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THE VANISHED
EXT. LONDON. NIGHT.
The capital on a wintry evening. People hurry home wrapped up against the wind and rain. Tramps are cocooned in shop doorways. Street lights flicker down dark side streets. Abandoned shopping centres are lit up like they are in the daytime.
ROBERT
(vo)
‘When I was a little boy, my
mother always tried to get me
to eat my carrots by telling
me they would make me see in
the dark. It never worked. I
pointed out to her that our
rabbit Jeremy ate carrots all
the time, and he always looked
terrified. You see, it’s not
the dark I’m afraid of - it’s
what’s hiding in it.’
INT. BOOKSHOP. NIGHT
ROBERT PATTERSON is giving a reading from a novel. He is in his early sixties and his dressed eccentrically, halfway between John McCririck and Count Dracula.
He is standing in front of a modest sized audience, mainly consisting of boys in their late teens, goth types, wearing band T-shirts for the likes of Marilyn Manson et al.
One man in particular stands out, JACK CLOONEY. He is in his early thirties. He looks scruffy, with straggly hair and several days’ beard growth.
ROBERT
‘Samuel finished speaking
and lit a cigarette with
trembling hands. “It’s okay,”
said Elizabeth. “I think I
understand.” Samuel laughed.
“No,” he said, “you still
don’t understand at all.”’
ROBERT closes the book. An enthusiastic young manager stands up beside him.
MANAGER
Robert van Strachan, ladies
and gentlemen.
He leads the audience in applause, which makes ROBERT look a bit awkward.
INT. BOOKSHOP. NIGHT.
ROBERT is sitting at a table, signing books for a long queue of people.
Behind him a deeply contrasted monochrome promotional poster makes him look like he’s stepped off the set of a Hammer horror movie. It lists his novels, which have titles like ‘The Watching’ and ‘Cry of the Damned’.
Two teenage boys are next in line.
BOY 1
Can I take a photo, Rob?
The second boy crouches beside ROBERT and they take a photo before he has a chance to answer.
ROBERT
Sure.
The boys switch places for a second photo. ROBERT smiles, but not with his eyes. Then they shove books toward him.
BOY 1
Can you sign this to Chris?
BOY 2
And this one to Paul?
ROBERT
Sure.
ROBERT signs the books and pushes them back.
BOYS
Cheers!
They leave, looking pretty chuffed.
ROBERT
Thank you for coming.
Next in line is JACK CLOONEY. He takes an old paperback out of the tatty carrier bag he’s holding. The novel is called THE VANISHED.
ROBERT
Oh, a first edition. I haven’t
seen one of these in ages.
They’re quite rare, you know.
JACK
Can I have a word with you in
private, Mr van Strachan?
ROBERT
In private? Why? What about?
JACK
Please, it’s important.
ROBERT
Can you tell me here, or can
it wait? I can’t really leave
the table at the moment.
JACK
Please, Mr van Strachan. It’s
more important than all this.
The manager hovers near to the table.
MANAGER
Can you hurry it up, please?
There are others waiting to
meet the author too.
JACK
Did you get my letters?
ROBERT
I get dozens of letters every
week. What’s your name?
JACK
I sent you the clippings. I’m
Jack Clooney.
ROBERT recognises that name immediately.
The boys behind JACK are getting impatient.
TEEN
He’s not Father Christmas, you
know. What’s the hold up?
ROBERT quickly signs the book and pushes it back.
ROBERT
Thank you for coming.
Before JACK can say anything else the boys behind him push in front and herd him out of the way. He leaves the shop, dejected.
EXT. BOOKSHOP. NIGHT.
A taxi pulls up. ROBERT comes out of the shop alone and heads toward it. JACK appears out of the shadows.
JACK
Mr van Strachan.
ROBERT turns, recognises JACK, and opens the car door.
JACK
Can we have that word now,
Mr van Strachan?
ROBERT
It’s late. I’m going home.
He gets into the taxi.
JACK
Please, it’s important. You
got my letters, didn’t you?
You can’t tell me it’s just
a coincidence. It’s too
unlikely.
ROBERT
Thank you for coming tonight.
As he pulls the car door shut, JACK grabs it, to ROBERT’s alarm. JACK pulls a bulging file out of his carrier bag.
JACK
This is a copy of everything
I’ve collected. It’s all here.
If you could only take a look-
ROBERT
Let go of the door.
JACK
Mr van Strachan, please. While
there’s still time. Mr van
Strachan!
ROBERT
Look, please stop calling me
that. It’s only a pen name.
He yanks the door free of JACK’s grip. The door slams.
JACK drops his file. Papers fall out. Newspaper clippings land in the gutter, screaming headlines like ‘missing’, ‘disappeared’, ‘vanished’.
ROBERT’s taxi drives off.
EXT. PATTERSON HOME. NIGHT.
ROBERT lives in a nice middle class suburban semi. The taxi drops him off and he goes inside.
INT. PATTERSON BEDROOM. NIGHT.
ROBERT comes in wearing a normal dressing gown and pyjamas. He takes his eccentric clothes to the wardrobe.
Sitting in bed reading a romantic saga as thick as her arm is his wife, AMANDA, a pleasant looking woman in her sixties with a relaxed smile.
ROBERT
If I wrote books like that,
would they expect me to
dress up like Mr Darcy?
AMANDA
Bad day at the office?
ROBERT
Do you know what someone
said about me today? ‘He’s
not Santa Claus, you know.’
But that’s exactly what I
feel like: an old man
dressing up as Santa.
He tosses a folded open newspaper onto the end of the bed. AMANDA puts down her book and picks the paper up. There is an advert for Head of English at St Benedict’s High School, which has a posh crest.
AMANDA
Oh, your replacement didn’t
last long, did he? He can’t
have been there more than a
couple of years.
ROBERT
So what do you think?
AMANDA
About what?
ROBERT climbs into bed beside her.
ROBERT
Plenty of people go back
after they’ve retired.
AMANDA
You’re thinking of going
back to work? What happened
to retiring so that you could
spend more time writing?
ROBERT
Sometimes I wonder that
myself.
He turns onto his side. She sighs and picks up her book.
AMANDA
Well, whatever you decide.
ROBERT
I think I already have.
EXT. LONDON. NIGHT.
The night sky is greying into dawn over the capital, but the streetlights are still on, and the few cars on the road still need their headlights.
INT. STONE HOME. NIGHT.
The phone rings. GILLIAN STONE sits up in bed, switches on the bedside lamp and reaches for the phone. The digital clock beside it says 5:48.
STONE is in her late thirties and attractive, even at this time of the morning, but she sleeps alone.
STONE
Hello? Right. Okay. Give me
twenty minutes.
INT. STONE KITCHEN. NIGHT.
STONE is dressed, wearing a smart trouser suit. She is trying to make a cup of coffee and put in earrings at the same time.
CLAIRE, her thirteen year old daughter, comes into the kitchen wearing night clothes, looking half asleep.
CLAIRE
What’s going on?
STONE
I’ve got to go to work.
CLAIRE
What time is it?
STONE
Not yet six.
CLAIRE groans.
STONE
That’s what happens when
you leave the cordless in
your room overnight.
CLAIRE
I guess I have to walk to
school, then.
STONE
Afraid so.
CLAIRE
You’ll still pick me up after
though, right?
STONE
Yes.
CLAIRE heads back upstairs. After a moment, STONE follows her and calls up from the bottom step.
STONE
Actually, you better keep
your mobile on, just in case.
CLAIRE’s bedroom door slams loudly.
EXT. BANKS HOME. DAY.
A car pulls up outside a three-storey terraced townhouse in Highgate. There is a police patrol car outside, empty.
STONE gets out of the car. With her is TIMOTHY MCKIE. He is in his early thirties and wears a long coat. They head toward the front door and ring the bell. A uniformed police officer opens the door. STONE holds up her ID.
STONE
DCI Stone and DC McKie.
INT. BANKS LOUNGE. DAY.
MICHAEL and SHEILA BANKS sit side by side on a sofa. They are middle aged, middle class, well-dressed, but they are leaning forward, wringing their hands in agitation.
STONE and MCKIE are sitting in armchairs.
STONE
When did you first realise
your daughter was missing,
Mr Banks?
MICHAEL
Well, I was working late
last night. I don’t think I
left Westminster until after
midnight. Got home about two,
I think. You got up about
half five, didn’t you?
SHEILA nods slowly, too upset to speak.
MICHAEL
That’s when she looked in and
saw Rachel was gone, and woke
me up. So there’s less than
four hours when there was
nobody up, really.
MCKIE
Is it possible she was already
gone by the time you got home
last night, sir?
MICHAEL
No, the door was ajar when I
came up and I looked in. She
was fast asleep. You said I
woke you up when I closed the
door, didn’t you?
SHEILA nods again.
STONE
Was the door open or closed
when you got up, Mrs Banks?
MICHAEL
She told me she opened it.
SHEILA
I would’ve heard. I would’ve.
I would’ve woken up again. If
she opened and closed it. I
would’ve. Her room is right
next to ours.
STONE
Can we see the room?
INT. RACHEL’S BEDROOM. DAY.
A forensic scientist is packing up his kit as STONE and MCKIE appear in the doorway, accompanied by MICHAEL.
STONE
Have you found anything?
SCIENTIST
Well, there’s no sign of
forced entry anywhere in the
house.
STONE
What about prints?
SCIENTIST
This room’s covered in them,
most of them Rachel’s. There
are a few other ones, but
they’re old, could barely get
a lift, and they’re children’s
so probably safe to discount
those as visiting friends.
STONE
Any sign of a struggle?
SCIENTIST
No, ma’am.
INT. BANKS LOUNGE. DAY.
SHEILA is still sitting where they left her when MICHAEL leads STONE and MCKIE back into the room.
MCKIE
Apart from yourselves, is
there anyone who has keys to
the house? Someone Rachel
might trust?
MICHAEL
No. Why?
STONE
How’s Rachel been lately,
Mrs Banks?
SHEILA
What do you mean?
STONE
Well, has she been happy?
Sad?
SHEILA
She’s always happy. She’s a
normal child.
STONE
Does she have many friends?
SHEILA
Yes. Of course.
MICHAEL
We’ve already phoned their
parents. Nobody’s seen her.
STONE
What about school?
SHEILA
What about it?
STONE
Has she said anything about
it? Maybe problems, with
schoolwork or other children?
SHEILA
No! Nothing!
MICHAEL
My daughter didn’t run away,
if that’s what you’re getting
at, Detective.
STONE
I have to consider all the
possibilities before I rule
them out, Mr Banks.
MICHAEL
Yes. Of course. I’m sorry.
SHEILA
She tells me everything. If
there was something wrong
she would’ve told us. She
would’ve, I know she would.
STONE
Okay. It’s okay.
MCKIE
Do you have a photo of your
daughter we can take away
with us, sir?
MICHAEL gestures the uniformed officer. He passes STONE a photo of RACHEL BANKS, a pretty ten year old girl.
STONE
Thank you. An officer will
stay with you through this.
SHEILA
Thank you.
STONE stands up. MICHAEL leads STONE and MCKIE out into the hallway and closes the lounge door.
MICHAEL
I didn’t want to bring this
up in front of my wife, alarm
her unnecessarily, but given
the fact that I am a Member
of Parliament, don’t you
think this might fall under
the jurisdiction of the
security agencies rather than
the police?
STONE
There’s nothing to suggest
your daughter’s been abducted,
Mr Banks. Try not to imagine
the worst. She’ll probably
turn up in an hour or two.
They usually do.
EXT. BANKS HOME. DAY.
STONE and MCKIE leave the house and head back to the car.
MCKIE
Did you hear that guy? He
thinks his daughter’s been
taken by terrorists. And
he’s not even a junior
minister!
STONE
McKie, if you had a kid and
they disappeared, you’d
probably think they’d been
kidnapped by terrorists too.
And you’re barely even a
junior detective.
EXT. ST BENEDICT’S SCHOOL. DAY.
A well-established school, about seventy years old, but which has been added to more recently. ROBERT walks through the gate, past a sign that says: St Benedict’s High School.
INT. ST BENEDICT’S RECEPTION. DAY.
ROBERT waits to talk to the school receptionist behind a delivery guy carrying a large box.
As he stands there, a man in his fifties walks past and stop, recognising him. This is DAVID TANNER.
DAVID
Bob?
ROBERT
Dave. Hello. Been a while.
DAVID
It has. How’re you doing?
What’s finally brought you
back through our doors?
INT. ST BENEDICT’S OFFICE. DAY.
ROBERT is sitting down. DAVID brings over a couple of mugs and sits down too. They are sitting on comfortable chairs adjacent to each other; this is not formal.
DAVID
I remember seeing a feature
about you on the local news
a while back. What on earth
were you wearing?
ROBERT
Yes, Amanda calls that my
costume. I made the mistake
of dressing up for this book
signing I did on Halloween a
few years back. My agent’s
idea. Next thing I knew, it
was in every profile written
about me that I’m eccentric.
So now that’s what people
expect. It’s part of the van
Strachan role, I guess.
DAVID
Well, apart from the clothes,
how is life as a local
celebrity?
ROBERT
To be perfectly honest, there
are days when I just long for
the life where nobody cares
about the books I’ve written.
DAVID laughs.
DAVID
Oh, then you should come back
to school, Bob. All the books
in our library are in
fantastic condition for good
reason.
ROBERT chuckles awkwardly, slowly slips his drink, then takes the advert for Head of English out of his pocket.
ROBERT
Actually, seeing as you
brought it up.
DAVID
I must admit, I wondered if
that’s what this was about.
ROBERT
Yes. I gather you’re having
problems with staff, Dave.
DAVID
Oh no. On the contrary, all
the staff we have here are
exemplary. Which is why we
keep losing them to the
private sector. There’s no
such thing as institutional
loyalty any more, it’d seem.
ROBERT
I don’t suppose you would
consider me for the position.
DAVID
Bob, if it was just up to me
I would hire you on the spot.
But we have to give other
applicants due process.
ROBERT
Of course. Of course. But can
you give me an idea of how
much competition I have?
DAVID
Well, let’s just put it this
way: if you’re serious about
coming back, I wouldn’t book
a holiday for the spring.
ROBERT
I am serious.
EXT. STREET. DAY.
ROBERT is walking home, past a parade of shops.
A man comes out of the newsagent’s with a free-standing board on which he has hand-written in large print the headline: LONDON MP’S DAUGHTER DISAPPEARS.
ROBERT slows down when he sees it, then heads into the shop and buys a copy of the paper.
ROBERT
Thanks.
He leaves the shop, reading as he walks.
INT. CAFE. DAY.
JACK CLOONEY is sitting alone at a table with the exact same paper. He tears carefully around the edges of the article about RACHEL BANKS and slips it into an envelope.
He addresses the envelope to: Mr Robert van Strachan, c/o Canonbridge Publishing Inc., etc.
A member of staff approaches his table in an apron.
STAFF-MEMBER
You have to come up to the
counter to order.
JACK
Actually, I’m just leaving.
He gets up and leaves the cafe.
EXT. STREET. DAY.
JACK passes the letterbox and slips the envelope inside.
EXT. POLICE STATION. DAY.
MCKIE parks the car. He and STONE get out and head toward the building. A group of reporters and photographers gathered outside swarm around STONE and MCKIE.
REPORTER 1
Is it true you’ve heard from
the kidnappers of Rachel
Banks?
REPORTER 2
Can you confirm the rumours
that you are now treating the
disappearance of Rachel Banks
as a murder enquiry?
Then they all start shouting over each other. STONE and MCKIE plough through.
STONE
We’re just the accountants.
INT. POLICE OFFICE. DAY.
STONE and MCKIE enter a large busy office. Other detectives are working at desks or on computers, or answering the constantly ringing telephones.
STONE hands MCKIE the photo of RACHEL BANKS.
STONE
Put her name on it and stick
it up on the board.
MCKIE takes the photo to his desk, labels it with her name then goes to pin the photo to the board.
The board is as long as the office. It is covered with similarly labelled photos, more than a hundred of them. It’s like one of those walls after a major disaster: cheering family photos of the missing, representing all ages, genders and races. There’s no room for any more.
MCKIE
We’re going to need a bigger
board, ma’am.
STONE approaches twentysomething RUTH ORWELL and fortysomething TERRY CLARKE, who are sticking pins on a large blown-up map of Highgate and its environs.
Another junior detective nearby hangs up a phone and gives TERRY a slip of paper.
TERRY
Tufnell Park? That’s miles
away.
The junior detective shrugs and answers another phone.
RUTH
We’ve been getting sightings
ever since the story broke.
STONE
We haven’t released a
statement to the Press yet,
have we?
RUTH
No. One of the neighbours
must’ve tipped them off after
uniform started asking
questions doing the house-to-
house.
TERRY sticks the pin near the bottom of the map. Another fifteen pins are clustered in seemingly random fashion around Highgate.
STONE
Well, this isn’t telling me
anything. Can’t some of these
be discounted?
TERRY
These are the ones that can’t
be discounted. There’s
another twenty-odd I didn’t
see much point putting up.
STONE
Why not?
TERRY
Wrong school uniform. Most of
the sightings have been of
girls the caller didn’t know
getting into cars with men
the caller didn’t know,
twenty minutes before the
start of school.
RUTH
It didn’t help that this hit
the headlines around eight.
STONE
Okay. If we took out all the
pins of sightings during the
school-run, which ones would
be left?
TERRY consults a sheaf of papers and points out four pins, three of them near each other, one far removed.
STONE
What were the times of these?
TERRY
This one was seven thirty.
This one just after quarter
to ten, then ten o’clock,
and this one five past ten.
STONE
Okay. Seven thirty was before
Rachel Banks’s photo was on
the news. But these three are
almost in a row. How far
apart would you say they are?
RUTH
A mile?
TERRY
Less.
STONE
A ten year old could walk a
mile in twenty minutes,
couldn’t she? Could these
three sightings be of the
same girl?
TERRY
It’s possible, I suppose.
STONE
Okay, until something better
comes along, I want go with
this. She’s heading west.
What’s west?
MCKIE hangs up a phone.
MCKIE
Ma’am.
STONE turns to him.
MCKIE
We’ve got a body.
EXT. POLICE STATION. DAY.
STONE and MCKIE get into the car hastily, STONE driving. She pulls out onto the road.
MCKIE
Somebody’s dog found her in
the undergrowth. There
appears to have been a half-
hearted attempt to conceal
the body. Uniform and
forensics are already on the
scene.
STONE
Have they confirmed it’s her?
MCKIE
Actually, they didn’t say.
EXT. PATTERSON HOME. DAY.
ROBERT arrives home and opens the front door.
INT. PATTERSON LOUNGE. DAY.
AMANDA is watching television over a cup of coffee. ROBERT comes in and drops the paper on the couch beside her.
ROBERT
I got a paper.
She picks it up and glances at the RACHEL BANKS story as ROBERT unzips his coat and goes to hang it up.
AMANDA
So how’d it go?
ROBERT
Not bad. I’ve already been
invited to a more formal
meeting with Martin Cherry
tomorrow morning.
AMANDA
An interview? That’s quick!
They must be keen to have
you back.
ROBERT
Or just desperate.
He notices what she’s watching on TV. It is a news broadcast: a long-shot of a wooded area on heathland, cordoned off with police tape. Several uniformed officers stand guard.
ROBERT
What’s this?
AMANDA
Oh, they’ve found a body.
They’re not saying it’s that
MP’s little girl, but it
doesn’t look very good, does
it?
ROBERT
Where is it?
AMANDA
Hampstead Heath.
This hits ROBERT like a glass of icy water.
ROBERT
It’s not her.
AMANDA
What?
ROBERT goes up to the bookshelf and picks up his copy of THE VANISHED.
ROBERT
I’ve got to go out again.
I’ll be back later.
AMANDA watches as he leaves the lounge. A few moments later the front door slams shut behind him.
EXT. HAMPSTEAD HEATH. DAY.
STONE and MCKIE park the car. As they approach the cordon they show their IDs to a uniformed officer at the hundred yard perimeter. He points the way.
A couple of forensic scientists in white clean-suits are at work behind the cordon. STONE lifts the tape and she and MCKIE go under. One of the scientists shows them over to the body.
MCKIE turns away immediately and retches. STONE focuses on the scientist.
SCIENTIST
We’ve taken fingerprints and
a DNA sample. We should know
in under an hour whether it’s
Rachel Banks.
STONE
We’ll take the prints back
with us. What have you been
able to ascertain so far?
SCIENTIST
Well, she was bound at the
wrists and ankles with tape
at some point, but the tape’s
gone now. She was subjected
to a violent sexual assault
by one or more attackers,
possibly at the same time.
STONE
What about time of death?
SCIENTIST
Some time in the last forty
eight hours.
STONE
Forty eight?
SCIENTIST
Yes. I’ll be able to give you
a more precise idea after the
post mortem. But it didn’t
happen here, I can tell you
that much.
STONE
You mean the body was dumped?
SCIENTIST
Yes. There’s very little
blood in the area. And
whether it’s the cause of
death or occurs afterwards,
decapitation results in
massive blood loss.
STONE
Is there any sign of it?
The head.
SCIENTIST
No, ma’am.
STONE
All right. Got those prints?
EXT. POLICE STATION. DAY.
STONE and MCKIE arrive back. Funnily enough, all the reporters and photographers have disappeared.
INT. POLICE OFFICE. DAY.
STONE and MCKIE come in. The office is still busy, the phones are still ringing constantly. STONE gives a sealed plastic envelope to MCKIE.
STONE
Check these against the
prints we got from the
bedroom.
MCKIE
Yes, ma’am.
RUTH finishes speaking on the phone and comes over.
RUTH
Ma’am, we had a man come in
fifteen minutes ago saying
he might have some
information on the Rachel
Banks case.
STONE
Anything useful?
RUTH
He’s in interview room three.
DS Clarke’s talking to him
now.
INT. INTERVIEW ROOM THREE. DAY.
STONE comes in. TERRY stands up from the table. Sitting on the other side, with a coffee in a plastic cup, is ROBERT, looking uncomfortable.
TERRY
Mr Patterson, this is
Detective Chief Inspector
Stone. She’s leading the
investigation.
ROBERT
Hello.
STONE sits down at the table.
STONE
Mr Patterson, I gather you
might know something that
could help our investigation
into the disappearance of
Rachel Banks.
ROBERT
I’m not sure. I might just
be being paranoid.
TERRY
Just tell DCI Stone what you
told me, Mr Patterson.
ROBERT sips his drink nervously.
ROBERT
About five months ago I
started to get these letters.
It was every other week to
begin with, then it became a
weekly occurrence. Now it’s
more like every three or four
days. They’re sent to my
publisher, who just forwards
them on.
STONE
Publisher?
ROBERT
Yes. I’m a writer.
STONE
Okay. Go on.
ROBERT
Sometimes the letters don’t
even contain letters. They’re
just newspaper cuttings. But
I know they’re all from the
same person. It’s got to the
stage where I recognise his
handwriting on the envelope.
Until today I just thought he
was someone obsessed with a
book I wrote years ago. I
mean, if you write odd books,
you get odd fans.
He chuckles nervously and has another sip from his drink.
STONE
How does this relate to the
disappearance of Rachel Banks,
Mr Patterson?
ROBERT
I’m not sure it does. It might
just be a coincidence, a big
one. I might just be reading
too much into things.
STONE
How do you mean?
ROBERT pushes his copy of THE VANISHED toward her.
ROBERT
All the letters refer to this
book I wrote in the seventies.
STONE
You wrote this?
ROBERT
Yes. Under a pen name. I was
an English teacher at the
time and I didn’t think the
school would approve.
STONE
Why not?
ROBERT
Well, it’s a dark fantasy, a
sort of horror novel. It’s
about people who disappear,
just completely vanish
without trace. And some of
them are children.
STONE and TERRY swap glances.
STONE
Go on.
ROBERT
Well, that’s what these
cuttings I keep getting sent
are about. Missing persons.
STONE
Have you been sent cuttings
about Rachel Banks, Mr
Patterson?
ROBERT
No. But I’m pretty sure I’m
going to be.
INT. POLICE RECORDS ROOM. DAY.
MCKIE compares the two sets of fingerprints.
MCKIE
Shit.
INT. INTERVIEW ROOM THREE. DAY.
STONE is listening to ROBERT, frowning.
ROBERT
I thought it was funny at
first. I mean, the first
cutting he sent me was about
a teenage boy who wrote a
suicide note, made himself a
noose out of his dressing
gown cord, but whose body was
never found.
TERRY
Joseph Fletcher, ma’am.
ROBERT
And that’s exactly what
happens in the first chapter
of that novel as well. I
mean, the names and places
and times are different, it’s
just the details of the
disappearances that are
always similar. And until
today I could just write it
off as a series of bizarre
coincidences.
STONE
What’s changed your mind?
ROBERT picks up the book and opens it at a bookmark.
ROBERT
I think I’ll make my point
if I just read it out. Some
of the book is written in the
form of newspaper reports and
TV news broadcasts.
STONE
Okay.
ROBERT
Right. ‘Police this evening
confirmed that the body
found on Hampstead Heath
this morning was not, as
previously suspected, that
of the daughter of MP Henry
Bloom, who went missing from
her Highgate home last night.
The dead girl has not yet
been identified, but police
revealed she had been
sexually assaulted and-’
STONE and TERRY are staring at him when there’s a knock on the door.
STONE
Excuse me.
INT. POLICE CORRIDOR. DAY.
It is MCKIE at the door. STONE comes out.
MCKIE
It’s not her, ma’am.
STONE
Come in here. I think you
should listen to this.
INT. INTERVIEW ROOM THREE. DAY.
STONE, MCKIE and TERRY sit or stand listening to ROBERT.
ROBERT
So when I saw it on the news
it got me thinking. I mean,
this time the similarities
are far too specific. It
can’t be a coincidence. It’s
almost like someone’s staged
it right out of the book.
STONE
You think it’s some sort of
copycat crime?
ROBERT
Well, that depends.
STONE
On?
ROBERT
Whether the body on Hampstead
Heath is Rachel Banks or not.
STONE and MCKIE look at each other.
STONE
Can you give me the name of
the person who keeps writing
to you, Mr Patterson?
ROBERT
Yes. Jack Clooney.
STONE
Thank you.
MCKIE leaves the room. STONE stands up.
ROBERT
Is it her?
STONE
I’m not at liberty to say at
this point in time.
ROBERT
Because if it isn’t, then
that makes me wonder. What if
the same person is behind all
the other unexplained
disappearances that are like
ones in the novel, as well?
STONE frowns and picks up the book.
STONE
Would you mind if I looked
after this, Mr Patterson?
INT. POLICE OFFICE. DAY.
All the detectives are gathered. The phones are being ignored. MCKIE passes out copies of JACK CLOONEY’s mugshot.
MCKIE
The man we’re after is called
Jack Clooney. We don’t know
if he’s responsible, but he’s
got form for violence, so
approach with caution. He’s
been brought in three times
previously for causing a
disturbance at the Gladstone
Homeless Shelter off Finchley
Road.
STONE
I’m going to be taking that
one. The rest of you, I want
this picture spread around.
Highgate, Hampstead Heath,
but don’t limit yourselves.
If anyone’s seen Mr Clooney
in the last twenty four
hours, I want to talk to
them. Okay, let’s get moving.
The detectives disperse. STONE pulls on her jacket. MCKIE pulls his on as well.
STONE
I can handle this one on my
own. How fast can you read,
McKie?
MCKIE
Pretty fast. Why?
STONE gives him ROBERT’s copy of THE VANISHED.
STONE
I want you to read this by
the time I get back. Write
me a detailed synopsis and
a list of every character
that disappears.
MCKIE
You really think he was onto
something with this copycat
idea, ma’am?
STONE
I don’t honestly know. But
if there’s a chance he’s
right, the book might give
us a clue as to who the
next victim might be. Catch
the guy that way.
MCKIE
Right. Good idea.
STONE heads out of the office. MCKIE sits down, opens the novel and sighs.
MCKIE
And they said my Lit degree
was wasted on the Met.
INT. STONE’S CAR. DAY.
STONE drives across London. She notices the digital clock says 2:51. She takes out her mobile and puts it on hands-free. She dials CLAIRE’s number. She gets her voicemail.
STONE
Hi, Claire. It’s Mum. Look,
I don’t know if you’ve seen
the news, but I’m going to
be working late, so I won’t
be able to pick you up from
school, sorry. I hope you get
this message before the end
of the day, and I’ll see you
when I get in. Bye bye.
EXT. HOMELESS SHELTER. DAY.
It is a slightly run down building in a side street. STONE pushes on the door. Locked. The sign on the door says it doesn’t open until 5pm. STONE knocks.
SAMANTHA ARMSTRONG, thirties, an earthy women wearing little make-up, opens the door. STONE holds up her ID.
INT. SHELTER OFFICE. DAY.
SAMANTHA is at a desk, searching through a computer database. STONE sits in a chair opposite.
SAMANTHA
Here he is. No, it’s like I
thought. He hasn’t stayed
here for months. The last
time was in September. Can I
ask what this is about?
STONE
Did he stop coming here after
the arrests?
SAMANTHA
Well, he wasn’t banned, if
that’s what you mean. No, it
says here he qualified for
sheltered accommodation.
STONE
Why?
SAMANTHA
Well, Jack’s autistic. Very
autistic, in fact. It’s why
he was on the streets to
begin with, I suspect.
Occasionally these
residential places come up.
One of the counsellors here
must have sponsored him for
it.
STONE
Autism. That can cause
severe behavioural problems,
can’t it?
SAMANTHA
Why? What’s he done?
STONE
Well, he was arrested for
causing a disturbance here
on three separate occasions
for a start.
SAMANTHA
Look, when you say autism,
most people think of
hyperactive kids screaming at
their parents. But that’s
more of a side-effect than a
symptom. Autism is more about
how the brain works, how you
process information and how
you perceive the world. It
usually results in a very
subjective sense of reason.
STONE
So you’re saying an autistic
person could do something we
would consider wrong, but
they wouldn’t think it was
wrong themselves?
SAMANTHA
Well, if we’re speaking
generally, then yes, some
might fail to understand why
something is wrong, even if
they know it’s wrong because
they’ve been told. But if
you’re talking specifically
about Jack then no, he knew
right from wrong, and
understood why as well.
STONE
Yet he was still arrested
three times.
SAMANTHA
But never charged. Look, most
people who come here are
after a bed and something to
eat. They didn’t come to be
lectured by Jack about his
view of the world. He
antagonised a lot of people.
It was just simpler to take
him out of the situation.
STONE
What kind of things did he
say to antagonise people?
SAMANTHA
Things most people would
probably consider odd. Jack
notices things. Things most
people don’t notice. I mean,
he could walk into a crowded
room and tell you how many
people were in it without
counting. He sees patterns
in everything, even in random
things. When people couldn’t
see things his way, he became
antagonistic.
STONE
I see. Can you give me the
details of whoever sorted out
his sheltered accommodation?
EXT. HOMELESS SHELTER. DAY.
STONE is sitting outside in her car.
INT. STONE’S CAR. DAY.
STONE is talking on her mobile phone.
STONE
Okay. Thank you very much.
She hangs up and finds TERRY CLARKE’s number in the memory. She dials it and goes hands-free. She starts the car. TERRY answers as she pulls onto the road.
STONE
It’s Stone. I’ve got an
address for Jack Clooney. I
want you to check it out
immediately.
INT. POLICE OFFICE. DAY.
MCKIE puts headphones in his ears and selects a song on his MP3 player. He returns to the novel. He is about halfway in. He turns the page and writes another name on a piece of paper. There are already twenty on it.
The song starts, and plays over the following montage.
EXT. SCHOOL. DAY.
A crowd of children leave through the gates. CLAIRE walks along, looking for the car.
EXT. BANKS HOME. DAY.
STONE pulls up outside and parks. She heads up to the front door. MICHAEL and SHEILA answer it together. STONE goes inside.
EXT. PATTERSON HOME. DAY.
ROBERT arrives home.
INT. PATTERSON LOUNGE. DAY.
AMANDA is watching the news on television. ROBERT comes in and sees the headline: BODY NOT RACHEL’S.
INT. BANKS LOUNGE. DAY.
STONE shows MICHAEL and SHEILA the mugshot of JACK CLOONEY. MICHAEL shakes his head.
EXT. SCHOOL. DAY.
It is starting to get dark. CLAIRE stands outside the school gates, looking cold. Everyone else has gone home. CLAIRE looks at her watch, then starts walking.
EXT. POLICE STATION. NIGHT.
STONE parks the car and goes inside.
INT. POLICE OFFICE. NIGHT.
The office isn’t as busy any more. MCKIE is working at his desk, but stops when STONE comes in.
MCKIE
Ma’am. How’d it go?
STONE
I got an address for Clooney.
MCKIE
Excellent.
STONE
Terry’s checking it out now.
How’d you get on with that
book while I was gone?
MCKIE holds the novel out to her.
MCKIE
I’ve only just finished it.
And I struggled to do that.
Apparently it was the guy’s
first novel, but I’m
surprised it wasn’t also
his last. The ending was a
complete cop-out.
STONE
Literary criticism aside,
did you get anything useful
from it?
MCKIE
Well, I made that list of
characters you asked for.
He hands her several sheets of paper.
STONE
Just how many are there?
MCKIE
I lost count, but that’s the
plot of the novel, isn’t it?
Random people just vanish
into thin air and people only
realise something weird’s
going on when there’s nobody
left who doesn’t know anyone
that’s disappeared.
STONE
Why do they disappear?
MCKIE
I don’t know. There’s no
explanation. But having read
the thing, I think Robert van
Strachan, or Patterson, or
whatever he’s called might
be onto something after all.
STONE
Yeah?
MCKIE
The bit about Rachel Banks
actually creeped me out. I
mean, it is her, in
everything but name. Not
just similar. Identical. And
she’s not the only one.
STONE
You recognised others?
INT. SHELTERED RESIDENCE. NIGHT.
A supervisor leads TERRY along a corridor of numbered apartments. The place doesn’t look like it has been redecorated in twenty years.
SUPERVISOR
This is Mr Clooney’s room.
TERRY knocks on the door. No answer.
TERRY
Police. Open the door.
SUPERVISOR
He’s probably gone to work.
TERRY
Unlock it, please.
INT. JACK’S APARTMENT. NIGHT.
TERRY and the supervisor come in. It is a messy but empty room with only an unmade bed and a desk. TERRY looks in the bathroom. Coming out again, he sees the far wall.
It is covered in newspaper clippings - articles and photographs - and photocopies of pages from THE VANISHED by Robert van Strachan.
INT. POLICE OFFICE. NIGHT.
STONE and MCKIE are standing in front of the board missing people with the list from the novel.
MCKIE
This was another one. Allen
Gibson, fourteen. Went out
on his paper round after
school. Never came home.
STONE
That sounds familiar as well.
MCKIE points to a school photograph of a smiling boy.
MCKIE
Allen Gibson a.k.a. Richard
Golding. Three months ago.
STONE
Of course. We never found
him.
MCKIE
Are you starting to see a
recurring theme, ma’am?
STONE
Father Thomas Carter. Didn’t
we look into a missing priest
a few months back?
MCKIE moves along the board and points to the photo of an elderly priest in his vestments.
MCKIE
Father Matthew O’Connor.
STONE
I remember now. He never
turned up for mass and his
parishioners reported him
missing when they couldn’t
find him at home either.
MCKIE
Just like in the book.
STONE
How long ago was that?
MCKIE
Two months ago.
STONE
So they’re happening in the
same order as they happen in
the book. So Robert Patterson
was right. A copycat.
MCKIE
Yeah. Seems that way.
STONE stops skimming over the list and gives MCKIE a wary look.
STONE
Jenny Reynolds?
MCKIE
Which one’s she?
STONE
‘The teenage daughter of a
divorced detective’?
MCKIE
No, I couldn’t place her. Not
all of the characters that go
missing in the book match up
with people we’ve got here.
It’s just the ones that do,
really do.
STONE
McKie-
Her mobile phone rings. She takes it out.
STONE
It’s Clarke. Terry, what have
you got? Have you found him?
INT. JACK’S APARTMENT. NIGHT.
TERRY is staring at the collage on the wall.
TERRY
No, he’s not here, but I
think I know where he might
be. His supervisor here says
he’s got a work placement at
the public library on
Caledonian Road, cleaning
the place three evenings a
week. I’m going to head over
there now.
INT. POLICE OFFICE. NIGHT.
STONE is frowning at photos on the board.
STONE
No, we’re nearer to
Caledonian Road than you are.
We’ll go. I want you to
search his place for any
evidence, then head back
here. Okay, bye.
She ends the call.
MCKIE
Caledonian Road?
STONE
Come on.
INT. STONE’S CAR. NIGHT.
STONE is speeding through the rush hour traffic.
MCKIE
Do you really think he’s
going to be there, ma’am?
I mean, if he murdered one
girl and kidnapped another
last night, is it really
likely he’s going to show up
for work today?
STONE
The counsellor at the shelter
said autistics have a skewed
idea of right and wrong. He
probably doesn’t think he’s
done anything he should be
lying low about.
MCKIE stares at her.
MCKIE
Ma’am, are the two of us
going to be able to handle
him on our own?
EXT. PUBLIC LIBRARY. NIGHT.
STONE and MCKIE hurry through the doors.
INT. LIBRARY RECEPTION. NIGHT.
STONE and MCKIE approach the desk.
RECEPTIONIST
We’re actually closing in
about five minutes, I’m
afraid.
STONE shows the receptionist her ID discretely.
STONE
We’re looking for Jack
Clooney. Did he show up for
his shift tonight?
INT. LIBRARY UPPER FLOOR. NIGHT.
It is a large open plan library, now nearly empty. A librarian leads STONE and MCKIE to the top of the stairs.
LIBRARIAN
There he is.
The librarian points to JACK on the far side of the library. He is working an industrial vacuum cleaner across the floor methodically, like he is mowing rows into a lawn.
STONE
Thank you.
STONE and MCKIE walk swiftly toward JACK. Finishing one length of the library, he turns and sees them coming.
MCKIE
Mr Clooney.
JACK hesitates, then lets the vacuum cleaner drop and runs. He heads toward the fire exit.
STONE
Go downstairs. Cut him off.
MCKIE runs back toward the stairs. STONE chases JACK.
JACK runs through the fire door. STONE reaches the door just after it closes and charges through.
INT. LIBRARY LOWER FLOOR. NIGHT.
MCKIE thunders to the bottom of the stairs. He runs to the first librarian he sees.
MCKIE
The fire escape. Where does
it come out?
The librarian points. MCKIE sprints in that direction.
INT. FIRE ESCAPE. NIGHT.
JACK bounds down the bare grey concrete stairwell, three steps at a time. He runs through the exit door.
STONE is five seconds behind. She reaches the exit door.
It won’t open. She tries again, throwing her weight against it, shoulder first. The door opens a few inches, then someone slams it shut again.
STONE pushes on the door. Someone is pushing back.
STONE
Jack Clooney?
JACK
(os)
What do you want?
STONE
My name’s Gillian Stone. I’m
with the police.
JACK
(os)
What do you want?
STONE
I want you to let me through,
Jack. There’s nowhere to run.
Let go of the door.
JACK
(os)
Why are you chasing me?
STONE
Where’s Rachel Banks, Jack?
JACK
(os)
I don’t know.
STONE
Is she still alive?
JACK
(os)
What are you asking me for? I
don’t know!
STONE
Jack, it’s over. Be smart.
Tell us where she is and it
will reflect better on you
when this gets to court.
JACK
(os)
You think I took her?! I
didn’t! It’s not my fault! I
haven’t done anything!
STONE
Then why are you running, Jack?
Innocent men don’t run.
JACK
(os)
Because you’re chasing me!
MCKIE
(os)
Police! Stay where you are!
STONE suddenly finds she can open the exit door. She pushes through.
INT. BACK CORRIDOR. NIGHT.
There is only one way out of the bare concrete passage and MCKIE is blocking it.
JACK tries to charge him. MCKIE steps aside, grabs JACK and uses the man’s forward momentum to throw him against the wall. JACK is dazed, but fights back.
STONE catches up, breathless.
JACK pushes and punches at both STONE and MCKIE as they try to pin him to the wall. A flailing arm catches STONE in the face and she falls back against the other wall.
MCKIE throws himself into JACK heavily. JACK smacks into the concrete wall hard, then crumples to the floor. He starts to cry.
MCKIE takes out his handcuffs.
MCKIE
You okay, ma’am?
Wincing as she nurses the back of her skull, STONE nods.
MCKIE
Jack Clooney, I am arresting
you on suspicion of the
kidnap of Rachel Banks. You
do not have to say anything,
but anything you do say will
be taken down and may be used
as evidence in court. It may
hurt your defence if you do
not mention when questioned
something that you later rely
on in court. Now, get up!
INT. POLICE STATION. NIGHT.
STONE and MCKIE stand back and watch as several uniformed officers frog-march a handcuffed JACK, clearly distressed, through the doors.
JACK
I didn’t take her! You’re all
making a stupid mistake!
You’ll see! You’ll see!
The officers take him out of sight. STONE feels the back of her sore head tenderly.
MCKIE
He got you pretty good,
didn’t he, ma’am? You’re
going to look like a battered
housewife tomorrow.
STONE
Well, I feel like one tonight.
MCKIE
If you wanted to call it a
day, I think I can manage
the preliminaries.
STONE
And let you have all the
glory, McKie?
MCKIE
No, just all the paperwork.
You’ve been on your feet for
over fourteen hours, ma’am.
STONE
So have you.
MCKIE
Well, the offer’s there. I’m
not going to sleep until he
tells us where the girl is.
And if I’m not going to sleep,
then neither is he.
EXT. STONE HOME. NIGHT.
STONE parks the car and heads wearily up to the front door. The house is dark and quiet.
INT. STONE HALLWAY. NIGHT.
STONE opens the front door. No lights are on.
STONE
Claire?
There is no answer. STONE goes into the kitchen, turns on the lights, the radio and the kettle.
INT. STONE STAIRS. NIGHT.
STONE climbs the stairs. When she reaches the top she sees light coming under the door of CLAIRE’s bedroom. She knocks gently.
STONE
Claire?
There is no answer. STONE slowly opens the door.
INT. CLAIRE’S BEDROOM. NIGHT.
CLAIRE is working at her desk, her back to the door.
STONE
Claire? Why didn’t you
answer when I called?
CLAIRE stands up and turns round. She looks petulantly angry.
CLAIRE
Well, why didn’t you pick me
up from school like you said
you would?
STONE
I left you a voice message
saying I couldn’t make it,
and I did warn you that might
happen.
CLAIRE
Well, I didn’t get your
message, did I? You rang when
I was in class and I don’t
have any credit left to call
my voicemail.
STONE
Then may I suggest that in
future you ration your text
messages to people sitting on
the other side of the road to
ten a day?
CLAIRE
I don’t text that much!
STONE
Plus you know what my job’s
like. You know I can’t just
drop everything. You’re lucky
I can pick you up several
times a week as it is.
CLAIRE
Well, I’m really, really
sorry for putting you out.
STONE lets out a calming sigh.
STONE
Look, I’ve got a splitting
headache. I’m going to have a
shower then make something to
eat. Do you want anything?
CLAIRE
I’ve already had something.
STONE
Fine. Great.
INT. STONE LANDING. NIGHT.
STONE leaves the room and heads toward the bathroom.
CLAIRE slams her door shut. Not one to be pushed any further tonight, STONE storms back and throws the door open, ready to shout.
INT. CLAIRE’S BEDROOM. NIGHT.
The bedroom is empty.
STONE
Claire?
She goes in. She looks behind the door. Not there. She looks behind the curtains. Not there. She looks in the wardrobe, under the bed, everywhere.
STONE
Claire!
But CLAIRE is not there.
NOTES:
The inspiration for this screenplay was a dream I had late in 2004. In it, I was approached by an old acquaintance of mine that I hadn't spoken to in three or four years (and who peculiarly enough e-mailed me out of the blue a few weeks after I had the dream). He showed me this old Stephen King-style horror novel, and explained to me that some recent attacks bore an uncanny resemblance to the savage murders in the book, to the extent where he could predict who would die next. I didn't believe him, until his prediction came true, then we lay in wait for the next target, and sure enough they are killed by a mysterious acrobatic killer, faceless, clad from scalp to heel in a black one-piece. By being at several of the murder scenes, my acquaintance aroused the suspicions of the police, to whom he explained his theory. Together with a female detective we tried to catch one of the black figures, only for it to escape with inhuman agility and vanish into thin air after the kill. As my acquaintance reached the end of the story, he discovered the disappearances were all leading up to the end of the world. A demonic figure needed the souls of those who disappear to fuel his return, and at the end of the dream, my acquaintance, the detective and I watched its to Earth in a brilliant nuclear light, and the world was finished.
I made the decision early on to play down the supernatural aspects and make it more a psychological thriller. The figures clad in black were suitably creepy in the dream, but were a bit too overt, a bit too "Buffy". Originally the main character was going to be Robert Patterson/van Strachan, and he was going to believe Jack Clooney more readily than I believed my acquaintance in the dream. As I wrote it, however, Gillian Stone came to the fore, and Jack's role in particular was relegated to a walking McGuffin. I cut a key scene where he stalks someone the book predicts will go missing, asking them questions to find out if it's them, scaring them off, chasing them, only to lose them when they do vanish. As I envisage the second half of the story going, he becomes more of a Hannibal Lecter figure to whom Stone visits in a cell, as the only person apart from herself who realises there's something more going on than a serial kidnapper.
The dynamic of this half of the story changed considerably when I decided to have Robert come to the police with "The Vanished". Originally it was going to be Jack, and Stone would then go off to interview Robert at home, but it just lacked something. By making the second half of this part about the hunt for Jack it gave the story focus and direction, even if at the end of the day, he is just a red herring.
None of the names have any particular significance. I saw Stone as being a Scully-like character, so she felt like a Gillian. Ruth Orwell was another case of looking up at the bookshelf and seeing "Down And Out In Paris And London" (by George Orwell). Terry Clarke was named after a detective in "The Bill", a character I also used as the basis for Detective Marsh in this story. Joseph Fletcher, the kid who was going to hang himself with his dressing gown cord, is a name I used in this story. You can decide for yourself whether, in Bret Easton Ellis fashion, characters with the same names in my stories are actually the same people. As for Jack, is there a story I've written in the last three years that doesn't have a character called Jack?
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