‘Yeah. Well, this is bullshit. I’ll tell them tomorrow that I’ve been living here for the last couple of months.’

  ‘Chip, no. You can’t,’ I said. ‘I’m really grateful for the offer. But you weren’t here all the time. Not really.’ I smiled to take away the sting, but he glared at me.

  ‘How’re they going to know that?’

  ‘You’d better make sure of the dates before you go making any statements.’ Hal kept his voice light, but he was serious.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They’re not going to take your word for it. You need to make sure you weren’t elsewhere at some crucial time.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  His brother sighed. ‘You can’t lie, Chip. You’ll get caught. This is bloody serious. I don’t suppose you have a convenient alibi, Suzannah?’

  ‘Alibi?’ The word came out as a frightened squeak. ‘What do you mean an alibi?’

  ‘I don’t suppose you went away for a holiday? If you can prove you were away during the period in question it would help.’

  ‘No. We’ve had no holidays. I’m pretty much always here with Mary when I’m not at work. Oh, I took a day trip to Sydney to see a play at the beginning of the school holidays.’

  ‘Have you had people over to stay?’

  ‘Well, there’s Chip. But there’s been no one else.’ I could feel myself blush, but Hal didn’t seem to have noticed.

  ‘People for dinner?’ He sounded apologetic. ‘Other than Chip, I mean.’

  ‘There’s Honor Fielding. She’s been over a couple of times for dinner. I’m not sure about the exact dates though.’

  ‘Does anyone else come to the house regularly? A gardener? A cleaner?’

  ‘Yes! There’s a woman who comes in three days a week, to watch Mary. Sally O’Halloran. The nursing home recommended her. And I’ve used her as a babysitter too, when I’ve gone out at night. And a couple of times on the weekend.’

  Hal brightened. ‘She might be useful.’

  I gave him her contact numbers.

  ‘So, is there anyone else? No old friends have called in on their way through? No other family?’

  The non-existence of my social and family life was suddenly crushingly obvious. ‘We haven’t been here that long.’

  Chip cut in, his tone decisive, ‘You honestly don’t have to worry, Suze – I can be your alibi. I’ll just say I was here that whole time. That girl couldn’t have been here. No one’s going to say otherwise.’

  Hal shook his head, exasperated now. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t say that? You’d be up for perjury at the very least. And look – even if you were here, it doesn’t necessarily follow that the girl couldn’t have been here, too. Wasn’t she kept drugged in the basement? Suze could have kept her hidden from you.’

  ‘I can say I’ve been down there. That there was no girl.’

  I took his hand. ‘Hal’s right. You can’t lie. You could actually go to jail. And what good would that do?’ My voice shook.

  ‘I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal, Chip,’ his brother added. ‘But you don’t want to start lying to the cops. And, mate, I don’t know how it hasn’t occurred to you, but there is another scenario. An even more serious one.’

  ‘What sort of scenario?’ Chip looked puzzled, but I knew what his brother was about to say.

  ‘They could suggest you were in on it.’

  ‘That never even occurred to me,’ he said.

  ‘So you’re better out of it. But I’m sure there are other things you can do if you want to help. Maybe you could . . .’ Hal paused, and looked around the kitchen as if searching for chores for his brother to do.

  Chip’s expression brightened almost instantly. ‘How about I do actually move in now? That way I can protect you.’

  I had to try not to laugh. ‘Protect me? How?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Suzannah.’ Chip grabbed my hand. Hal cleared his throat and walked out of earshot. ‘I know it’s a bit old-fashioned, but I want to do all the things blokes normally do for the woman who’s having their baby.’

  It was old-fashioned; also endearing. ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘It’s probably not much, but I could . . .’ He paused, scratched his head. ‘. . . bring you tea. Or make sure you don’t have to . . . climb ladders. Make sure you eat properly. Send you to bed at a decent hour. Make sure you have a bucket handy.’

  ‘But I don’t need—’

  He interrupted. ‘And I can help entertain Mary. You know she likes me.’

  He had a point.

  ‘Okay. Whatever. You can stay.’

  ‘No. Not you can stay. It should be, I want you to stay, Chip, my darling.’

  ‘Okay. Yes, I do.’

  ‘No. I need you to say it.’

  ‘I want you to stay, Chip, my darling.’ I somehow managed to keep a straight face.

  He moved closer, whispered, ‘I want you to stay, Chip, my darling, because I want to fuck you silly every night of the week—’

  ‘Chip. Come on.’

  ‘You need to take this seriously. You can think of it as a sort of non-traditional betrothal. Repeat after me: I want you to stay, Chip, my darling . . .’

  ‘. . . because I want to fuck you – oh, this is ridiculous. You know I don’t want to fuck you silly every night of the week. I don’t want to fuck you at all. I just want to sleep. And when I don’t want to sleep, I want to throw up. This baby . . .’

  ‘What baby? Are you having a baby?’

  None of us had seen Mary standing quietly in the doorway.

  ‘What the hell are you going to do with a baby, oh, Suzannah? That sounds like a very bad idea. You killed the last one, didn’t you?’

  Chip waited until Hal had gone and Mary was safely back in bed, before asking, ‘What was Mary talking about? That stuff about you killing a baby?’

  ‘Oh. That.’ I’d been dreading this moment. I had known it would be this that Chip would want to talk about, that it would cast an even darker shadow over all the crazy stuff that had gone on this evening.

  ‘Is there something you haven’t told me? Something you maybe should have told me?’ It was hard to read his expression, whether he was angry, upset, concerned, curious.

  I gave him the facts – bare, blunt, and with no unnecessary details. It was still the only way I could discuss it.

  ‘Stephen and I – we had a child. A daughter. Stella. She died when she was nine months old. Sixteen years ago.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘SIDS. Cot death.’ It never seemed to get any easier.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He looked as if he wanted to say more, but didn’t.

  I was the one who finally broke the silence.

  ‘I’m sorry that you found out about it that way. I didn’t even realise Mary knew. The story was in a few papers, mostly gossip magazines, when it happened. I was surprised it was mentioned at all. I was pretty much a has-been by then. She must have taken more of an interest in me than I knew.’

  ‘But why didn’t you tell me about it before? Something so huge?’

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s just, it’s hard to talk about. And I didn’t want it to change things.’

  ‘Change things?’

  ‘Between us.’

  It was impossible to explain how your child’s death changed the way other people, especia
lly other parents, related to you; the way they avoided contact – as if tragedy was contagious.

  Impossible to explain how eventually I had stopped telling people, had tried hard not to be Suzannah-whose-baby-died-poor-thing, to pretend that I was someone else. Here, in Enfield Wash, nobody knew that part of my history. I might have been an ex-celebrity, but to most I was just a hardworking teacher, a dutiful daughter – a simple, almost two-dimensional character with all her baggage on display. I knew that this role-play would never work entirely, that it couldn’t, but some days the transformation felt possible. Fake it till you make it, as the psychologists advised.

  ‘But we’re having a child together,’ said Chip. ‘I’d have thought you’d want me to know.’ He looked downcast, uncertain, vulnerable. ‘I’m not just anyone.’

  ‘I know you’re not. And I was going to tell you. I was working up to it. Truly. But then . . . then I was pregnant. And suddenly there was an us. I didn’t want to spoil things.’

  He was beside me then, his arms around me.

  ‘I know it all seems unlikely. You and me, I mean. A sexy soapie star and a rough-as-bags cocky who’s barely left the paddock? Seriously, we must have rocks in our heads. Who’d have thunk it?’

  Suddenly we were both laughing.

  ‘But I reckon,’ he took a breath, ‘I reckon we can make this thing work, don’t you?’

  I answered as honestly as I could. ‘I actually don’t know. Everything’s so . . . up in the air.’ It was a massive understatement. ‘But I really, really want it to.’

  He nodded. ‘Well, I guess maybe it’s as good as it’s going to get right now. But no more secrets. I don’t care what happened in your past. You can tell me everything, Suze. You can tell me anything.’

  ABDUCTED: THE ELLIE CANNING STORY

  A documentary by HeldHostage Productions © 2019

  ELLIE CANNING: TRANSCRIPT N9

  And then there was the other woman. She was the younger one’s mother, I found out later. She came in some days, but not all the time. She was always dressed in this crazy stuff. Nothing ever matched. At first I thought she was ancient – with all that silver hair, but then I worked out she wasn’t, like, in her nineties or anything. But she was still old.