Nowhere to go: Brutal reality of a troubled child on a Gold Coast night
It’s 8.30pm. Most children are getting ready for bed. But for one young boy, there’s nowhere to sleep except for the safety of a police station. This is his heartbreaking story.
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It’s 8.30pm on a Tuesday night.
A nondescript car is heading north along Bundall Rd.
To its right, the Gold Coast skyline sparkles against the clear night sky. To its left, a Porsche, which pulled alongside the car as it idled at a red light by the $60 million HOTA art gallery.
The sights of a glittering city are of no interest to the car’s occupants – a police officer, youth justice worker, and a 13-year-old sitting in the back seat.
The boy is barely out of primary school. But he’s being taken to Southport police station, where he will see out the evening.
Not because he’s done anything wrong. He is not in custody. At least not this time.
He’s being brought to the station because he literally has nowhere else to go.
THE THIN BLUE LINE
The two men helping the boy this evening are Acting Detective Sergeant Cheyne Hampson and Henry Teao, a youth justice worker.
They are part of the Gold Coast’s youth justice co-responder team, a 24/7 service operating from Southport station.
Their job – to engage with young people who have been in trouble with the law. To get them off the streets and into school and work.
And in doing so, stem the tide of youth crime in the city.
They have many success stories to tell.
But there are good nights and bad nights. And this one has not gone well.
The “heartache” had begun just two hours earlier, when they went to check on a 14-year-old boy, Oliver (not his real name). The boy has been involved with stolen cars and seen the inside of courts. He lives with his mother and brother. The single mum has struggled with their behaviour.
“He (the 14-year-old) got caught up in offending very quickly. He had 10 to 15 offences in a very short period of time,” Det Sgt Hampson says.
“Then we started engaging with him and he’s come along quick. He’s gone back to school.
“It’s a young cohort (he’s mixed up with). They pretty much all went to school together.
“Some of the other people in that group, their trajectory (of offending) is still upwards.”
Mr Teao explains that these kind of checks are routine for the team. They are making sure the children are abiding by curfews and other bail conditions. That they’re going to school. That they’re keeping away from the groups that are involved in committing crime. That families have the support they need to control their wayward kids.
“That’s a lot of our role. To engage the family. To build a rapport. To try and link them in to what we do,” he says.
“The children talk to us. They disclose different things. If it’s self-harm or something like that, we report it.
“Sometimes we just go out to catch up with them, get them a Maccas. We check in and it’s, ‘how is school going’, or ‘how is work going’, ‘are there any substances?’ ”
The car pulls up outside the house. Even in the dark, it’s clear it’s a neat, well-presented home.
There is no hint of the trouble within. Or what the officers are about to discover.
DOING 200KM/H ON THE M1
Oliver sits sprawled, gangly legs spilling over the small couch.
On the wall of the immaculate living room, cherished photographs of Oliver and his brother as young children, wide-eyed and innocent.
Not so long ago. But yet now, so far away.
Det Sgt Hampson asks Oliver how school is going. The answer is not what he wants to hear. He hasn’t been this week.
“I didn’t want to go to the assembly,” he says. “So I got a Saturday detention. I didn’t go to that. So I got a five-day suspension.
“It’s just a week off.”
It’s a blow for the team who have worked hard to get Oliver back to school. For months he wasn’t going. Instead he was out with gangs of youths breaking into houses and stealing cars.
“I dropped out at the start of the year,” he says. “I went two and a half days and then I ditched it.
“I couldn’t be f*cked. I wanted to do dumb shit and jump in with hotties (stolen cars).”
Oliver hasn’t been involved with the gang for a couple of months. Det Sgt Hampson is keen it stays that way. He reminds him of how much trouble it caused. And how it made him feel.
“It got worse and worse. I was hardly at home. I kinda got sick of it,” Oliver says.
“I got sick of going through the same process all the time.
“Go get a hottie, get picked up (by the police).”
It was a very stressful time for his Mum. Her boy gone for days. Knowing he was with the wrong crowd. Sleeping in cars.
“I was watching him on Life360 (a tracking app). Making sure he was safe. Keeping in touch with co-responders,” she says.
“Just keeping you safe, that was the main thing.
“It was stressful. I’d be up at 2am, seeing where he was.”
Designed to aid car safety, the Life360 app also reveals how fast a person is travelling.
Oliver’s mum says the speeds she sometimes saw were alarming. The 14-year-old seems less bothered.
“I was going 200km/h,” he says. “It was pretty fun, not going to lie.”
LIKE A CULT
It’s clear the visit by the officers is timely. Oliver’s mum is worried. Worried that things are about to go south again.
“Just trying to manage all the kids is so hard. It’s like a cult in a way. They all seem to feed off each other,” she says.
“This week it’s starting to ramp up again a bit.
“It’s hard. I can’t leave work. I’ve used up all my annual leave.
“I’ve spoken to some of the other parents. But there are new people coming in all the time. It’s hard to keep up.”
The single mum is worried by the mates her son brings back to the house. It soon becomes clear one of them, a 13-year-old boy we’ll call Parker, is present in the house.
Oliver argues with his mum. He wants Parker to be allowed stay, saying he has nowhere else to go.
His mum fears what will happen if she agrees. That the pair will “stay up smoking” all night. That things will go wrong again.
Det Sgt Hampson and Mr Teao agree to help.
They ask Oliver to get Parker, who is in his bedroom.
The 13-year-old enters. He’s dressed in black shorts, black T-shirt, black baseball cap. Designer brands. The uniform of “the cult”.
“What’s happened this time?,” Det Sgt Hampson asks.
Parker: “I was meant to go to school. My brother was slamming doors all night and she (mum) blamed me. She kicked me out. She said go and live your stoner lifestyle.”
Did he go to school?
“No. I went around the corner. I was crying. She just called, shit-talked me before.”
Parker’s parents are separated. Mr Teao suggests bringing Parker to his dad’s place.
“Do you think we could rock up to your dad’s. What would happen?,” he says.
“No idea,” Parker replies. “His phone’s been off for ages. Dad’s not keen on talking to me.”
The officers will soon find out.
‘I WAS F*CKING SLEEPING’
It’s dark. Parker is standing in the driveway of his dad’s home. Mr Teao is with him.
“Watch where you go,” he says. “He (the dad) has a dog, but he doesn’t pick up”.
A couple of metres away, Det Sgt Hampson is banging hard on the door.
“Mate you in there. Open up, it’s the co-responders. We’ve got Parker”.
It takes a few minutes before Parker’s dad finally responds. When he does, the night silence is suddenly broken. It’s in a wild rage.
“I was f*cking sleeping.”
“It’s bloody payday, course she sends him here.”
“F*ck off.”
“I’ve got no food here Parker, no food, nothing.”
It’s hard to make out everything he’s saying as he roars and hollers and smashes items against walls.
But the message is pretty clear: Parker can’t stay here.
The trio returns to the car.
The boy is distressed. He doesn’t understand everything his dad said. Though they all know what he meant by ‘payday’ – a reference to Centrelink child support payments.
Det Sgt Hampson and Mr Teao have been trying to contact Parker’s mum. She’s not answering the phone. They decide to drive to her house.
Along the way the pair pepper Parker with questions. It’s an opportunity to find ways they can help.
“Do you need a lift to school in the morning?”
“Are you using substances?”
“How can we help you get along with Mum?”
Parker asks questions too. If a mate is in juvie. If there are snacks in the car. When he has his next court date.
He’s softly spoken, but he wants to talk. He trusts the officers.
“You’re one of the nicest ones,” he tells Det Sgt Hampson.
“Last time I spoke to you, you were quite upset. You were ringing us to tell us you were arrested,” the police officer says
“Dad told me to (call),” the boy says.
“I realised I messed things up again.
“I felt pretty shit.
“I knew I was not going to be able to talk to Mum again in ages. I let Mum down.”
He’s asked how.
“Because I told everyone I was going to start afresh.”
Eventually they reach Parker’s Mum’s house. It’s quiet. It appears nobody’s at home.
They get a text that confirms it. And takes things from bad to worse. Not only is Mum not around, she says she’s leaving town, catching a flight to be with relatives interstate.
The team set out for Southport station. That drive along Bundall Rd.
In the back seat, Parker’s eyes slowly close. He drifts off.
A 13-year-old child, abandoned and – but for these two people keeping him safe – totally alone.
“This is where the heartache starts”.
NOWHERE TO GO
Back at Southport Police Station, Parker is given some snacks and shown to an interview room. There’s a couch there he can sleep on.
In the meantime, Det Sgt Hampson and Mr Teao hit the phones, a process they started while still driving.
They’re trying to find somewhere, anywhere, where Parker might get a bed for the night.
Child Safety is contacted.
“We’ve a situation here,” Mr Teao tells them.
“We picked up a child to return to his parent’s house. Dad has escalated. So he can’t go there. We tried Mum’s as well. But Mum kicked him out.
“... Not only did she kick him out. But she’s off on a flight to deal with a family matter.”
It’s a fruitless, frustrating process. There is a bed available, at a service called Night Stop.
But they won’t take Parker without sign-off from Child Safety.
And Child Safety need something the officers know they cannot get – written permission from either of Parker’s parents for him be taken into care.
Few ever give it. They would lose Centrelink benefits.
So the red tape wins. Police are powerless.
The only section of the Child Protection Act that would allow them to take a child into care sets a high bar, essentially insisting that the officer must be able to demonstrate that the child is at immediate risk of physical harm.
Desperate as it is, the advice is that Parker’s case does not meet the threshold.
In the meantime, other than the safety of a police station, Parker still has nowhere to sleep.
The Gold Coast University Hospital is contacted.
“The hospital say they are chockers. The best bet is a bed in a waiting room or hallway somewhere. That’s the best they could do.”
But that’s where Parker ultimately ends up.
A family member calls him. Whatever is said, it has a devastating effect.
The team now have no option but to take him to the hospital for assessment.
In a city of lights, this slight, softly spoken 13-year-old has reached a dark place.
One that sees him talk about ending it all.
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