The Strange Death of John Doe

Fiona Doyle

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2018
• Print ISBN: 9781848427679
• eBook ISBN: 9781788500548
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

London, present day. The body of an unidentified young man is found face down in a suburban street. Who is he and where did he come from? He has no ID and nobody witnessed anything. It's as if he has just fallen from the sky…

Pathologists and police working on the case must uncover the truth and piece the story – and body – of this 'John Doe' back together. A breakthrough sends DC John Kavura into overdrive and as his investigation unravels, he uncovers a haunting story of our time.

Inspired by real events, Fiona Doyle's play The Strange Death of John Doe is a powerful and poignant drama that premiered at Hampstead Theatre Downstairs, London, in 2018, and was a finalist for the Susan Smith Blackburn Prize.

Total darkness.

Sound of a phone ringing from far away. And jet engines firing up.

The shape of something crawling starts to emerge. A person.

We also hear the voice of the AIRPORT SECURITY MAN giving instructions:

‘From the bar, haul yourself up into the well and move along the side until you come to a small opening. Crawl through that opening and it will lead you out into the landing-gear retract area. Tuck your legs up like so and stay there. Got it? Otherwise you might get crushed.’

Mechanical noises now. The morticians start moving the gurneys around the person who is crawling, as if to suggest someone is deep inside the interior of a plane as it takes up position on a runway.

VOICEMAIL. The person you are trying to reach is unable to get to the phone. Please leave a message after the tone.

Tone.

FELIPE’S VOICE. Hey. Where are you? This isn’t… I’d like to kick you up the ass right now! (Beat.) Are you there? Did you really go?

Another phone starts ringing. The voices start to overlap.

VOICEMAIL. / The person you are trying to reach is unable to answer the phone. Please leave a message after the tone.

FELIPE’S VOICE. Louis has a new car. It’s a nice car. Took our first tour out three days ago. Four Americans and a German. They were all still alive by the end.

We can see XIMO now. He’s wearing a grey hoodie, jeans, and white trainers. He’s on his hands and knees squeezing through a tiny space.

Hey. I’m wearing your trousers. Right now. Without underwear! (Beat.) Always moving, eh? Always flitting about. Call me you little shit.

Tone.

RAE’S VOICE. Hi. It’s me.

Everything suddenly stops. The entire focus should be on RAE’s voice here.

I thought you might have called by now. I don’t want it to be like this. (Beat.) Maybe you’ve found a girl? Or a job? Or both? I can come visit. I can come visit you and you can introduce me to your girl. We can all go out for tea together. I never planned this y’know. Who gets to plan their life, hey?

As the voicemail continues, the mechanical noises start up again and the gurneys begin to close in on XIMO, like something is retracting. XIMO starts to push against them, as if he has changed his mind suddenly but it’s too late. They lock in tightly. He is cramped and uncomfortable. Trapped. He manages to kiss some prayer beads before putting them in his pocket.

I never used you either. I never did that. I was just trying to help. (Beat.) It’s been such a long time Ximo. Seems like a lifetime ago now. (Beat.) And maybe you were using me, ever thought about that? Wherever you are, I hope you’re okay. (Beat.) God. Life just goes on doesn’t it? Life just goes –

Line goes dead as the overwhelming sound of a jet plane taking off fills the auditorium. It’s deafening. XIMO covers his ears.

Louder.

Louder.

Louder…

XIMO (shouting over the roaring engines, as if someone has just asked him a question). What does it feel like? Ringing. In my brain. First the right. Then the left. Then the right and the left until my head is filled with bells as clouds pass beneath my feet.

The engines level off a bit now, replaced by the steady hum of a plane flying at high altitude.

Dizzy. Strange shapes. Air is cold. Head feels light. Rushing forward, dropping back. Never knew it could turn cold like this. Pressure. In my heart, on my chest, get the fuck off my chest. Squeezing. Pressing. Crushing. No one told me I wouldn’t be able to breathe. Rock on my heart. Stealing it away out over the sea. And black. Falling. Through a dark dark space. (Laughs.) So dramatic.

The sound of a wheel well opening. Then all mechanical noises cease. Now, we just hear space and wind.

Light comes back a moment as the ground beneath me appears. Dropping out into the world. Falling through space. And time. Into space and time. Falling. Until…

Teeth.

Face.

Phone.

The sound of a body smashing to pieces.

***

London. Monday morning in late September. An office in a police station.

CARTER. She wants want?

JOHN. Compensation.

CARTER. For what?

JOHN. Her flowerbeds.

CARTER. Her flowerbeds?

JOHN. Apparently they’re quite rare. A speciality or something. Called – (Reading from a notebook.) Rose Alexander. (Looks at CARTER.) That’s a hybrid tea rose, has a particular type of maintenance programme.

CARTER (despairingly). Jesus Christ.

JOHN. Saw some forget-me-nots growing by the wall. They’re the little blue ones, y’know? We used have them out the back when I was a kid.

CARTER looks at him, expecting more.

What about the Angolans?

CARTER. Let’s just say I get the feeling this isn’t an investigation of great urgency for them.

JOHN. Is there no other way / of

CARTER. It has to be through the Angolan authorities.

Beat.

JOHN (looking at notes). Oh yeah, and she remembers hearing a car alarm going off briefly around 8.15 a.m.

CARTER. Hybrid-tea-rose lady?

JOHN. Yeah.

CARTER. She look outside?

JOHN. You know what people are like, I put a pillow over my head.

CARTER. 8.15. (Beat.) All matches up.

JOHN. I’ll go ring pathology. See where they’re at.

JOHN goes to exit. He suddenly gets a vivid flashback of the body in the garden – the contortion, the blood, the utter annihilation of this unknown man.

CARTER. John?

JOHN. Yeah?

CARTER. What time d’you get to bed last night?

JOHN. What?

CARTER. Your eyes look red.

JOHN. Allergies.

CARTER. What d’you do after your shift / last night?

JOHN. None of your bloody / business Carter.

CAR...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Contents
• Original Production
• Epigraph
• Acknowledgements
• Dedication
• Characters
• Note on Text
• The Strange Death of John Doe
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information