She's locked in the past. It's like she’s pickled her son. "He was such a cute baby." She says while looking at the wall of photographs. "When he was little, he was so sweet."
Melissa, my assistant says," Love the photos of you and your son together."
I peer closely at his school pics, there's Greg in uniform. Though there are no photos of him as a young boy with friends. I ask his mother about this.
She sighs and says, "We had few friends. We moved around a lot, see? He made friends easily but lost them just as easily."
I say, "How many times did you move?"
"Mmm, once a year from when he was four. Then, when he was 12, we moved twice that year. That year everything changed."
She points to a strip of photo booth pics. His hair is longer. He’s with another boy. The boy has him in a headlock in one. He has the boy in a headlock in another. The expression on Greg's face bothers me. I think it’s the eyes. His mother doesn’t seem to notice. She smiles wanly as she fingers the strip for an instant before turning her attention to me.
"What happened?" I ask.
"Happened? Oh, the first time, we moved that year, his father found us.
"You were separated?"
"We'd been spearated since Greg was four and had an AVO out against Steve...We had to move interstate. And the second time we moved, Greg got in with the wrong crowd. I don’t know what they did to him, but, but... " She bursts into tears. "I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know how to handle him. He’d changed overnight."
There are slightly blurry photos taken by one or more of his friends showing the evolution of evil. Greg was charismatic, alluring and terribly dangerous. What makes a boy into a monster?
Was it nurture or nature? An abusive father fuelled by alcohol and drugs, bullies at school, the wrong crowd or lack of discipline? According to other people who knew him, Greg might have been a sweet boy, but he became vengeful, arrogant and eventually, murderous.
I ask more about the night in question. His mother’s vague, a little defensive. I can see she’s over the interrogation and I'm not likely to get anything more from her. I hand her my calling card, "If there’s anything else you remember, or need anything." She looks at the card for a long time. I continue," If he contacts you."
She looks sharply at me and says, "Thanks."
Greg's mother walks us to the door, and stands behind the screen door watching as we leave, get in the car and drive away. We’re a block from the house when Melissa says, "She was acting weird."
"She was grief stricken."
"It wasn't that. She was on eggshells, couldn’t wait to get rid of us."
"Most people don’t like cops hanging around."
"I think Greg was there." Says Melissa.
I pause as her words sink in, "You mean, now?"
I check the rear view mirrors, put the indicator on and do a rapid u-turn.
Melissa calls for back up. We catch Greg as he’s in the car backing out of the driveway.
