The Hanging
Page 2
IRIS: I stink of hospital.
FLINT: You can have one after the interview.
IRIS: I’ll be two seconds.
FLINT: Iris wait. / Iris—
IRIS: Too late.
IRIS exits.
IRIS climbs the stairs.
The sound of a shower running upstairs.
MS CORROSSI appears in the room, carrying a supermarket green bag full of assignments.
CORROSSI: It’s an oven out there.
Bats dropping dead from the trees, would you believe? You can smell their rotting carcasses cooking on the asphalt. It’s a tinderbox up in the Ranges and they say the cool change won’t arrive until the early hours of the morning. It seems we must suffer until then. Whoever designed this hideous monolith should be taken out and shot.
FLINT: View’s alright.
CORROSSI: The rising tide? One day this will all be underwater.
FLINT: Mrs Corrossi—
CORROSSI: Corrossi.
FLINT: Corrossi.
CORROSSI: No, listening.
Corrossi.
FLINT: Corrossi.
CORROSSI: Nearly but no.
Corrossi.
FLINT: Corrossi.
CORROSSI: Again.
FLINT: Corrossi.
CORROSSI: Again.
Pause.
FLINT: Corrossi.
CORROSSI: Correct.
FLINT: Mrs Corrossi—
CORROSSI: No.
FLINT: Sorry?
CORROSSI: It’s Ms.
I’m not married never have been never will be. Marriage is a euphemism for prostitution.
FLINT: Ten years. What does that make me?
CORROSSI: I’ll let you work that out. Now perhaps you can tell me why I’ve been summoned in the middle of Year Eleven double English?
FLINT passes his card to CORROSSI.
FLINT: Detective Flint. Missing Persons.
CORROSSI: Any relation to the Amanda Flint I taught at Hill’s View?
FLINT: Don’t think so.
CORROSSI: Twenty years ago.
FLINT: Not that I’m aware of.
CORROSSI: Certain? There’s a likeness.
FLINT: Unlikely. Mrs Corrossi—
CORROSSI: Short-term memory?
FLINT: Water, Ms Corrossi?
CORROSSI: Anything stronger?
FLINT: Just the water.
CORROSSI: I brought my own.
She takes a flask from her bag, shakes it.
Water.
Beat.
You’ve found them.
FLINT: Just one at this stage.
CORROSSI: Who?
FLINT: Iris.
CORROSSI: —
FLINT: She turned up five days ago.
CORROSSI: Where?
FLINT: Police station in Deer Park, / early hours of the morning.
CORROSSI: What was she doing in the western suburbs?
FLINT: She was in quite a state.
CORROSSI: Describe it. Her state. Use an adjective.
FLINT: She was hysterical by all reports.
CORROSSI: ‘Hysteria’: from the Latin ‘hystericus’. Originally defined as a ‘neurotic condition particular to women thought to be caused by a dysfunction of the uterus’. That adjective’s a bit outdated, don’t you think, Detective? Try another.
FLINT: Distressed, then. Okay?
CORROSSI: Adequate.
FLINT: She was dehydrated, disoriented. Minor sunburn, scratches on the face, arms and neck. Nothing serious. We’ve run some tests.
CORROSSI: Yes, what tests?
FLINT: Drug, alcohol, assault.
CORROSSI: And?
FLINT: She hasn’t been raped, if that’s what you’re thinking.
CORROSSI: Why hasn’t this information been released?
FLINT: It’s not in the interests of the public.
CORROSSI: This is Maidstone controlling the narrative.
FLINT: The parents’ instructions actually.
Pause.
CORROSSI: Where’s Iris?
FLINT: She’ll be down in a minute.
CORROSSI: She’s here?
FLINT: She’s having a shower.
FLINT indicates upstairs.
CORROSSI: Is she?
Where’s she been all this time?
FLINT: A private psychiatric facility in Daylesford.
CORROSSI: Restrained.
FLINT: Recuperating.
CORROSSI: The others? No sign of them?
FLINT: Not yet.
CORROSSI: What does Iris have to say for herself?
FLINT: She says she can’t remember.
CORROSSI: Do you believe her?
FLINT: Why wouldn’t I?
CORROSSI: Sudden onset amnesia?
FLINT: Could be drugs—
CORROSSI: You said—
FLINT: —trauma …
CORROSSI: Or she’s lying?
FLINT: Perhaps she’s afraid.
CORROSSI: Of what?
FLINT: I don’t know yet.
That’s why I’d like to speak with her further.
Beat.
CORROSSI: I don’t see how I could be of any / use—
FLINT: She nominated you.
CORROSSI: What for, teacher of the year?
FLINT: She’s fourteen. I can’t legally interview her without a parent or support person present.
CORROSSI: So where are they? The parents.
FLINT: Iris has refused to talk to them.
CORROSSI: I don’t blame her.
FLINT: You know them?
CORROSSI: I’ve met the mother. Parent-teacher interviews. Too many nips and tucks and the personality of a lump of plasticine.
FLINT: And the father?
CORROSSI: Major donor. The school gymnasium is named after him. Iris specifically asked for her English teacher?
FLINT: That’s right.
CORROSSI: Ms Corrossi, who gave her a fifty-two percent last semester?
FLINT: She must trust you.
CORROSSI: Trust me?
FLINT: You are her teacher.
CORROSSI: —
FLINT: I suggested the school’s chaplain—
CORROSSI groans.
—she nearly had a fit.
CORROSSI: She’s prone to those.
FLINT: The only person she’d talk to was you.
CORROSSI: So I’ve been subpoenaed by a fourteen-year-old.
FLINT: She needs your support.
Beat.
CORROSSI: Of course.
Pause.
FLINT: She well liked?
CORROSSI: Quite the opposite until recently.
FLINT: What changed?
CORROSSI: Suddenly the other girls became her B.F.F.s.
Acronym for—
FLINT: Best Friends Forever.
Beat.
CORROSSI: Iris? Typical of her generation, she’s a narcissist. They think they’re constantly being watched by others who are obsessed with the smallest details of their insignificant lives. I call it the imaginary audience syndrome. They’re all celebrities in their own little feature films. It’s epidemic in that age group.
FLINT: So it’s fair to say she’s not the teacher’s pet?
CORROSSI: I don’t have pets.
FLINT: Every teacher has a pet.
CORROSSI: I’m allergic.
FLINT: To teenagers?
CORROSSI: It’s a type of tinnitus. Flares up when I’m around them.
FLINT: And yet you teach at a college.
CORROSSI: Pays the mortgage.
FLINT: I’d have thought liking teenagers was a basic prerequisite of your position.
CORROSSI: You don’t know many teachers, do you?
FLINT: I knew a few.
CORROSSI: Oh yes?
FLINT: At school.
CORROSSI: I bet they adored you.
FLINT: We had our moments.
CORROSSI: Do you like criminals, Detective?
FLINT: Not as a rule /
no—
CORROSSI: No, so there you go.
In theory, given proper guidance teenagers will in time grow out of their awful aching adolescence and into mature, marginally decent human beings. In theory. Increasingly, in this country at least, they remain juveniles their entire lives. We are a terminally pubescent nation. The man who owns this monstrosity is a perfect example. He lives here, does he? Iris’s father? This is his ‘home’, is it?
FLINT: One of them.
CORROSSI: One of many I’m sure.
FLINT: So far the press don’t know we’re here.
CORROSSI: Give them time.
FLINT: I’d like to keep it that way.
CORROSSI: Good luck.
Where do they normally reside? The parents.
FLINT: Toorak.
CORROSSI: Of course they do.
FLINT: News crews camped out the front. That’s why we’re here. We prefer to question juveniles in a safe but familiar place away from police stations and schools.
CORROSSI: That’s wise. The school’s been under siege all week. Cameras shoved in students’ faces day and night. The Principal has warned the girls on threat of suspension not to say a whisper to the media. You know I was roughed up exiting the gates with your two young constables just now? Lost my shoe in the fray. I told the constable, the one with the pustular acne, that it was custom-made by my podiatrist and he had to fetch it. Peripheral arterial disease. That’s the thanks I get for three decades teaching on my feet in a futile attempt to halt civilisation’s collapse one teenage mind at a time. The constable managed to reclaim the shoe but not before my new stockings were ripped.
FLINT: Sorry to hear that.
CORROSSI: You didn’t do it, did you?
FLINT: No—
CORROSSI: Why are you sorry then? Damage is done, stockings ripped, and I’ve been dragged into this. The press are already plotting their headlines, wondering how the old bitch is mixed up in this.
FLINT: I’m sure you’ve nothing to worry about.
CORROSSI: You don’t think I’ve skeletons in my closet?
FLINT: You don’t seem the type.
CORROSSI: Too old?
FLINT: No.
CORROSSI: Because I’m a woman?
FLINT: Not at all.
CORROSSI: English teacher?
FLINT: That’s probably it.
CORROSSI: You obviously don’t watch crime drama. It’s always the ones you least expect.
FLINT: In real life it’s generally the ones you first suspect.
CORROSSI: In your experience?
FLINT: Nine times out of ten.
CORROSSI: Why don’t you solve more crimes then?
FLINT: We do our best.
CORROSSI: That’s the attitude of half of my students. They expect an A for effort. I don’t care how much their parents are paying, I’m not afraid to fail them. It’s probably how I get my name. Do you know what they call me, the girls at Maidstone? Vinegar Tits.
FLINT: That’s unfortunate.
CORROSSI: I quite like it. I don’t trust optimists. The school chaplain for instance.
FLINT: Arial.
CORROSSI: You’ve spoken?
FLINT: We’ve interviewed all the staff at Maidstone.
CORROSSI: Including the janitor I hope? Now there’s an overused trope. Close-ups of the janitor watching the investigation unfold from their ride-on lawnmower. They always have a few small children locked in their cellar.
FLINT: I’m sure he was on the list.
CORROSSI: He’s a she actually.
FLINT: Really?
CORROSSI: Maidstone has a strict oestrogen-only employment policy.
FLINT: My mistake.
CORROSSI: You spoke to the chaplain?
FLINT: That’s correct.
CORROSSI: I call her ‘The Bird’. All she eats is chia. Now she’s an optimist. Someone could take a shit in her coconut water and she’d still see the bright side and drink it. If the ship she was on was sinking she’d go down singing the songs of Celine Dion.
FLINT: I get the picture.
CORROSSI: That’s the problem with humanity. The ship is sinking and the songs haven’t stopped.
FLINT: You’re a cheery one.
CORROSSI: If you’re not depressed you’re not really thinking.
FLINT: Is that what you tell your students?
CORROSSI: I don’t tell them anything, Detective. I teach them to ask questions. It’s called the Socratic method. Socrates. Heard of him? No, too busy kicking pigskin around at school.
FLINT: Polyester and rubber.
CORROSSI: —
FLINT: I played soccer.
CORROSSI: The Socratic method …
She pauses for FLINT’s attention.
Listening?
And now she has it she can continue.
… is a form of inquiry and discussion between individuals based on asking and answering questions to stimulate critical thinking. Now while the vast majority of journalists in this country are certainly not critical thinkers they tend to be very good at asking undesirable questions. This is the hottest news story of the year. Three girls disappear from their elite boarding school. No new developments since they vanished … The press are like starving dogs, if you don’t throw the bastards a bone they’ll dig one up.
FLINT: I don’t intend to throw them anything.
CORROSSI: Time will tell.
FLINT: I understand you’ve been off work this week?
CORROSSI: I returned a day ago.
FLINT: Interesting timing.
Pause.
CORROSSI: Don’t suppose I can smoke in here?
FLINT: No.
CORROSSI: I’ll just roll one for later.
She searches through her handbag for her pouch of tobacco. She rolls several cigarettes.
She’s taking an eternity in the shower. Has she no regard for the water restrictions?
FLINT: Is there somewhere you need to be, Ms Corrossi?
CORROSSI: It’s Friday afternoon so I’d rather be curled up with a cab sauv watching my favourite Scandinavian crime drama but the truth is I have two hundred essays here to mark before Tuesday. You see this mountain here. Ninety-nine percent of those will be derivative dribble.
FLINT: Two girls are missing, Ms Corrossi. They’ve been missing for almost a week. In that time they haven’t accessed funds or used / their mobile phones since—
CORROSSI: I know all this—
FLINT: Can I finish?
CORROSSI: You may not.
FLINT: —
CORROSSI: The correct grammar is may I, not can I.
FLINT: I’m not one of your students.
CORROSSI: If you were you’d know the difference.
Beat.
FLINT: The girls haven’t accessed funds or used their mobile phones since their disappearance. It appears the batteries in their phones have been removed. The police have conducted extensive interviews with friends, family and staff at the school and they’ve searched locations the girls have been known to frequent. Three days ago Iris ran into a police station in a state of considerable—distress. She has no memory of the previous forty-eight hours.
CORROSSI: And your conclusion is what?
Are they injured, lost …?
FLINT: —
CORROSSI: You think they’ve met with foul play?
FLINT: —
CORROSSI: It’s a terrorist attack? A kidnap?
FLINT: I didn’t say that.
CORROSSI: There’s been a ransom note?
FLINT: No.
CORROSSI: It’s a theory though?
FLINT: —
CORROSSI: Everyone’s got one, out there on the streets, the journalists, the clairvoyants, even the pharmacist. The Herald Sun printed an imaginative list. Did you see it? A clairvoyant from Queanbeyan is convinced they’ve been abducted by aliens. My favourite is that ISIS is behind it. Have you heard the one about the Chinese yet? What’s yours, Detective?
&nbs
p; FLINT: They’ve been missing for six days.
CORROSSI: One hundred and forty-four hours and counting.
FLINT: Ninety-five percent of missing people reappear within a week.
CORROSSI: What’s your point?
FLINT: They’re very pretty girls.
Beat.
CORROSSI: You’ve cast them as victims. Little Red Riding Hoods lost in the woods.
FLINT: I’ve met a lot of wolves.
CORROSSI: Have you?
You seem a bit soft to me—
FLINT: Soft?
CORROSSI: —more like a preschool teacher than a policeman.
FLINT: I’ve a background in child protection.
CORROSSI: They’re not children.
FLINT: They’re not adults either.
Pause.
CORROSSI: You know they may have simply run away? It is a teenage cliché and quite possibly so they didn’t have to deliver the essay that was due the day they disappeared.
Pause.
Perhaps they just needed a break. A few days of freedom from that prison.
FLINT: You think Maidstone is a prison?
CORROSSI: Alcatraz for adolescents.
FLINT: Parents are paying thirty grand a year to incarcerate their daughters?
CORROSSI: Plus all the extras. Still the girls dream of escape. Sick to death of routine, rules, order, they plot and plan all year. Running away! I hear the boarders whispering in the corridors. Most are too timid to go through with it, to put the dream into action. They’re fearful of the repercussions of course, suspension, expulsion, a mark against their name, a shadow across their precious CVs. But what if—?
FLINT: What if …?
CORROSSI: —what if for some reason these three girls summoned the courage to do it?
FLINT: Do what exactly, Ms Corrossi?
CORROSSI: Transgress.
Open the gates, cross the threshold.
FLINT: You sound impressed?
CORROSSI: Ever done it, Detective?
FLINT: ?
CORROSSI: Broken the rules?
Beat.
FLINT: You tutored one of the girls?
CORROSSI: Hannah.
FLINT: Every Sunday afternoon, right?
CORROSSI: That’s correct.
FLINT: At your home?
CORROSSI: Yes.
FLINT: Why there?
CORROSSI: It was convenient.
FLINT: To who?
CORROSSI: To whom.
FLINT: —
CORROSSI: To me, obviously.
FLINT: Is that unusual?
CORROSSI: I don’t think so.
FLINT: You live alone?
CORROSSI: Until recently I lived with my elderly mother.
She died. Couple of months ago.
FLINT: Sorry to hear that.