Proof of Life

by Steven Suttie

But it didn’t take long before Kieron realised that once again, the safety nets had been removed, and he was on his own. His life very quickly went off the rails, as he met new people, and mixed in new social circles. The council estate where he’d been given his flat was used to rehome troubled individuals and families. The place was full of ex-cons and anti-social families. Kieron had only been living in the area for a few weeks when his flat was burgled. All he had in there was a telly, a toaster and a kettle, which his mum had brought round for him. They’d been nicked, and somebody had done a shit in his bath.

  Kieron sat down on the cold, hard floor of his empty, soulless flat, and realised that everything that he had ever believed about life was wrong. He’d gone through school, and life, with a smile on his face and the view that life was going to be good to him. He’d imagined that he’d have a nice car, the best clothes, and all the latest Xbox games, on the day they came out, maybe a girlfriend one day. It was sobering to realise just how wrong he’d imagined it, despite thousands of hours of teacher’s, parent’s and social worker’s time explaining that it was inevitable that this was where he’d end up if he carried on.

  But it was worse than that. Within 6 months of getting his flat, Kieron had ended up in Forest Bank prison, for stealing a car and crashing it into a set of traffic lights. He’d been back out, and back in, three times in four years since then. This latest sentence he was serving was for two years, for multiple burglaries.

  Prison had become the safety net, now. It was a lot easier in prison than it had been in the real world, and Kieron knew that he always had this place to fall back on. Three good meals, warm bed, his own TV and some good lads to knock around with and have a laugh with during association time.

  Kieron couldn’t wait for exercise period to come around, so he could ask one of the screws to get the Governor to contact DCI Miller. He had some important information that he wanted to share about Mr Pollard. Kieron wanted to set the record straight, he owed Well’ard that.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Hello, Mrs Pollard?”

  “Yes?”

  “Hi, it’s DCI Miller. We met last night…”

  “Oh, hi, what’s…”

  “Oh, sorry, I’ve not got any information. Nothing of major significance anyway.”

  There was a long silence. Miller felt bad. It was obvious that for Sandra Pollard, every minute felt as though it was lasting an hour. She was desperate for something. Her disappointment was silent, but unmistakable down the phone.

  “So, what’s new?”

  “Well, I wanted to invite you down here for a chat, let you meet my team, let you see where our investigations are up to… and, well, I wanted to explore the possibility of doing a news conference with you?”

  “A news conference… for TV you mean?” She didn’t sound overly keen.

  “Yes, well, in my experience, the best method of connecting with somebody, is through their loved one.”

  Another thick, heavy silence hung on the line.

  “I’m just a bit… it’s a bit embarrassing.”

  Miller held the phone away from his ear and stared at it. He wasn’t expecting to hear such a strange response.

  “Sorry, I don’t follow. How do you mean embarrassing?”

  “Yes, sorry DCI Miller, that must sound so shallow. What I mean is, I’m quite ashamed that we’ve split up. And, well, I’m quite ashamed about what’s happening, with Darren I mean.”

  Miller thought for a second. It was understandable, to a certain degree, maybe a little humiliating. But this was a serious matter. He wasn’t sure what to say, but it didn’t matter.

  “Oh, what am I saying? Of course I will do it. Sorry, I’m just all over the place at the minute.”

  That was a relief. “Oh, no, don’t apologise Mrs Pollard, I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

  “Thank you. What time would you like me?”

  “Oh, well, what time is it now? One o’clock… what do you think about five?”

  “Yes, that’s fine. Is it the police head-quarters where you are based?”

  “That’s right, on Hyde Road. Just ask for me at reception. I’m sure I’ll have a lot more to tell you by then.”

  “Would it be alright if I brought my daughter along, Jess?”

  “Yes, yes, I can’t see why not. Okay, I’ll see you at five, and we can discuss the press conference as well.”

  “Okay, thank you. And, obviously, if you hear anything beforehand…”

  “Rest assured Mrs Pollard, you’ll be the first to hear any news. Okay, talk later.”

  Miller ended the call, and began writing an e-mail to the press office, asking them to organise a full press conference for 6pm.

  *****

  Kieron Davis jumped as he heard his cell door being unlocked. Once it was open, he was shocked by what he saw. It was the Governor of HMP Forest Bank, standing right outside his cell.

  “Hello, Sir.” Said Kieron.

  “Hiya Kieron, can I come in a minute please?”

  “Yes Sir, of course.”

  The Governor was a nice man, and the entire prison population respected him. It was very rare to get a visit from him though, it was usually the other way round. Cons visit the Governor in normal circumstances.

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” said the Governor. Kieron laughed at the stupid joke and imagined that he said it to every prisoner in the jail. Kieron’s “place” was a single occupancy cell which contained a toilet, a small sink, a bed and a window made up of four-inch panes of glass set in a steel window frame. The only access to fresh air was from a small hatch at the bottom of the window. The view outside was one of the best in the prison, looking out across the railway, the express trains whizzing past on their way into, or out of Manchester every five minutes. It was just a shame that previous occupants of the cell had scratched the tiny glass panes so badly over the years, it made the view very foggy.

  There was a tiny walkway beside the bed, and a shelf opposite it for a small TV and a few belongings, such as soap, toilet roll, a razor and a flannel. There was a plastic cup next to the TV, and that was about it. It was a very modest place that Kieron had here, but he liked it.

  “So, sorry to intrude but Mr Gelsthorpe told me that you need to contact DCI Miller, about the missing school kid?” Mr Gelsthorpe was the screw that Kieron had spoken to earlier, during social.

  “Yes, that’s right Sir. Mr Pollard, the teacher who’s missing, well me and him go way back. And that copper was saying he wanted to hear from anyone who had information about him.”

  “And do you have information?” asked the Governer.

  “Yes Sir.” Kieron looked pleased with himself.

  “It’s just, this kind of thing happens a lot. And I’m not saying that you would, but there are quite a few people who waste the police’s time with things like this, just for the hell of it. I have to check its all above board, before I can make the call to the police.”

  “Yeah, yeah, totally Sir. Look,” Kieron stepped forward towards his unexpected visitor and opened his drawer beneath the TV. He pulled out a stack of hand-written letters and began rummaging through them. Eventually, he pulled one from the pile, and offered it to the Governor.

  It was a letter from Mr Pollard, to Kieron, written two months earlier. After a quick scan through, the Governor was happy with everything.

  “That’s perfect Kieron, good lad. I’ll contact DCI Miller and I’m sure he’ll want to speak to you. May I borrow this letter, for the time-being?”

  “Yes Sir, of course, no problem about that.”

  “Okay. I’ll probably see you later then. Good lad Kieron.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  *****

  The incident room phone had been ringing non-stop all day, as the public rang in to offer their sightings and anecdotes about Darren and Mr Pollard. There was some good stuff coming in. The best one so far, potentially, was a call from a filling station at Gisburn, on the A
59 in between Yorkshire and Lancashire. According to the owner, they had CCTV footage of a motor-home filling up a few days earlier, and the owner was sure it had been Mr Pollard, who’d paid seventy pounds in cash. The owner had checked his CCTV and was convinced that it had been Pollard. There was no sign of Darren, however, and he had reversed the footage, and checked it several times, replaying the footage as the motor-home entered, and left the forecourt. As far as the garage owner was concerned, there was definitely no passenger on board in the cab. Lancashire officers based at Clitheroe police station had agreed to go to the garage and retrieve the footage. Miller and his team were still waiting for an e-mail with the clip attached, so they could see if this had legs. It would be an excellent turn-up, if it was right. So far, this was the hottest lead they’d had since the motor-home call had come in the previous evening.

  And then a call came in from the Governor of Forest Bank Prison, just three miles outside of Manchester city centre. This call sounded very promising, and Miller was handed the phone straight away.

  “Yes, hi, I’m the Governor at Forest Bank, we have met before, a few years ago, you probably won’t remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I do remember, course I do. How’s it going?”

  “Very well. Actually, I think I may have a prisoner that you’ll want to speak with. He’s asked me to get in touch, he’s a former pupil of Mr Pollard, the missing teacher.”

  “That sounds good. Is it legit?”

  “Yes, it seems so, I have a letter here, addressed to him, from Mr Pollard.”

  “What does it say?” asked Miller. He was definitely intrigued by this unexpected turn-up.

  “What, you want me to read it?”

  “Would you not mind?”

  “No, that’s fine. It reads, Dear Kieron, thank you for your letter and your kind words about me, although when I read it, I thought you must have got me mixed up with somebody else. I always thought that you hated my guts!

  Sorry to read that you’re having a tough time, and I hope that things are going well in prison. What plans do you have for when you are released? I hope that you can get yourself on one of the courses they run there, Forest Bank are really good at offering new skills and opportunities to their inmates. I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for you young man, and please write to me again and let me know how you are getting on. If you ever want one of my long lectures, or just a chat, send me a visitor pass, preferably weekend if you can.

  I’ll never forget the day you sneaked under my desk in English and tied my shoelaces together. It’s a good job I couldn’t chase you that day, or you’d have been in a cemetery now, not a flipping prison! Classic joke that was, I’d have been a lot angrier if it had been anybody else who’d done it.

  Keep smiling lad and keep believing in yourself. I’ve always believed in you.

  Best Wishes

  Well’ard. (Phil Pollard)”

  “Wow, flipping heck. I think I’ll definitely come and see him. Did he say anything about what he wanted to speak to me about?”

  “No, nothing like that, and I didn’t want to pry. I was just satisfied that he did have an authentic connection to Mr Pollard.”

  “Brilliant, this sounds interesting. I can come now, if you like? Fifteen minutes?”

  “Yes, no problem. See you soon.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It took Miller fifteen minutes to get through the security checks at HMP Forest Bank. There are no favours in prison security, not even for one of the city’s best-known police detectives.

  HMP Forest Bank is a modern prison, which was built in the late 1990’s on the former Agecroft Power Station site, on the edge of Salford. This facility has made the news many times, most notably for several escapes which involved armed gangs stopping ambulances which were transporting inmates to hospital. The escape plans had been made possible thanks to the number of contraband mobile phones inside the 8-wing prison, which accommodates over 1400 prisoners, the majority of whom are young men from the Greater Manchester area.

  The smell of the prison hit Miller as soon as he stepped beyond the security entrance. It was a smell which only exists in prison, and youth centres. A smell of stale sweat, cheap deodorant and roll-up cigarettes. As Miller finally completed his signing in, it was reassuring to know that the prison took security so seriously, but it was bloody frustrating for Miller, knowing that this was dead time. He was also aware that Forest Bank prison was well known for its security vulnerabilities overhead. It didn’t matter how many metal detectors, scanners and frisks were taking place at the doors, when crime gangs were piloting drones packed with drugs, mobile phones and cash into the prison’s grounds every night, from the opposite side of the railway tracks.

  “Ah, so you must be Kieron?” asked Miller, when he finally reached the Governor’s office.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “What are you in for, son?” asked Miller.

  “Oh, just daft stuff Sir, TWOCing, burglary, stupid stuff Sir, trying to get by.”

  “On the wrong side of the tracks are you, mate?”

  “Yes, Sir. But I’m trying to sort my head out. I’ve got to.”

  “And you went to Astley, did you?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “And I hear you were close with Mr Pollard?”

  “That’s right, Sir. Although I must admit, at the time we didn’t get on that well. But he was always good with me.”

  “What do you think is going on?”

  “Me, Sir?”

  Miller nodded.

  Kieron shrugged. “Haven’t got the first clue, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Same here!” Miller laughed, which forced Kieron to laugh loudly too.

  “Seriously though, I’ve never met the guy, but I’ve heard all these great stories about him…”

  “Yeah, definitely. He is a proper top bloke, shit, the stuff I used to get up to with him, winding him up, stressing him out. He never got sick of me. I proper missed him after I left, he was like a dad to me.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, loads of ways really. He was just proper supportive and stuff.”

  “Did he ever give you any gifts?”

  “Gifts, what like Myhr? Frankinsense?”

  Millier laughed enthusiastically. That gag had come from nowhere, lightning quick. Kieron reminded him of Rudovsky, that’s the kind of thing she’d say.

  “No, I’m kidding, he never gave me any gifts like, you know, obvious, but once, there was this school trip down London. It was about two-hundred quid. He was really keen for me to go, but there was no way my mam could afford it. Besides, I was always in a load of trouble anyway, so even if she did have the cash, there’s no way she’d have let me.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “Well’ard paid for me. He went round and seen my mum, spoke to her and that. He reckoned that because it was about six months away, that he’d be able to blackmail me into behaving until the trip.”

  “And he paid it, out of his own pocket?”

  “Yeah, like I say, top, top bloke.”

  “Well, it sounds like it, on the face of it. The only problem is, usually this type of thing arouses suspicion, you know, grooming and all that.”

  “Yeah, sure, I get that. But that’s not what Well’ard was about. No way Sir, never. He told me that I’d get a lot out of it, he told me that I have to see other things, apart from Stalybridge and Ashton. He said that if I came down to London and saw all the cool stuff, like Tower Bridge, and Buckingham Palace, and Big Ben and all that, he said it would open my mind up, show me that there’s more to life than the estate I live on and the school I go to.”

  “And did it?”

  “Yes and no really. I liked it, but I got into trouble for something, can’t remember what it was now. Well’ard was proper pissed off with me. I really felt like I’d let him down.”

  “And I have to ask you this, Kieron. Did Well’ard ever touch you, you know, in a sexual way?”


  “Nah, seriously man, this is why I asked the Governor to phone you. That’s not what this shit is about, I guarantee you.”

  “You’re confident?”

  “One hundred per cent Sir. Whatever is going down, it isn’t to do with sex, I’m totally confident about that.”

  “The lad who’s gone missing stayed at Pollard’s flat the night before they disappeared. And Mr Pollard had bought him hundreds of pounds worth of clothes from JD.”

  “Well, yeah, I can see how that shit would look, to somebody that doesn’t know Well’ard. But trust me, if that was what he was about, then I’d know. I spent nearly every day in his office, four, five, six hours a day, for five years. Just me and him. He never did nothing, never said nothing about sex. And look at me, I’m a very bonny lad!” Kieron grinned, and Miller laughed.

  “Modest, too.”

  “Trust me though. This isn’t about Well’ard being a perv. Absolutely no way.”

  “If I rang your mum, would she remember Mr Pollard?”

  “Yeah, definitely. God, I bet the neighbours thought they were going out, he was round our house that much.”

  “And she’ll remember the London trip?”

  “Yeah, you’re joking aren’t you? A full weekend off from me. Course she’ll remember it Sir!” Kieron smiled. He wasn’t in denial that he had his problems and was quite happy to take the piss out of himself despite them. To Miller, that was a very endearing quality.

  Miller really liked this young lad. He’d met thousands like him, and most of the time, they were just young blokes that had fallen through the cracks of the system. They weren’t supposed to be involved in crime, it wasn’t a plan they’d set out with. Usually, it was circumstances, bad luck, and poor decision making that had led them to this depressing place, and once they were in, it was hard to escape the revolving door. Most didn’t.

  “I read the letter that Mr Pollard sent you. Did you send him a visitor pass?”

  Kieron looked down at the floor. “No Sir.”

  “Why not, if you don’t mind me asking?”