by Leanne Hall
‘Well anyway—’ I say, right at the same moment she says, ‘I’ll think about it?’
And then it’s even more awks for sure and I juggle the paperback I took off the shelves from hand to hand and Chloe jumps in, trying to save this sinking ship.
‘The real history of Hanging Rock is more interesting than that book.’
‘You’ve read it already?’
Chloe nods but only for a split second before she realises she has done a big fat nerd tell. She read this term’s English texts last holidays, in advance, I know it. Maybe she even read them all before the beginning of the year.
‘All that spooky fictional stuff distracts from the actual meaning and history, which is that the rock is an important ceremonial place, and huge numbers of the traditional owners were murdered in the area by settlers or died from introduced disease or got forcibly moved to missions.’
I look doubtfully at the beautiful lily-white girl on the cover. ‘That’s…disturbing,’ I say, and then I run out of things to add. I focus all my mental energy on the carpet beneath me, but the floor refuses to gape open and swallow me. I didn’t do anything to stop that tasteless too-many-Asians conversation in art class and now I have nothing to say about our country’s genocide so I’m pretty much living up to the low standard of who I’m supposed to be.
‘Look up the history,’ says Chloe. ‘It’s true.’
‘I will.’ I rise to my feet and I’m about to go when I turn back and say, ‘Do you know why we’re not studying this anymore?’
Chloe’s cheeks are flushed; she blushes a lot when people speak to her. ‘I guess, because it’s about missing girls?’
That sort of stops me dead for a moment and then I do this jerky head nod and continue on my way, singing to myself la la la because it seems like the teachers actively want us to never think about Yin again and at the loans desk Mrs Berryman looks at me like I’m trying to steal Picnic at Hanging Rock, not borrow it.
‘It’s not on your English list anymore,’ she says.
‘I know.’ I slap my library card down. ‘And yet, here I am.’
I put my world-mufflers back on while she says something else, but she might as well be talking to me through a tin can and string. No, scratch that. She might as well be talking to me from a very distant planet.
DAY 19
The pretence of normal lasts until about two minutes into History when Mr Wright announces that a police officer is gatecrashing and before you know it, there she is in the doorway.
They’ve picked a young policewoman so that we can relate to her and everything, but quite frankly I’m surprised that Mrs Christie has let us be exposed to the people in blue at all. The principal has been blowing off steam about predatory journalists after several students were approached at the Junction last week, and you pretty much get the feeling she would like to turn Balmoral into a moat-circled fortress, inside of which we put equal effort into protecting our virginities and our grades.
This is how the policewoman starts:
‘Hi, I’m Celeste, and I’m part of the team investigating Yin’s disappearance.’
She uses Yin’s name, but she doesn’t say ‘home invasion’ or ‘abduction’ like they do on the news. Disappearance is a watered-down, inaccurate word and I immediately get an itch on the back of my knees.
The policewoman sits on the edge of the teacher’s desk, like Nouri does, and she kicks her feet as she talks and she has her hair in a low bun and they’ve picked her well because with her countryish round freckled face you might trust her so much you’d be able to tell her anything.
‘It must have been a really scary couple of weeks for you, so I’ve come in today to tell you what’s going on and answer any questions you have.’
She runs over the official police line, but it’s the same as what’s on the TV and in the papers and what I hear when I eavesdrop on my parents’ phone calls to their friends by picking up the spare phone in the entertainment room. My head starts up with the blah blah blah and prickly fire creeps up my legs and I have to refocus hard.
‘We have forty people working on this case, and we’re looking at every possible angle and taking every phone call we receive very seriously. We’re working around the clock to find Yin, and we want to get her home as much as you do.’
She makes it sound like they can bring Yin home, like that’s still a possibility, but that can’t be true, can it? Not now. The hot prickles wrap around me and it’s unbearable but I stay still in this forest of alert green-and-orange backs and watch.
What I see is that Petra sits straightest of all in the front row, with her hands resting on a piece of paper covered with writing, staring at the policewoman like she would never break eye contact in a million years, not even if the room caught on fire. This is normal for Petra, because she is literally trying to hoover the knowledge from every corner of the room, all the time, and you can’t even stand near her for fear of your brain getting vacuumed. But there’s an extra level of hoovering today.
We’re all listening when the policewoman says, ‘I know you’ve been told not to talk to the media, so I have to tell you that some outlets will be running reports this week on something new. The police will be confirming at a press conference very soon that we’re looking for a serial offender.’
Petra jolts in her seat like she’s received an electric shock, but the rest of the class are a little more confused, looking at their friends, screwing up their faces.
‘What that means is that we’re now certain that we’re looking for someone who has done this before.’
That sets everyone whispering, wriggling, flapping. Celeste soldiers on calmly.
‘In the next few days we’ll be releasing a detailed profile of who we’re looking for, what this person might be like. What the media will say is that this person has to be connected with your school.’
Celeste scans the room, grave but calm. A buzzing noise builds in my head, threatening to drown everything out. I shouldn’t be confused at all because I remember what Ol’ X-Ray-Eyes Chapman said about the FBI and this is probably what he meant. A profile.
‘That connection is not confirmed. This person might be connected with Balmoral, maybe even very remotely connected, or they might have nothing to do at all with your school. We’re considering a large number of cases to determine if they’re linked. Are there any questions?’
Is it more likely that Yin is dead now, or less likely? Wasps are loose in the room.
Milla puts up her hand. ‘Why did you let the guy on the CCTV footage go?’
‘We investigated him thoroughly. He has no criminal record, a solid alibi for the night in question, and no unexplained absences.’
‘What do you mean by “unexplained absences”? Is that something we should be looking for?’ Anusha forgets to raise her hand.
‘It means if someone suddenly changes their routine and is out of the house a lot more, or goes on holidays or weekends away more than usual. That’s all.’
I try to will someone to ask the right questions, but they don’t. My earlobes get oh-so-hot so I tug on them and still the buzzing grows louder.
Bridie lifts her hand. ‘Is it true that we should pee ourselves if someone attacks us? Or say we have our period?’
Our self-defence teacher had been no help on this matter. Mr Wright tries to chameleon himself into the whiteboard.
Celeste is stoic. ‘If you ever feel physically threatened by anyone it’s better to focus on getting away from them, or attracting attention and help.’
This isn’t enough for Bridie. ‘I have another one. Should we try to escape or should we not try to escape?’
Everyone knows that she’s asking because of the ‘In the Unlikely Event of ’ email.
‘No one involved in the investigation thinks that this offender will strike again in the near future,’ is all that Celeste will say.
Predictably, Petra’s hand shoots up, shoots for the sky. She wiggles her fingers an
d bounces in her seat like we all used to do in Junior School before we realised how dorky that looks.
‘About the profile and the other cases and the possible connection to the school,’ she says in that posh debating-team voice of hers. She’s holding a piece of paper in her hands as if she’s prepared notes for a speech. ‘What about Emma-Maree Jones? Don’t you think that her abduction is important? She was on the waiting list for Balmoral.’
Celeste finally looks freaked. She whispers to Mr Wright and he hands her a whiteboard marker. He has to push her over to the smart-board side so she doesn’t write on the actual wall. She writes ‘PREJUDICIAL’ in large letters on the board.
‘We understand that you’re all really worried about Yin, and you need to air your worries, but some of the information that’s being shared could affect the court case when we catch the perpetrator.’
Petra’s arm goes ballistic again but Celeste ignores it.
‘We’ve already had to shut down the “Find Yin Mitchell” page and a few others that have cropped up. It’s not because we don’t want you to be informed, it’s because we’re trying to protect the investigation, and Yin and her family.’
‘I know what prejudicial means,’ Petra calls out again in a desperate voice. ‘My father is a barrister. But you haven’t answered my question.’
Before I know what’s happening my arm shoots up, pushing through the hot prickling and the buzzing. I look up at it in surprise, as if it’s not attached to my body. Celeste looks relieved to take my question instead of answering Petra’s.
The words tumble out hard and fast like marbles.
‘Firstly, is it true that most kidnap victims are dead within the first twenty-four hours of being taken?’
The room gasps and grows restless. Petra turns in her seat with her mouth hanging open. I realise that what I really, really want is to smash everything in here: the mood, the hope, the furniture.
‘Secondly, why are you saying “the person” and “the perpetrator” when really what you mean is “the man”? It’s a guy we’re looking for, everyone knows that it’s men that do this sort of thing, and they’re likely to keep going until they’re caught. You only have to look at the statistics.’
My voice is loud and powerful. Everyone turns to look at me.
Mr Wright looks plenty red in the face. He actually gets a hankie out of his pocket and wipes his forehead. I’ve probably offended him in his sensitive man parts.
Petra speaks again. ‘There are a few cases where married couples have killed together…’ Her voice trails off when she sees the way I look at her.
I realise that sometime in the last minute I’ve stood up. ‘Just tell us, is she still alive, or not?’
Celeste looks genuinely stricken. ‘I’m so sorry, I know how difficult this is, but we don’t know. We’re trying to remain hopeful.’ She walks around the room, handing out her business card to each of us, along with an understanding look. ‘You can contact me about anything. I realise it’s a lot to ask, but if you could keep what we’ve discussed today within your school friends and family, that would help us a lot.’
Mr Wright claps his hands, probably keen to put a stop to all the emotion. ‘Thank you, officer.’ He escorts her to the door.
The class erupts, and for once Mr Wright doesn’t try to contain it. When the sound dies down slightly he raises his hands.
‘Girls, can I remind you that Miss Starcke and Mr O’Connor are available to speak to if you’re worried about this.’
No one listens to him.
While everyone is deep in conversation I zip over to Petra’s desk and grab her sheet of paper. Audrey is telling her how amazing her questions were and Petra is lapping it up as she always does.
‘I need to go to the bathroom,’ I tell Mr Wright and he can’t stop me.
Celeste the policewoman is still visible at the end of the corridor but I’m only interested in Petra’s piece of paper. I slump against the lockers to read it.
6 years ago—Lisa Wu—10 years old—abduction, 2 hours, returned safely, no connection to Balmoral?
5 years ago—Emma-Maree Jones—12 years old—attempted abduction, on waiting list for Balmoral
3 years ago—Karolina Bauer—14 years old—abduction, 20 hours, returned safely, exchange student at Balmoral
2 weeks ago—Yin Mitchell—16 years old—abduction, Balmoral student, still not returned
The list is so clinical, so unexpected.
I look at the words ‘returned safely’ next to Lisa Wu and Karolina Bauer’s names. Why is it different with Yin? Two weeks have passed, which is so much more than twenty hours, so why hasn’t she been released?
The bell must have rung because the corridor floods with girls. A pair of shiny shoes come into my line of vision. Petra stands with her hand out, a tight expression on her face.
‘Where did you get this from?’ I ask.
‘It’s mostly from the Cold Crimes website.’ She swallows. Her voice is barely audible above the clamour of locker doors slamming and people stampeding their way to the next class. ‘There are a lot of people interested in the case and they post and share information in online forums. I’ve been doing my own research. It’s been obvious from the start that it’s a serial offender, but it’s very significant that the police are making it official now.’
‘Cold Crimes.’ I file the name away. I hadn’t thought to look at any forums. ‘What are you, a girl detective?’
‘It’s wrong to assume we can’t do anything. Last year there was a group of high school reporters who interviewed their new principal and exposed her as a fraud. It turned out her resume was completely fabricated. So.’ Petra waits but I don’t respond. ‘Can I please have it back now?’
My head is busy, full, exploding. ‘No. I’m keeping it.’
Petra opens her mouth to argue but then closes it, perhaps remembering self-defence class. Instead of leaving though, she lingers.
‘What?’
‘Yin lent me her physics notes.’ Petra swallows hard. ‘You know, before she disappeared. Now I don’t know what to do with them…do you think I should give them to a teacher? Or her parents?’
‘Can’t you hang onto them?’
But I can tell from Petra’s face that she doesn’t want something belonging to a maybe-dead girl in her possession.
‘It seems wrong to throw them out.’ Pause. ‘She was so generous to loan them to me. Especially because we were—I mean, we are—neck-and-neck, grades-wise.’
I can picture Petra harassing the Mitchells or the police with this. ‘Give them to me if it’s bothering you so much.’
‘No, no, I’ll use them. We’ve got a test coming up.’ Petra has blushed from her toes to her scalp. ‘She was better than me. Nicer. And a better clarinet player too. Perfect tone.’
She’s being strange and I don’t like it. The vibrating restarts in my body, from the feet up.
‘Are you done?’ It comes out harsher than I mean it to.
Petra backs away incrementally, then turns properly. Audrey is waiting for her by the water bubbler, a snarky look on her face. I wiggle my fingers at her and smile wide and fake, because it drives Audrey wild with jealousy whenever Petra gets chummy with anyone who isn’t a boarder and who she can’t keep her big green eyes on.
‘Don’t worry—I’m not stealing your wife!’ I yell.
Somehow I’ve come down with a cold on the way home from school. My skin is on fire and my head aches so I put on my favourite soft-as-marshmallow pyjamas and light all of my candles all at once and can’t put down Picnic at Hanging Rock once I’ve started.
It’s the turn of the century and a party of girls and teachers from a ritzy private boarding school go on an excursion to Hanging Rock, which the traditional and rightful owners call Ngannelong because after what Chloe said I’m not going to be totally ignorant, and after lunch when everyone is sated and languid four of the schoolgirls walk off on their own.
Even though
the language is outdated and there are descriptions that go on for half a page and the author is totally obsessed with ‘bosoms’, the school and the teachers in the book aren’t that different to Balmoral, not really. And from the moment the group of young girls go off on their own, my skin starts to tingle.
I can see them, in their long white dresses, pale and hopeless and weak, the opposite of angry modern girls. The massive Rock looms, wild and covered with trees, full of dark crevasses and winding tracks that lead nowhere. These floppy, flower-petal girls are no match for it, I can feel it already.
Something bad is going to happen to them.
Dylan Thomas slides under the covers with me, leaving only the tip of his tail poking out. I let the bad feelings I’ve been keeping at bay seep into bed with me too, a familiar pressing, hovering grey cloud.
Serial offender. Connected with the school. Detailed profile. Returned safely.
I breathe in the grey cloud and it’s a relief to give into the fog for once. Dylan Thomas presses into my side and rumbles like a tiny tiger.
The messages start at 9 p.m., while everyone is watching the late news. The police have held the predicted press conference and the profile has been released.
I click the link that Marley has sent us. ‘HUNT FOR DOCTOR CALM’, says the headline.
Doctor Calm is the name the media have invented for Yin’s abductor, a fancy villain name for a monster who can’t be stopped. I try to read the report, take it all in, but my head swims.
Sarah follows up quickly with the video of the press conference. I put my headphones on and the quilt over my head.
Senior Detective Zambesi, the head of the newly-named Operation Panopticon, speaks as cameras flash around him and microphones cluster. He has a craggy, Hollywood-handsome face and the reporters love him.
‘As you’re aware, Karolina Bauer attended the same school as Yin Mitchell for a period of one year as an exchange student. We can now confirm that an earlier case, that of Emma-Maree Jones, also has connections to the school. That young girl had her name on a waiting list to attend the school when she reached Year Seven.’
