Proof of Life

by Steven Suttie

  “Listen, calm down, alright,” he pulled a small packet of tissues out of his jacket pocket and handed them to Mrs Pollard. Her hands were trembling as she reached over to Miller and took them. He sat down on the couch and gave her a couple of minutes to get herself together. Eventually, she began to talk.

  “We’ve not been getting on. My fault. He’s obsessed with his work, and, well… I gave him an ultimatum. I said that he needs to choose me, or his bloody job.” She started crying again, and took another tissue out of Miller’s packet.

  A young woman suddenly appeared by the doorway. She was a plump, but attractive, dark haired lady in her late twenties, early thirties. She looked concerned.

  “Are you alright, mum?”

  “Yes, I’m, I’ll be fine…”

  “And you must be Jess?” said Miller.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Okay, well if you can just leave me and your mum alone for a bit, please.” Miller didn’t want any distractions. He needed to understand what was going on here.

  Jess gave him an icy stare before turning to her mother. “I’ll just be through there if you need me, mum.”

  Miller walked across to the door and closed it behind the missing man’s daughter. He didn’t feel bad about it, he was still annoyed that Mrs Pollard had failed to alert the police officers to his real address, and was further incensed that she had known about Darren’s presence at the flat, and had said nothing. It was dodgy as hell.

  Miller sat back down, facing the sad, nervous looking lady.

  “So, come on, you might as well explain it to me. You knew that Darren had been there, yet you didn’t mention it to the police officers… and you failed to even mention that he was living at a separate address.”

  “I didn’t know anything about Darren being missing until today!”

  “But you knew that a pupil from your husband’s school had been staying at his flat?”

  She looked down at her lap. Her hand tensed around the tissue that she was holding.

  “I thought…”

  Miller let the pause hang.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, okay? There, although I’m aware of all this weird stuff, yes, I should have said. I accept that. But I’m just embarrassed?”

  “Embarrassed about what?”

  Mrs Pollard shot Miller a threatening stare. “Don’t make me say it!” she hissed at him.

  “I need to hear your thoughts, Mrs Pollard, as difficult as they may be to talk about. At this moment in time, it looks as though a minor has been abducted by your husband, and the evidence so far suggests that you’ve been covering this crime up.”

  This brutal statement of fact sent Mrs Pollard over the edge, and her trembling seemed to get worse as she jerked forward in her chair, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “As things stand, I have two options. The first is to lock you up and let you have a night in the cells at Ashton, and then interview you under caution in the morning.”

  A long, uncomfortable minute of sniffing, nose-blowing and eye-wiping passed before she spoke.

  “And what’s the second option?”

  “You tell me what the hell is going on, and without any edited highlights. I need the full story.”

  Another pregnant paused filled the room. Finally, Mrs Pollard began to explain what she knew to the frustrated, tired looking DCI.

  “Okay, first of all, the first I knew about Darren disappearing was today. That’s the God’s honest truth. I’ve been genuinely concerned about Phil. I’d not been able to contact him since I last saw him on Wednesday night. We had a blazing row, and he left here at about, I don’t know, ten o’clock. I tried to phone him, after school on Thursday to apologise. It was ringing at first, but I think he switched his phone off. I kept trying, but it just wouldn’t connect. I had a really bad feeling…”

  “What sort of bad feeling?”

  “I thought he might have done something stupid…”

  “Killed himself?”

  Mrs Pollard had a wobble at the sheer harshness of Miller’s question, but fought on, speaking through her emotion. “Yes, I said some terrible things to him that night.” It was obvious that Mrs Pollard was still very close to her husband. It didn’t quite ring-true that they were separated. Why separate, when you’re as close as these two seem to be? Thought Miller, his mind racing with possibilities.

  “So, you went round to the flat, when was this?”

  “Saturday morning, first. Then I went back on Saturday afternoon, and again on Saturday evening. I did the same thing throughout Sunday, I was convinced that he’d have turned up. I rang school on Monday to see if he’d been in. That’s when Debbie told me that he wasn’t in, and hadn’t been in on Friday, either.”

  “And then you phoned the police?”

  “Yes, and… well, I wanted to know if anybody matching his description had, you know…”

  Miller shrugged.

  “…been found dead or something…”

  “Seriously? You really thought that he’d killed himself?”

  She broke down again. “Yes, I really did.”

  Miller decided to change the topic slightly. He could come back to this later. “So, what was the row about?”

  “He’d applied for a redundancy package at school. I promised him that we’d make a go of things if he didn’t have that bloody school at the forefront of his mind all the time. He came round on Wednesday night, after tea.”

  “Did he have tea here?”

  “No, he came round after he’d had his tea, and had done his marking. He had the letter with him, from the education authority. He asked me to open it. His hand was shaking as he handed it to me.”

  “Go on.”

  “So, I opened it, and saw a jumble of words ‘sorry to inform you’ and then ‘regrettably’ and ‘unsuccessful.’ I threw it at him and called him useless. I said you can’t even get a redundancy deal!” Mrs Pollard started dabbing at her eyes with a fresh tissue. “He looked really sad, and he just left.”

  “And that’s the last you saw or heard of him?”

  “Yes. Although if you look at my phone, I’ve tried to call him a hundred times.”

  “So, you reported him missing, because you thought that he’d killed himself. You wanted confirmation, or hope.”

  “Well, yes, I guess so.”

  “But none of this explains the scene at your husband’s flat. Pizza, new clothes, dirty underwear in the bathroom.”

  Mrs Pollard just sat nodding.

  “Any idea what that’s all about?”

  “No, no. No, genuinely. I truly cannot explain that. But… well, it’s obvious what it looks like.”

  “Have you ever had any doubts about your husband, you know… that he might be interested in young lads?”

  This was too much, and Miller could see immediately that he’d crossed the line. He’d taken this too far and knew that another couple of minutes of emotional turmoil were about to disrupt his progress. He waited for her to settle down. Eventually, she spoke.

  “No. I’ve never thought that. Not once in thirty-five years of marriage.”

  “And what about now?”

  “Well, I’ve… I just don’t know. Can’t explain it.”

  Miller was satisfied with the story, it matched up to the information that he’d gained from the school. The row also added authenticity to Miller’s view that this could be some kind of a mental breakdown scenario. The wife kicks him out, because he works too hard, he tries to put it right by applying to leave his job, and was rejected. Miller was seriously beginning to sympathise with Mr Pollard’s circumstances.

  “How did you get into the flat?”

  “I have a key.”

  “Can I have it please?”

  Mrs Pollard stood and walked across to her handbag which was on the side-board. She started jangling a big bunch of keys, and then separated one from the rest. She walked back to Miller.

  “There you go.”

&nbs
p; “Thanks. Okay, well, I know this is difficult. But, I hope you understand that I have to ask these questions?”

  Mrs Pollard nodded quickly. As a social worker, she was fully aware of the reality of these situations.

  “Okay, I’ll leave you in peace for now. Thanks for all your help.”

  “Thanks for… well, you know, not arresting me. I’m sorry about… but I wasn’t trying to cover anything up, honestly.”

  Miller nodded politely as he stood and headed to the living-room door which he had closed in Jess Pollard’s face. He opened it quickly and headed straight for the front door and left. He crossed the road, grabbing his phone and switching off the airplane mode. As he did so, the phone began vibrating incessantly, as the screen lit up, telling Miller that he had 18 missed calls from DI Saunders.

  “What the…”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Llandudno is a unique British seaside town, mainly due to its unenviable record of having successfully competed against the past forty years of cheap, overseas package holidays. Where dozens of other, once-popular seaside resorts have now decayed and become areas of high deprivation, Llandudno has managed to hold its own, and maintain a strong trade.

  Situated at the edge of North Wales, nestled in between Anglesey to the west, and Colwyn Bay to the East, Llandudno still attracts British holiday-makers in huge numbers, year in, year out.

  Its pleasant, well-kept promenade, clean beaches and the famous pier, which protrudes half a mile into the sea from beneath the Grand Hotel, makes this a lovely place for a day out, or a long weekend, attracting people from all across the north-west and central England. The stunning views around this part of the world can make visitors feel a million miles away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life in the urban metropolises of Manchester, Liverpool and Stoke, and the tourists come flocking back, every year.

  The Great Orme is one of Llandudno’s best-known landmarks, a giant limestone headland on the edge of town, with a coastal road named Marine Drive circling it, offers breath-taking views of the town, the coast, and of course the Irish Sea. The summit of the Orme has several tourist attractions, from cable-cars, a tram-way, visitor’s centres and a ski slope, as well as ancient churches and bronze mines.

  This is a very special place, attracting not only human visitors, but many species of wild-life too, including endangered butterflies and moths attracted to the limestone flowers and grasses. The dozens of colonies of sea-bird within the cliffs, and most famously, a herd of 200 Kashmir goats live up here. The herd, which has roamed the Orme since the middle of the 19th century, is descended from a pair of goats which were presented by the Shah of Persia to Queen Victoria shortly after her coronation in 1837.

  But tonight, police officers from nearby Colwyn Bay were not here looking for endangered species, or to enjoy the pleasant views. They were looking for a white, Eldiss Autoquest 6 berth motor-home, registration PN67 WYN.

  The unmarked, silver Astra police car had done a full lap of the Orme, all the way around Marine Drive. There was no motor-home at the location that Manchester police had enquired about, which was listed as the car park of the Rest And Be Thankful café, close to the light-house. The officers had proceeded with caution, posing as members of the public out for a night drive. But when it became clear that there was nothing on the car-park, the officers had parked their unmarked car, got out and had a quick look around using their torches. There was literally nothing there, just an empty, gravel car park and the thunderous sound of waves crashing against the rocks below.

  It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that the motor-home had moved on, away from Llandudno, or to higher-ground, at the top of the Great Orme. Following instruction from their Inspector over radio, the officers were told to climb the steep road to the summit, and check the roads up there.

  Five minutes later, they were back on the radio, to instruct their Inspector, Colin Myers, that there was a no sign of the vehicle anywhere on the giant rock.

  Inspector Myers called DI Saunders in Manchester.

  “Hello, Detective Inspector, this is Inspector Myers from North Wales.”

  “Hi, yes, anything?” Saunders sounded worked up.

  “I’m afraid not. Nothing doing, my officers have searched the whole area. They’ve driven along every road and bridleway. There is no motor-home on the Orme.”

  “Okay, thanks, just hold the line a moment.” Saunders picked up a landline phone from a nearby desk and started dialling the number that he had scribbled on his post-it pad. It was the manager of the motor-home hire company.

  “Donna, hi, it’s DI Saunders. Are you still with the tracking software?”

  “Hi, yes, still here. The van’s still there, too.”

  “In the same location?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, hold the line.”

  Saunders picked his mobile phone up from the desk, the connection was still there. “Hello, Inspector Myers. The vehicle is still there. It’s showing up from its tracking device as being parked exactly where I gave you the co-ordinates. Can I just check them again with you?”

  “Yes, go ahead.”

  Saunders read the long, GPS address number to the Inspector.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I have. My officers have searched the entire area, there are no vehicles at that location, the car park is deserted.”

  “It can’t be!” Saunders hadn’t meant to snap, but he knew that he had done. The Inspector took it in good humour.

  “No, DI Saunders, trust me. There are no vehicles there this evening. It must be a blip on the software.”

  Saunders talked into the other phone. “Donna, can you refresh the software?”

  “In what way?”

  “The officers searching are saying it’s not there. It looks like a software blip at your end.”

  “There’s no blip. Look, I’ll close it down, and relaunch it. Okay, just a sec… right, its back on. I can see a map of the UK, and seven red lights in different locations, each red light corresponds to one of my vehicles. The Autoquest which Mr Pollard hired is still situated at that location, same co-ordinates that I gave you earlier.”

  “Aw for… what’s going on?” Saunders was trying to think. This made no sense, none at all. How could the police in Wales not see a fucking big massive white camper-van on a perfectly specified car park which normally accommodated no more than fifteen vehicles?

  “Okay, Inspector, the software has been reloaded, its showing the same location.”

  “Well… I can assure you, it’s not there. My officers have checked, by car, and on foot.”

  “Well, can you offer me any other explanation?”

  “Possibly, these trackers are only true to a distance of ten metres, usually.”

  “Yes…” there was an unmistakable tone of expectation present in Saunders’ voice.

  Well, I’m just thinking, it could have been driven over the edge of the cliff…”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Hi Sir,”

  “Hi Keith, I’ve had eighteen missed calls. What’s happened?”

  “Oh God, where do I start?” Saunders sounded totally stressed as he gave his boss an update on everything, from the call from Tameside Camper Hire, to the latest, unbelievable development, that it looked like the motor-home could have been driven off the cliff.

  “You okay, mate?” asked Miller, unhappy with how stressed his colleague sounded.

  “Nah, not really, the Inspector I’ve been dealing with over there sounds as thick as two short planks, and like he’s had too many Valium.”

  “Alright, well, I’m on my way back now, lots of interesting stuff to tell you. I’ll be about twenty minutes. Phone air support, and request India 99, tell them DCI Miller has raised a code-one priority on it, travelling to North Wales. Tell them to make sure its fuelled up and ready to leave in twenty minutes.”

  Miller hung up, and squeezed his foot hard against the accelerator, switching on his blues and twos a
s the car exceeded the speed limit.

  India 99 is the Manchester force’s helicopter, and although it is extremely hit-and-miss as to whether it would be available for a random job under normal circumstances, the fact that Miller had put in a code-one meant that even if it was out on a shout now, it had to return to base and prepare for a new flight.

  “Hello, this is DI Saunders in the SCIU.”

  “Hi, how are you doing tonight?” asked the shift manager.

  “Pretty stressed actually. DCI Miller has asked me to issue a code-one on India 99.”

  “Oh, anything interesting?”

  “Yes, we need to get to North Wales, sharpish. Llandudno. Is the chopper home?”

  “Yes, it’s been dead quiet today, not been out yet. So this is welcome news.”

  “Can you have her ready in fifteen minutes?”

  “Yes, she’s ready now, scramble time is around four minutes.”

  “Excellent, okay, that’s brilliant news, he’s coming over from Stalybridge now on the hurry-up, so we’ll be about fifteen minutes.”

  “Yes, that’s not a problem. See you soon.”

  *****

  The flight from HQ to Llandudno took just twenty minutes, the distance in a straight line was only 65 miles, compared to almost 90 miles by road. India 99 managed to cruise at a steady speed of 160 miles per hour. It was just enough time for Miller and Saunders, and Rudovsky who had tagged along, to compare notes.

  Miller updated the officers about Mrs Pollard’s disingenuous missing person’s report, as well as the scene at the flat. Saunders managed to confirm the information was accurate as he relayed the phone conversation with the JD sports worker who had served Pollard.

  Rudovsky revealed the information that she had managed to get from Dawn Jenkins, including her glowing reference for Mr Pollard, and the circumstances around Darren not living with her in Aberdeen. She went on to update her colleagues about Michael Jenkins, and explained the situation regarding Johnny, information which, coupled with the latest developments, effectively took the suspect badge off Michael Jenkins.