by Wendy James
‘Everyone knows what you did, you little cow. Everyone knows the lies you’ve been telling about me. Don’t think you’re going to get away with it.’ Mary’s glare transformed into a triumphant smile. ‘You know what Karma is, don’t you?’
The hissed words resonated in the quiet room. The girl was clearly stunned, but couldn’t take her eyes off Mary.
‘It’s coming for you. You know that, don’t you? Your pig buddies won’t be able to protect you then.’ Mary smiled, her sharp canines showing, eyes glittering, then turned back to the television. ‘Oh no.’ She crossed her arms, pouted at the screen. ‘It’s over already.’ Her voice was a high-pitched whine. ‘Can’t we have another episode, Mr Chips?’
Hal and I traipsed behind the police as they moved through the house. It wasn’t a search this time – they just went briefly, almost apologetically, from room to room, guiding the girl to each doorway, asking if she recognised anything. The girl herself seemed reluctant. She dragged her feet, looked around blankly, answered monosyllabically, if at all, but mostly shrugged, shook her head. Every now and then she wrapped her arms around her body as if she was cold. I watched her closely. I couldn’t pull my eyes away, but at no point did she ever turn and look my way. I could have been invisible.
Once again I led them down the stairs to the basement rooms.
Moorhouse took her into the larger room first and flicked the switch. Hal and I stood to one side, both of us watching for her reaction. She stared blankly into the room, and shook her head.
Hal looked at me and raised his eyebrows, but neither of us spoke. We followed them silently to the second basement room.
The girl stood in the centre of the dreary room and turned around slowly, looking from wall to window, and then slowly the other way. ‘I remember this. The awful colour.’ She pointed a shaking finger at the internal door. ‘That’s the toilet over there.’
Stratford marched across and pushed the door back, revealing the small tiled room, the toilet as described.
‘There was a bed when I was here.’ The girl spoke so softly that it was hard to hear her. ‘Against this wall. You can see where it was.’ She pointed to some rusty indentations in the old carpet; there had clearly been a bed there at some stage. ‘And that painting, the one with the woman, it was hanging here, directly opposite.’ There was a single bent nail in the wall.
She paused, her breathing ragged. ‘And it’s still got that horrible smell. I’ll never forget it.’ She gave a little sob, her eyes filling with tears.
‘And what about the scratches?’
She moved again, and examined the wall where she claimed the bed had been.
Eventually she answered, ‘They’re here. They’re still here. Exactly where I told you. Look.’
She traced two tiny, barely visible scratches in the paint with her finger. She was smiling widely now, the tears forgotten, clearly elated. I moved closer, and the scratches resolved into three shakily executed letters: EBC.
ABDUCTED: THE ELLIE CANNING STORY
A documentary by HeldHostage Productions © 2019
ELLIE CANNING: TRANSCRIPT N11
One night the woman came down and said she’d had some good news. She didn’t usually tell me anything about her life, so I was intrigued. Anyway, I asked her what the news was and she pulled this thing out of her pocket and held it up. It was one of those sticks you pee on to see if you’re pregnant.
‘Look’ she said. ‘Two stripes. That’s a positive.’ And then she gave me this really strange smile and said, ‘So it looks like we won’t be needing you after all, my darling.’
And that’s when I really woke up.
HONOR: AUGUST 2018
HONOR THOUGHT LONG AND HARD BEFORE SHE TOOK THE phone call. She’d been expecting it, but it was still hard to know exactly what to say, how to phrase it. She knew there was going to be some regret, even sadness. A sense of bewilderment too; it had all moved so far, so fast. It was going to start moving even faster soon, she could feel it. Fortunately, she had managed to arrange a television interview just hours before Suzannah’s arrest was made public. The girl had made a good impression. She’d been calm, hadn’t exaggerated; if anything she’d underplayed her terror, had made very little of the bravery of her escape. Honor’s phone hadn’t stopped dinging since it aired. She hadn’t even looked at what was happening online, but assumed that #EllieCanning was currently trending. That the Twitterati were mobilising in support of her – building a sympathetic, eager-to-hear-more audience. Or should it be fan base? The story was already big, but now that the motive behind the abduction was public knowledge it was going to get even bigger. So making sure that Suzannah understood exactly where she stood was vital. A line needed to be drawn if Honor was to stay in control.
‘Hi. Suzannah.’ She was unexpectedly nervous. ‘How are you?’
‘How am I?’ Suzannah gave a not-quite laugh. ‘I guess I feel like I’m stuck in a nightmare. Like life’s just taken a turn for the surreal.’
Honor could hear the barely controlled terror in Suzannah’s voice. She sounded manic, like she was on something.
‘I guess you know . . . of course you know. I’ve been charged, but I’m out on bail.’
‘I did hear. Yes.’
‘I just saw that Channel 10 interview with the girl, and apparently it’s going viral. A colleague from school rang to tell me there’s some Twitter account called @JusticeForEllie, and they’re putting up old videos of me – photoshopping them and making it look as if I’m some sort of maniac. I can’t even look. Anyway, I thought you might have some idea about what I should do – or if there’s anything I can do – about what they’re saying.’
The silence stretched out as Honor tried to work out how to say what needed to be said. ‘I can’t do that, Suzannah. There’s a conflict.’
‘A conflict?’
‘I’m representing Ellie. Until this is all over, I really shouldn’t talk to you. I certainly can’t give you any advice.’
Suzannah gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘You mean that until this is all over we aren’t friends?’
‘I suppose.’ She made sure her reluctance was clear.
‘And after, when it’s all over? What? I’m supposed to pretend it never happened?’
Honor said nothing.
‘And how do you imagine this will ever be over?’
Honor could feel the heat of the other woman’s anger, even over the phone. ‘You know that one of us must be lying. That it’s either her or me.’
‘Yes. Of course I do.’
‘And so you’ve made your decision? You’ve chosen her?’
‘I’m a professional. I have to. It’s got nothing to do with what I believe.’
‘Nothing to do with what you believe? That’s absurd.’
‘I’m legally contracted to advise Ellie, to manage her interests to the best of my ability. It’s my job. I can’t just dump her now. She’s only a kid, and she’s got no other support. Her mother – well, her mother can’t help. She’s got no one else.’
‘And doesn’t that make you wonder, Honor? The fact that she has no one else? Maybe there’s something wrong with her. Maybe she’s damaged. Sick. Why else would she be saying these terrible things?’
‘From what I can see the girl’s as psychologically healthy as anyone could be after this sort of experience. And it makes no difference. I can’t dump her now. It wouldn’t be ethical. Handling this sort of situation is impossible, even when you’re an adult. All the media attention – it can be completely disorienting. You know that better than anyone. And Ellie’s only a child. It could destroy her.’
‘But what about me? I’ve been charged with abducting someone I’ve never even seen before. This girl’s delusions could end up sending me to jail. Jail. For years.’
‘I don’t think it’s going to come to that.’ Honor tried to be reassuring, but the other woman disregarded her efforts, her voice rising.
‘And you know I’m preg
nant, don’t you?’
‘So I heard. Congra—’
‘So what’s going to happen to my baby if I have to go to jail?’
‘Oh, Suzannah, I’m sure it’s all going to work out. I’ve told the police, and Ellie for that matter, what I think. How unbelievable this all is . . .’ Honor broke off, took a deep breath. ‘And I want you to know that I would never . . . I would never have taken her on if I’d known you were involved.’
‘But I’m not.’ Suzannah’s indignation made the phone vibrate. ‘I’m not involved. That’s the thing. The girl has accused me, but it’s insane. I’ve never even seen her before.’
Honor waited a beat. Two, three, four.
‘Okay.’ Her response was painfully neutral.
‘Well, thank you for being honest. I guess we won’t be seeing you in the near future?’ Suzannah was clearly making an effort to contain her emotion, but Honor could hear the slight tremor.
‘No. I guess not. It wouldn’t be . . . appropriate.’ Having to speak so bluntly made her voice harsh, and the silence that followed was drawn out, potent.
Then: ‘Honor?’
‘Yes?’
‘You must know it’s not true, what the girl is saying. You do know that, don’t you? She’s lying. You’ve been here. You know me.’
‘Perhaps . . . perhaps there’s just been some terrible . . . mistake?’ Honor knew that Suzannah wanted her to proclaim her faith in her with some sort of certainty. But she couldn’t.
‘A mistake. That’s what you think. Really?’
‘I don’t know. I can only go on what Ellie says. Whatever it is that the police have found. I have to go with that. That’s all any of us can do.’
‘But what about what I have to say?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why doesn’t that mean as much?’
Honor took another deep breath. ‘But there’s so much evidence. Her memories. The DNA. It can’t be ignored. And what reason would Ellie have to lie? I can’t see it.’
‘But what reason would I have for doing what she says I’ve done? That makes no sense either. Why would I want to keep her here – to impregnate her, for God’s sake? It’s grotesque. It’s not as if I was trying to get pregnant. I haven’t even thought about having a baby since . . .’ She paused. ‘This pregnancy came completely out of the blue. It was an accident.’
‘Look,’ Honor was completely businesslike now, ‘there’s no point in going over this with me. This is stuff you have to discuss with Hal – and the police. I’m just Ellie’s agent. There’s nothing I can do about it.’
This time Suzannah’s response was slow in coming, and her words were measured. ‘Okay. You’re right. Of course there’s nothing you can do. I’ll talk to Hal.’ She sounded calm, but Honor could feel the sharp edge of the other woman’s fear.
Suzannah might have trained as an actress, but she was out of practice. Or maybe the part was way out of her league.
ABDUCTED: THE ELLIE CANNING STORY
A documentary by HeldHostage Productions © 2019
ELLIE CANNING: TRANSCRIPT N12
I had to get away. And I had to do it fast. I knew there was no way I was going to escape if it involved some sort of physical confrontation. I’d been in bed for so long, and even if I wasn’t so out of it anymore – I’d been trying not to eat or drink too much – I was still pretty weak. The only way I’d even have a chance of escaping was if I could stop the woman from locking the restraint.
I told her I needed to pee, so she undid the belt thing and helped me to the toilet. After she’d locked it back up, I distracted her by knocking the bowl of soup she’d brought me onto the carpet. She had to go into the bathroom to get a wet cloth, and while she was gone I grabbed her keys, which she’d left on the bedside table, and unlocked the belt. By the time she finished cleaning up, I’d pretended to fall back asleep. She wasn’t suspicious – she just kissed me goodnight and left.
After she’d gone I waited for what felt like forever. I didn’t have a clue what time it was, it was always dark in the room when the light was off, but I assumed it was night. I heard doors closing and footsteps and muffled voices from upstairs. And then finally, when it was completely silent, I got out of bed and tiptoed across to the door. I don’t know what I’d have done if she’d locked it, but she hadn’t – there wasn’t any point was there? I was out of the room. There were two staircases, one on the left and one on the right, so I had to choose. I didn’t have a clue where either of them led, but I chose one and crept up, hoping the door at the top would also be unlocked.
Actually making it to the top of the stairs was like really hard. I’d barely used my legs for weeks, other than the walks to the bathroom, and I was so shaky and nervous that I actually crawled up. I was scared the door at the top might be locked, but it opened easily too. I remember it creaking a little, but nothing happened. There was a light on, so I could see that the door opened into the hall, and then at the end of the hall was the front door. I crept down the hallway to the front door, and then I was out.
That’s when I really started to be afraid. More scared than I’d ever been in the room. I almost wanted to go back inside, to get back in the bed pull up the covers and go back to sleep. There was no moon that night, so once I got past the house it was really dark; it took ages for my eyes to adjust. It was really cold too – I hadn’t expected that. All I had were those silky pyjamas she’d given me. I had socks, but no shoes. I followed the driveway down past the mailbox, and then I walked along the road trying to get as far away as I could. My legs still weren’t working properly so it was slow going.
After that it’s all a bit of a blur. I think I must have walked for hours. I had no idea which way to head, so I went one way along the road and then the other. Then I got even more confused – I couldn’t work out where I’d escaped from, which driveway was safe to go down . . . And I was feeling kinda crazy and paranoid. Worried that wherever I went, maybe the people would be in on it, that it was some sort of giant conspiracy. I mean I had no idea what was really going on. It was like one of those crazy movies where they’ve been in some sort of alternative reality where everyone’s actually aliens.
I was hoping I’d get to a town or something, where there was somewhere safe I could go to – a servo or a police station, something like that. But I was literally in the middle of nowhere. I just kept walking and walking and eventually I was so tired and cold I could barely stand up. And then I saw that hut and went in, and there was that disgusting old blanket . . . and I just wrapped it around me and collapsed.
SUZANNAH: AUGUST 2018
I WOKE UP TO THE FAMILIAR LOW MURMUR OF THE OCEAN – A sound from my childhood. I closed my eyes again, thinking I must still be asleep, waiting for this pleasant dream to fade, another to take its place, but the incoming tide of nausea assured me that I was truly awake, and that the waves of sound were real.
I’d just worked out that the noise was, bizarrely, the sound of traffic – when Chip came into the room.
‘It’s the fucking media.’ He spat the words, clearly agitated.
‘What?’
‘There are television crews down at the end of the drive, and I don’t know who else. Newspaper journos. Podcasters. Sightseers, probably. I don’t fucking know. There’s at least a dozen vans out there. A couple actually started coming up the drive, so I threatened them. I’ve closed the gate and padlocked it, so they can’t get in.’
‘What did you threaten them with?’
I was expecting strong language, maybe even a lawsuit.
‘My twenty-two.’ He grinned unexpectedly. ‘Don’t worry – it wasn’t loaded.’
‘Oh, shit.’ I pulled the covers over my head and closed my eyes, visualised a sunshiny morning on a tropical island. Lapping water. A hammock swaying between palm trees. This was clearly the wrong image for someone in my condition, and I only just made it to the bathroom in time.
The three of us ate breakfast together. Chip
was talking to his brother on the phone, breaking off occasionally to relay information and give out terse directions.
‘Hal says you’re both to stay inside,’ he said. ‘They’ll probably have some sort of supersonic telephoto lens . . . He says it’s possible they’ll jump the fence, so they could be in the yard. If they get to the door, you’re not to answer it. And you’re not to take any phone calls from numbers you don’t know. Actually, you should turn your mobile off. Pull the plug on the home phone. If anyone desperately needs you they can call Hal. And, Suzannah, he says you should probably stay away from the internet too. Whatever you do, don’t google yourself.’
Chip disconnected. He stared into space for a moment, then stood up. ‘I’m going over to my place. I’ll go through the back paddock so they can’t see me. I’m going to bring the dogs back. That should make them think twice about coming any closer. You two stay inside until I get back.’
Mary had barely spoken a word all morning. She sat at the breakfast bar, hunched over her bowl protectively, spooning soggy Froot Loops into her mouth. She was taking longer than seemed humanly possible to swallow each spoonful, sloshing them around noisily in her mouth. I avoided watching her as I nibbled my dry toast.
As soon as Chip left she perked up. ‘I wanna go up to the mailbox again, Suzy. Why can’t we go?’ The ends of her hair drifted into the milky mess of her bowl.
‘Chip says we need to stay inside. There are people up there that we don’t want to talk to.’
‘People?’ Her eyes lit up. ‘Why don’t we want to see them?’
‘Because . . . because they’ll want to talk to us, and we don’t want to talk to them.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because they’re not our friends.’
Mary leaned towards me, her soaked dressing-gown sleeve smearing milk across the table, and whispered conspiratorially, ‘Oh, Suzannah. Haven’t you noticed? You and me, we don’t really have any friends. We’re just not that type.’