Review of Australian Fiction, Volume 15, Issue 4 Page 2

  With the loss of their two daughters, and the deterioration of Rich’s health, Rich and Flo moved to Perth. After several years in Perth, they were asked to foster a little girl by the name of Geraldine Jackman. She was a beautiful child. Then several years later they were asked to foster Geraldine’s baby brother, Cleon Jackman.

  Adopting Cleon into their lives brought much happiness with the expectation of a long and happy future with their children.

  On becoming a teenager, Cleon is active and popular in his community. He has many friends, young teenagers like himself and they would spend a lot of time together.

  One day, Cleon gets on his bike to catch up with his mates and he never returns home.

  The disappearance of Cleon starts a frantic search to save his life. In his efforts to find his son, Rich is confronted by a system that wrenches at his heart as the clock ticks away the moments of his son’s life.

  The day Cleon goes missing is the 11th of May 2009. The day rolls around like any other day. Autumn is closing its doors and winter is fast approaching. The nights are becoming cold and while the days are relatively warm the mornings arrive with a cold bite. There is the occasional rain fall, but nothing heavy. Cleon had gone for a ride on his bike that day and was glad to catch up with his mates. They were hanging out at the Lynwood fish and chip shop when he found them. As they were standing around yarning they heard the screech of brakes. Looking up, they saw a ute come speeding towards them.

  Cleon and his friends are aware of who the people in the ute are, as they had had run-ins with this lot before. Cleon is filled with fear as his eyes moved from his mates to the speeding ute. They are druggies, users and drug dealers and are well known for their drug use as well as prostitution in the community. Terror filled him as he pushed his bike off to a speedy run. He could hear the sound of rubber on metal combined with his own fast breathing. He knew he had to make a run for home where he would be safe. He pushed his bike hard onto the footpath that joined Langford and Lynwood; for dear life pushed down hard on the pedals of his bike. He knew that he was in trouble and had to escape from these people chasing him. Drug dealers showed little sympathy to anyone crossing their path. He had to get to the security of his home and his dad. The ute and people in it, following hard after him, had to detour to get across the highway and for a brief moment he thought he was safe. Still he pedalled faster to get to the corner that would see him on the road to his home. As he sped past the rows of houses, a man looked up from his gardening to see what was going on as he heard the screeching of tires hitting hard against the sidewalk. He saw Cleon on his bike with the ute and passengers chasing hard after him. He stood up straight and watched for a brief minute then, without a second thought, went back to his gardening. Someone shouted from the back of the ute ‘get that black bastard’, and suddenly, arms reached out, snatching him from the bike and slamming him to the ground rendering him helpless. Kicking and fighting Cleon tried to escape but the ‘good neighbour’ held him tight until the people in the ute pulled up beside a kicking screaming Cleon and the ‘ good neighbour’ who then handed him over to his pursuers who bundled him unceremoniously into the ute and took him to his place of death. Cleon as a fourteen was beaten, tortured, had paper stuffed in his mouth, plastic bags placed over his head and eventually taken to a bush grave where he was buried alive.

  Rich sat on his veranda with a smoke in his hand. He felt a sudden chill through to his bone. He rose up out of his chair, pulled his brown jacket closer to his chest and walked out to the side of the house as if looking for someone. By late afternoon Cleon had not returned home. ‘That boy hasn’t come home yet, Rich’, said Flo with concern in her voice. ‘I know’, he replied. ‘Geraldine, where that boy said he was going?’

  ‘With his mates, dad’, she replied, busily changing her newborn Tre’s nappy as she prepared to feed him.

  By now, it was past the normal time Cleon would have come home. At around seven that night their concerns heightened as he had not returned and they tried to think where he might have gone to. ‘He never stays out this late, Rich, where could he be?’ Flo called to Rich as he sat outside having a smoke. He was worried but wouldn’t let her see his concern. ‘I’m worried. You know he never stays away this long,’ she said.

  ‘I know, Flo,’ Rich replied. ‘I’ll ring Jay’s mum and see if he’s there,’ he said quietly

  standing beside the table where the phone is. Flo waited anxiously beside him to see if there’s any news. Rich’s call to Jay sheds no light on where Cleon might be. That night, some of the boys come around and tell Rich of the chase in the suburbs. One of the boys was at the fish and chip shop and described the ute that chased Cleon. He had thought that Cleon would have gotten away as the driver looked off his face. Then another boy said how Cleon had been chased by some people in a ute and was seen by people being chucked into the back of the ute. With this news Rich knew that his boy was in serious trouble and was afraid that harm had come to him. He rang the police and told them what he had heard about the chase. He was put through to missing persons but was told nothing could be done until the person was missing for twenty four hours. By now Rich was desperate. He drove around Langford looking for his son but found no clue to his whereabouts. He knew where the people lived who owned the ute so went to the house to ask if Cleon was there. ‘No’ was the response. They hadn’t seen the boy.

  Anxiety for his son’s safety is pushing Rich to action. His boy had never stayed out late without telling his mum and dad where he would be. He only ever went with his mates. Rich is driven to contact the Department for Community Services then the police. Because of the talk in the community, he is anxious that the police talk to the people with the ute. Young people have already described to him what they saw: Cleon being thrown into the back of a ute. A terrible fear is biting at Rich’s stomach and he is desperate to find his son.

  The morning doesn’t come soon enough and the next day that fear for Cleon’s safety drives Rich back to the police to demand action from them. The police are reluctant to take any action. A community meeting with the police is called and held at the local Boogallari Community Centre. That meeting is attended by local people, Rich and his family, and the police. The police are asked about the delay in acting to find Cleon as fears are mounting for his safety. It is a meeting where family emotions are high.

  ‘Why haven’t you gone and spoken to those people at Petry St?’ Rich demands. ‘People have said that they saw them grab my boy and throw him in the back of their ute. You could have gotten a search warrant to go and look.’Other family members fire remarks and questions at the police.

  ‘We’ve got no evidence to do anything like that,’ one of the detectives responds. Then there is a face-off between Rich and the detective who has been placed in charge of the investigation. The detective is rude and overbearing and makes an inappropriate comment. Rich feels rising anger at the blasé attitude of the police towards his missing son. He can no longer contain himself and calls the detective ‘a racist bastard’ then walks out of the meeting angrily, feeling completely helpless. He is devastated by the lack of action and heads home.

  Feeling helpless and nearly without hope, Rich returns home and goes to his room. It is then, in a feeling of utter despair, staggering through his bedroom door, he falls to his knees, shouting out in his native tongue, tears streaming down his face; ‘Doorum, Didley, Doongie; Nitja ngun koort warra. Winjaa Ngun nop kulinje. Ngun Koort wienbirrt. Nitja, winji baarl. Doorum, kaartadjin ngun warrnkaninje noonuk. Kaatadjin ngun. Ngun walyeninj. Winja ngun nop. Barlarrnye kulark kulinje, kulark kulinje.’ It is a guttural cry to his ancestors, pleading with them to help find his son and bring him home safely. His wife is devastated at the grief of her husband and calls for family. Along with our eldest sister Janet, we gather round Rich to be with him and Flo at this time.

  ‘I know he’s at that house. I’m worried cause I saw a truck pull out of there last night and I don’t know what’s goi
ng on. I know they got my son somewhere. The bloody police are doing nothing, just sitting on their arses.’ As much as he can, he strives to deal with this worry alone, but both Flo and Rich’s family have gathered to the house to support them. Night comes and a fire is lit. It burns outside as if providing a light for the boy to find his way home in the dark night. Sadly, the fire does not become a beacon but at least it keeps everyone warm from the chilling cold of night. Standing around the campfires everyone is talking in muted tones. The mood is sombre. There is little to laugh about in the night air, although the younger ones manage to laugh at an occasional joke. Cleon has been missing now for more than twenty four hours. The police have begun their search for him, led by a new Investigating Detective called Musconi who brings a new directive. Musconi then calls on his Senior Aboriginal Officer and together they approach the Case with sensitivity and urgency that led to the apprehension and eventual trial and imprisonment of five, and finding of the shallow grave where Cleon was buried.

  There was so much bad feeling initially between the police and Rich and his family. Rich accused the police of being too slow to respond to family requests to find his son. He accused the police of believing that the boy had probably done something wrong and was hiding or else shacked up with some girl, which was the opinion of some senior officers in the police and Department for Community Services. Rich claims they were slow to act because Cleon was Aboriginal and was a juvenile offender. While the police denied these claims, one has to wonder why there was no action when police were told that he was kidnapped and bundled into a vehicle. He has been missing now for two weeks. What had the police been doing?

  It is a little over a week later and I drive toward Rich and Flo’s house. I see a white police car parked nearby. The car is parked with its nose facing toward the road. I think to myself that it is a strange way to park a car. People visiting normally park nose first. As I drive closer I feel my heart skip a beat. I put my foot down on the accelerator, to hasten my arrival. I rush the car into the driveway. I glance toward the police vehicle and recognise Woody Humes the Senior Aboriginal Police Officer sitting in the driver’s seat with another Officer beside him. They are waiting for Rich who is now walking out of his house and striding purposefully toward the police car.

  Woody is a Nyoongar from the Southwest and is aware of Nyoongar Protocols and family connections. It is obvious to me that the Police are doing everything from a culturally sensitive point of view. Seeing him here today alarms me. There is a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. No news always left us with a degree of hope that Cleon would be found and would be safely returned to us without any harm. I look at Woody but he is unable to lift his head to look at me. There was more eloquence in the silence than if he had gotten out of the car, greeted me, and spoke personally to me.

  I walk toward the house and I am met by Rich on his way out.

  ‘Rich? Rich? What’s happening? What’s going on? What do the police want?’

  His response is short and I follow him to the parked police car.

  ‘I have to go out with these blokes. They think they might have found Cleon.’

  It doesn’t dawn on me at the time that if they had found Cleon alive, wouldn’t they have returned him home to Rich and Flo?

  ‘I’m coming too.’

  ‘No! No!’ Rich’s response is emphatic and something in his voice makes me stop and look at him.

  ‘But I want to come with you.’ My voice is pleading.

  ‘No. You can’t come. Stay here with Flo til I get back.”

  My heart sinks with the sickness of what I am feeling. My stomach is in a knot. My knees are weak and I can barely stand. I walk toward the police car with Rich, afraid of what this new turn of events will do to him. In the back of my head an alarm bell has gone off. I sense there is something he is not telling me. I desperately look at Woody for some kind of signal or indication of what is happening but still he sits, stony-faced, ready now to take Rich to… God only knows what destination, and what he will find there. My mind screams; I know that look. They’ve found Cleon and he’s dead. They’re taking Rich because he has to identify the boy’s body. Dear God, how much more can this man take? Rich looks at me from across the other side of the police car.

  ‘I can’t take you. Go inside and see Flo. Stay there with her til I get back. She needs you.’

  I am angry at his dismissal of me and yet I love him for not wanting me to be a part of what awaits him. That is his role and his alone. He climbs into the car and they drive off. I think, ‘If Dad or Olman were here they would have gone with him’. But it’s only me here today. Dad and Olman both died back in the early 1980s.

  I slowly turn towards the house. I see a slight movement of the curtain. Flo must have been watching from the window. My steps are slow as I walk toward the house. I stop at the old gum tree close by at the front door. I am numb. I rub my hands on the bark, feeling the comfort of its calloused body. The touch of a tree can be so comforting at times.

  It is so strangely quiet. Even the birds are quiet. Maybe it’s because I’ve been separated from my ownness and I am travelling with Rich in the police car to the hills where he had said they were going. Why to the hills?

  My thoughts slip back to the way Woody was in the police car. The family know him personally and he has been close to Rich during this period, especially when the family had to deal with the police. He is normally respectful and courteous. He is never rude. Today though, his whole demeanour told me that he was rejecting any contact with me. I thought of Woody’s role as a police officer and how hard it must be for him to have to deal with issues such as Aboriginal police relations, death, and having to face his people on a regular basis to tell them that something bad has happened to their loved one.

  Today, I could see that he was deeply moved by what was going down. Compassion and hurt were written across his body. He couldn’t look at me because I would have seen the truth in his eyes. He couldn’t say hello because of his respect for Rich. He had a duty to perform. And his duty was to transport Rich to his destination. He had a hard task to perform. My thoughts return to the present. There is emptiness in me. My head is telling me to run, to get away from the pain that awaits us all. But my feet are like lead. I can’t run. I have to do as I’ve been told. Rich said to go and be with Flo and stay with her till he came back. I have to see this through. Where is Janet and Shirley? Why aren’t they here? They’re older than me. They need to be here, not me. How can I comfort a woman who has already lost two of her children? They were her biological children. What comfort can I give? What can I say that will make her feel better? I have to see this though. I enter the house. My dear, heartbroken sister-in-law is inside. She has watched her husband drive off in a police car and must know deep down that only bad news will enter with him when he returns. As I enter the house I am greeted by Flo’s piercing eyes.

  ‘The police just took Rich. I don’t know what they want, but they taking him somewhere. They mighta found Cleon, eh?’ She looks pleadingly at me for an answer.

  I am unable to give her one and mumble ‘Yeah’. I walk towards the stove to put on the kettle to make a cup of tea for us. We sit quietly, talking and fussing over baby Tre. The following hours are nothing but a blur.

  Meanwhile, Woody has left with Rich and as they drive off to their destination he knows there will be heartache for this Nyoongar man and his family. Woody has informd Rich that they will be going up to the hills. There is silence in the car. Several attempts at conversation are swallowed up in silence. No one ventures to start any more conversation. There is nothing to talk about. Each becomes lost in their own thoughts as they proceed on this journey that will transport Rich to one of the darkest hours of his life. They travel a distance of some few kilometres from the CBD. It is a beautiful sunny day and at some other time perhaps Rich would have found pleasure in the drive through the bush that reminds him of home. Today, however, the scenery doesn’t interest him at all. H
is mind is filled with thoughts of what is awaiting him as they travel further and further into the bush. After a twenty-minute drive, he is confronted with police cars and police officers everywhere.

  Someone with a mask on is walking toward a mound of freshly dug earth. He observes the markers that state, ‘KEEP OUT. CRIME SCENE’, in bold letters. He is met at the scene by Senior Detective Musconi who has been working on the case since the community meeting and the previous Detective in charge had been removed from the case. He takes Rich’s hand in a firm shake. Rich knows he is here to identify a body. He feels a deep pain in his gut. His head swims. His eyes mist over.

  Woody takes Rich to a distance from the freshly dug mound. He has positively identified his son. He sits on the ground, and in a grief-stricken state he begins a slow chant of sorrow as he sees Musconi pick up his son, and carry him from the shallow grave to the waiting vehicle that will take his boy back to the morgue and a Coroner will continue further examination to determine the boy’s death. Woody and his partner stand around Rich in silence. No words could be said in this place of death, only silent thoughts of their own. In his death, they have observed the fragility of life and unearthed unbelievable cruelty inflicted on this child.

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