An Accusation: A Novel
Page 18
Hal took a while to answer. “I’m afraid truth isn’t the only thing that matters in law, Suzannah. And out in the real world, it doesn’t matter at all.”
ABDUCTED: THE ELLIE CANNING STORY
A documentary by HeldHostage Productions © 2019
VOICE-OVER
Despite the risk of legal action, a number of accounts that shed a less than flattering light on Suzannah Wells’s character and past were made public while the case was sub judice.
These included Wells’s daughter’s tragic death from SIDS, her sham affair with gay actor Sebastián Mendes, and her arrest on drug charges in 1996. In September 2018, the news website 180Degrees published an interview with an anonymous source who claimed that Wells was dismissed from an NSW private school due to her “inappropriate relationship” with a teenage girl in 2015.
MADISON COSTELLO*: INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT
Um, yeah. So this was all a while ago now; I was only a kid, just turned seventeen. I’d had to move from a boarding school in the city to this shitty little private school in Manning. Like, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to Manning? You may as well be dead. Most of the kids at the school were morons, and the teachers were crap. The only halfway decent one was Miss Wells, the drama teacher. Well, anyway, that’s what I thought. It started off okay. I mean, she was my mentor, and we’d have these meetings where I’d just tell her what was going on—you know, with friends, schoolwork. And I was doing pretty well in drama, too. Like actually coming top for a while. I got really into it, and I was rehearsing every afternoon. I’d go down to her office, and I’d go through my IP—that’s the individual piece for the exams—and she’d direct.
But then it got sorta weird. She started asking if I wanted to meet outside school. At first it was only coffee, but then she suggested I come over to her place to rehearse, and I thought, yeah, why not? She said not to tell anyone, so I should have known, shouldn’t I? Anyway, when I got there, it was clear that she had something else in mind. She was dressed really weird, way too sexy for someone that old. She gave me a drink—something alcoholic—and I think there was something in it?
Anyway, she started to make, like, moves or whatever, and I . . . well, it was hard to, you know, it was hard to resist. It makes me sick just thinking about it.
And that’s when things started to go bad. In my life, I mean. I didn’t want to go to school after that—I couldn’t face it, y’know? And I started getting into drugs and drinking. All that shit. And fighting with my parents. I guess I was pretty traumatized. I know she’s a woman, but . . . it was still child abuse, wasn’t it? And now, after what she did to Ellie Canning . . .
*Not her real name
SUZANNAH: OCTOBER 2018
Chip flinched as I walked past the kitchen table, where he sat reading something on my laptop. I looked over his shoulder, saw the flash of the browser screen minimizing. He turned and said something banal and cheery, which only made his attempt to hide whatever he’d been looking at even more obvious.
Later, when he’d gone to bed, I looked through the browser history, clicked through until I found what he’d been reading. It was an old article written a few years back, from some syndicated pop psychology website. It had been reposted and updated since the abduction and had more than a million reads by now.
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE FEMALE KIDNAPPER
We were a rare breed, apparently. Usually suffering from some combination of personality disorders, including narcissism, generally in combination with Machiavellianism and psychopathy, which meant we were honorable possessors of the dark triad. That was, if we weren’t also suffering from actual diagnosable mental illnesses, which was also in the cards. Diagnosable mental illness aside, we might just appear to be regular members of the community, or even work in the caring professions (nurses, teachers) with no apparent social or psychological difficulties. We might have had trauma in our younger days—abuse, neglect, tragedy—but then again, we might not. The article provided very little in the way of reassurance—these women were almost impossible to detect, being naturally secretive and masters of disguise who were able to hide their real selves very effectively.
Most often females involved in kidnappings were working with others, usually men, as half of a folie à deux or because they were in some sort of hostage situation themselves. On the odd occasion that such women worked alone, the victims were almost always children, taken for reasons that had more to do with love than money or sex.
There were numerous instances of infertile women murdering mothers and taking their babies, either to satisfy their own thwarted maternal instincts or at the behest of their husbands or lovers. However, abductions involving forced surrogacy were incredibly rare; indeed, until the notorious Canning abduction, they had received very little in the way of scholarly attention.
I slammed the computer shut, not even remotely excited to learn that one day I might be credited with opening up a whole new area of study.
Chip was lying on his back in the dark room, his eyes closed, arms folded under his head. Sleep gave an unexpected softness to his usually harsh features—the defined jaw, jutting nose, slightly hollow cheeks. I watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, felt my own constrict painfully. How quickly I’d become accustomed to having him in my bed, and how badly I wanted him to stay. How desperately I wanted this future—Chip, me, our baby—to work.
His eyes flickered open. “What’s up?” He sounded wide awake.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing much.”
“Are you wondering whether I’m a psychopath?”
“No.” He didn’t turn his head to meet my eyes but gazed at some point on the ceiling.
“Do you think I’m lying?”
“No.”
“Do you actually think it’s possible that I did it? That I kept that girl here.”
“No.”
“But you can’t really know, can you?”
He took a while to respond. “I know you.”
“No, you don’t. Not really. We’ve slept together, and I’m carrying your child. But that doesn’t mean you know me.” He went to speak, but I couldn’t stop. “You have to be wondering. There’s so much evidence, and none of it can be disproven. You must be wondering whether it’s all a fantasy—this me you think you know. You do understand that I’ve actually been trained to . . . to be other people. To pretend. That’s my job. So how do you know I’m not acting? How can you trust anything I say? How can anyone?” I could hear my voice getting louder. Faster.
“Suzannah.” He was there beside me, holding my hand. “It’s okay.” He led me over to the bed, pushed me down gently, then sat, his arm slung around my shoulders like a kindly big brother.
He gave me a little shake. “Now, if you’ll just shut up and listen to me for a moment. Three things. Firstly, I was only on that site because some arsehole—and I’m not saying who—sent me the link and I stupidly clicked on it. Not because I was checking out whether you fit the bill psychologically. Okay?”
I swallowed. “Okay.”
“Secondly, I trust that you didn’t do it.”
“Really?” I could hear my relief.
“One hundred and fifty percent.”
“Okay.” His arm had tightened into a decidedly nonbrotherly embrace, and he was moving in for the kill.
“Hold on.” I pulled away. “What’s the third thing? You said there were three reasons.”
“Oh, right.” He sounded slightly reluctant. “Well, you were saying that you could be acting, that you could be putting this whole thing on.”
“Yes?”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to mention it, but I’ve been watching old reruns of Beachlife on YouTube.” His tone was bland, his expression unreadable.
“And?”
“You were pretty hot back then.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Another pause. “Have you watched any of it lately?”
“No.
I’ve actually never watched it since.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you. It’ll only depress you. I know it was a soap, but the plot was beyond bad. That episode where you won the surfing comp? I mean, you looked pretty good, but you couldn’t surf for shit—”
“Chip!” I pushed him in the shoulder. “What’s Beachlife got to do with anything?”
“I know I’m not any sort of expert, and I don’t want you to take this to heart, Suze, but frankly, if Gypsy is any indication, I don’t think your acting would be anywhere good enough to pull off something as serious as this.”
“What?”
“You’re not exactly Meryl Streep, are you?”
I was gobsmacked. “You know, I actually won a couple of—”
“Now, don’t get your knickers in a twist, mate.” His expression was deadpan, his rustic drawl pronounced. “I reckon it’s a good thing you’re a shit actress.”
“How is that a good thing?”
“It’s proof that you’re telling the truth. I doubt you could lie your way out of a plastic bag.”
I wasn’t sure whether he was joking and didn’t know whether I should be laughing or crying, but Chip was pushing me back on the bed, moving his body over mine, and now was not the time to do either.
SUZANNAH: OCTOBER 2018
“I’m afraid we’ve got problems.”
Hal had arrived unannounced. His company, even with the prospect of bad news, was at least a distraction. It was early in the evening, and I was trying to persuade a contrary Mary that having to eat dinner before dessert did not constitute a form of torture outlawed by the UN. Chip had driven to Orange to attend some sort of agricultural-equipment fair over the weekend, and I was tired and short on patience. I was also feeling lonely.
“What now?”
“Let’s go worst problems first, shall we?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “Sally O’Halloran.”
“Has she refused to be a witness?” I could imagine she’d be loath to stand up in court and talk. Mary’s carer was a quiet, sometimes surly woman who had never been entirely friendly toward either me or Mary. “Can’t we subpoena her?”
“I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that.” Hal took a deep breath, gazing at a point somewhere to the left of me. “She is a witness, as it turns out. Only not for us.”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems she made a statement to the police herself. Quite independently. For the prosecution.”
ABDUCTED: THE ELLIE CANNING STORY
A documentary by HeldHostage Productions © 2019
SALLY O’HALLORAN: INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT
I grew up in Enfield Wash, lived here all my life. I work part-time at the nursing home in town, and I do a bit of private work, too, looking after old folk in their homes. I was hired to look after Mary Squires three days a week. I’d looked after the old lady for about six months, and even though I didn’t know it, I was there when Ellie Canning was imprisoned down in the basement. I got a huge shock when I heard what happened.
It’s weird how things become clear. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but a few times when I was out there, just after the July holidays, I actually heard these noises—it must’ve been the girl crying or shouting—coming from the basement. I’d been told from the start that I shouldn’t go down there—and the door was always kept locked. When I brung it up with Suzannah, she just said that it must have been a bird or something, maybe a possum, and not to worry about it. So I didn’t. But when I mentioned it to the old lady, she said it was “the girl.” I never thought she was telling the truth—she said so many crazy things—but she was, wasn’t she?
As soon as I worked out the dates, I contacted the police.
It’s terrible to think, isn’t it, that that poor girl was down there all that time. And I could of done something about it. I have these nightmares sometimes.
I guess I was shocked about it being Suzannah Wells? I mean, she seemed okay. She wasn’t all that friendly—she never wanted me to stay back and have a chat or anything like that. If anyone had asked, I’d have said she was a bit up herself, maybe. But I had no reason to be suspicious. But why would someone like her move to Enfield Wash? It’s a bit strange when you think about it.
And you know, her poor mum’s probably had a lucky escape, now that I think of it. Suzannah was always asking me about the Franchise, when it was likely a room would come up. Who knows what she might of done once she really got desperate to get rid of the old lady. I mean, she had a new bloke and a baby on the way. Who’d want their demented mum around? I feel sorry for that poor old lady. When she’s not in a mood, she’s as sweet and docile as they come. And what’s going to happen to her now?
SUZANNAH: OCTOBER 2018
“What was the other bad news, Hal? You said there was more.”
I was still recovering from the Sally O’Halloran bombshell. I’d made a cup of tea for me, poured a whiskey for Hal, and called Mary in from the veranda and supervised her painfully slow eating of lunch. She was back out with the dogs now, no doubt filling them in on her exploits in the nineties.
“It’s your mother’s police interview. It’s been judged admissible.”
Mary’s police interview on the day I was arrested had been in legal limbo, with Hal claiming that her testimony was undermined by her psychological condition and the prosecution determined to prove that she was completely compos mentis.
“How can it be judged admissible?”
“Apparently they’ve got expert opinion on their side. According to their experts, based on a report by her doctors here and in Sydney, Mary’s condition fluctuates. Basically, if she can engage in coherent conversation and appears to be lucid, she probably is.”
“Oh. But I don’t understand why it’s so important to them anyway. What on earth did she say?”
Hal pushed a file across the table. “Here. Read the transcript, and you’ll see what I’m worried about. It’d be hilarious—only it’s not.”
This is a transcript of a police interview between Mary Squires and Detective Inspector Hugh Stratford of the Enfield Wash Local Command in regards to the abduction of Eleesha (Ellie) Britney Canning and tendered to the Lower Hunter District Court for the purpose of committal. The interview took place in the presence of Hal Gascoyne, solicitor, acting on behalf of the witness.
HS
Miss Squires, thank you for coming.
HG
I’d just like to have my objections to this interview noted. As you know, my client suffers from a form of dementia. Her memory is completely unreliable, and her understanding is severely compromised. I doubt that her statement will be of any evidentiary utility.
HS
Thank you, Mr. Gascoyne. Your objections have been noted.
HG
And if she becomes in any way distressed, the interview will be terminated.
HS
Noted. Can we begin?
MS
Go for it, Mr. Pig.
HS
Miss Squires, can you tell me whether this young lady has ever been in your home? For the record, I am showing the witness a copy of a recent photograph of Ellie Canning.
MS
I like her hair.
HS
Has this young lady ever been in your home?
MS
Maybe.
HS
Can you be more precise?
MS
Maybe she has been in my home. I mean, it’s possible, isn’t it? It’s not like I know everyone who’s ever been there. That house is old. And what home are you talking about, anyway? Maybe you need to be a bit more precise.
HG
He means the house you live in now, Mary. The farmhouse. Where you live with Suzannah.
MS
I don’t know why she bought that old dump. Actually, I do. It was so she could get into his pants. What’s his name? Mr. Fish and Chips. Is he your brother?
HG
Indeed he is.
MS
You don’t look alike, do you? Girls never make passes at boys who wear glasses. But I wouldn’t mind your brother’s slippers under my bed, as my mum used to say. He’s screwing my daughter, so I guess he’s off-limits.
HG
Mary, Inspector Stratford wants to know if the girl in the photo has ever been in your house. The one you live in now. With Suzannah.
MS
That old pile? It’s so fucking cold. Don’t you think it’s cold? You’ve been in there, haven’t you? It’s the coldest place I’ve ever lived, and I’ve been in some cold places. New York. London. Paris. But Jesus. This place. You’ve been there, haven’t you, Mr. Pig? It’d freeze the tits off a brass monkey, ’scuse my French.
HS
The girl, Miss Squires. The girl in the photo. Has she ever been in the house?
MS
What the fuck is a brass monkey, anyway? And since when do monkeys have tits?
HS
Miss Squires, I’d like you to concentrate. If you could just look at the photo one more time and tell me if you recognize the girl. For the record, I am showing the witness a photograph of Eleesha Canning.
MS
This photo?
HS
Yes.
MS
She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
HS
But do you know her, Mary? Has she been in your home?
MS
Of course I know her. She’s the little bitch who’s got my Chanel pajamas.
ABDUCTED: THE ELLIE CANNING STORY
A documentary by HeldHostage Productions © 2019
VOICE-OVER
Having reportedly been paid in advance for print and television exclusives, pending the forthcoming trial, Canning quickly became an Australian media favorite. Although she was unwilling to discuss her abduction directly while the case was sub judice, Canning was interviewed by numerous mainstream media outlets across Australia.