Proof of Life

by Steven Suttie

“Okay. Well, your colleagues, who also start at eight, were in before me, and I arrived at half-six.”

  Chapman looked a little wrong-footed.

  “So, if you want the good jobs, get in earlier and get them, like the others do!”

  Miller walked off towards his office, furious that Bill Chapman had the audacity to question him, when the issue was plainly and simply down to one thing. DC Bill Chapman was last in, first out, every day.

  “Knob-head” said Miller under his breath as he closed his office door and checked the messages on his phone.

  Saunders had text. “Jess Pollard’s brief has asked for a break, Helen got her stuttering within a few minutes. I suspect we’re getting a no comment interview when we get back in.”

  He checked the time of the text. 8.00am. Miller realised that he’d have just been starting his press conference at the time the text was sent, so was glad that he’d turned the phone off. He tried ringing Saunders, but it didn’t connect. That meant he was back in the interview room with Jess Pollard.

  *****

  “Okay, interview suspended at zero eight-hundred hours, recommenced zero eight hours ten.” Saunders nodded to Grant, who picked up where she’d left off.

  “So, Jess, going back to the last question I asked you. Can you tell me why you have deleted all the text messages that you have received from your brother since last Friday?”

  Jess Pollard looked stressed, and nervous. “No comment.”

  “Can you tell us why you deleted all of the text messages that you sent to him, between last Friday, and yesterday?”

  “No comment.” She couldn’t look the police officers in the eye.

  “Can you explain why you have deleted all of the call history logs of your phone calls with Daniel?”

  “No comment.”

  “Presumably, you must have known that the calls and text messages would show up on your itemised bill?”

  “No comment.”

  Saunders decided to step in. He didn’t like the path this was going down.

  “Jess, I know that you’ve taken advice from your solicitor. But I must warn you that providing a no comment response increases suspicion that you are somehow involved in your dad’s disappearance and the abduction of Darren Jenkins. One thing to remember is that your solicitor won’t be stood next to you in the dock, and your solicitor certainly won’t be serving prison time with you. Please bear that in mind. I’m just thinking of the bigger picture here, these details will be taken into account when it gets to court.” Saunders was trying to be nice, but Jess Pollard was ice-cold as she stared through him.

  “My client is quite happy with the legal advice I have offered.” Said the brief.

  “Okay, just trying to help you out Jess. This only makes you look like you’ve got something to hide.” Saunders nodded again at Grant, directing her to continue.

  “Jess, where were you last Wednesday, between ten am and ten pm?”

  “No comment.”

  “Did you see your dad on that day?”

  “No comment.”

  “Did you come into contact with Darren Jenkins on that day?”

  “No comment.” Jess Pollard looked as though she was on autopilot, she was just answering as though she wasn’t even listening, or hearing the questions which were being asked.

  Saunders pointed to Grant’s list of questions, specifically, the ones intended for a “no comment” scenario. These questions were designed to gauge reaction, more than anything else. Jess Pollard’s physical reaction to them would tell the detectives more than any vocal response.

  “Jess, obviously we are speaking to you because we are concerned about your father. Do you think that he is alive?”

  “No comment.” No emotional reaction either.

  “Has your dad had any history of mental health challenges, specifically depression?”

  “No comment.” No reaction at all.

  “What about self-harming?”

  “No comment.”

  “Jess, because of the nature of your father’s disappearance, we have to ask you if you’ve ever been aware of your father having a sexual interest in young boys?”

  This one found Jess Pollard’s button, and pressed it really hard.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake! That’s disgusting! How fucking dare you!”

  “Is that a no?”

  “Yes! Of course it’s a fucking no. God, you people. You haven’t got a fucking clue!”

  “No, well, that’s a fair point. But we’re trying to get a clue. That’s the whole point of you being here Jess. We are of the suspicion that you know something about this matter and we just want to find out what it is.”

  “What, by trying to insinuate that my father is a fucking paedophile?”

  “We’re not insinuating anything. We’re asking a perfectly understandable question under the circumstances.”

  “No comment. Unbelievable!”

  “We believe that your father has taken Darren Jenkins away in order to groom him and have sex with him. Do you think that might be likely?”

  “No comment.” Jess was raging, the blood was pumping through her face, her pale complexion had turned red and tears were forming in her eyes.

  “Your parents are separated, aren’t they?”

  “No comment.”

  “Do you think that might be a factor in your father behaving in the way that he has done?”

  There was a pause. Jess Pollard was trying to control her breathing. Eventually, through gritted teeth, she said, “no comment.”

  *****

  “Hello Sir.”

  “Alright Keith, what’s happening?”

  “We’ve taken a break. Jess Pollard is a real live-wire! She’s no commenting us but we’ve had a couple of reactions.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes, so, Helen started getting under her skin, asking her if her dad was a paedo, stuff like that.”

  “Provocative!” Miller was smiling down the phone.

  “Yes, quite. From what we both made of her reaction, she’s not covering for that.”

  “But you think she is covering?”

  “Oh yes, without a doubt. Something is definitely amiss. Helen got her in a spin early on, asking about the deleted phone calls and text messages from Daniel. Her brief had her no commenting after that.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, we got on about self-harming, whether her dad’s dead, all that type of stuff. No emotional interaction, so its looking likely that she knows precisely what’s going on.”

  “And that her dad’s safe?”

  “Yes, I think it’s fair to make that assumption.”

  “Fucking hell. I knew there was something funny about her. So what’s the plan now, then?”

  “She’s banged up again. I think we’ll hang fire and see what Jo and Pete can find out off Daniel. And then take it from there.”

  “You’ve sent Jo the phone records, haven’t you?”

  “Yes Sir, she’s had them since seven am. She’s on it.”

  “Great. Okay, well, enjoy your nap.”

  “Cheers. Speak soon.”

  Miller hung up and rang Rudovsky.

  “Alright Sir! I didn’t know you were such a good kisser!”

  “Shut up Jo. Where are you?”

  “Scarborough. The home-town of Jimmy Savile.”

  “For God’s sake Jo. There must be better things to associate Scarborough with?”

  “Yes, Sir. Anyway, we’re here, just chomping at the bit to get going with Daniel Pollard.”

  “Good, okay, well…”

  Miller spent the next five minutes updating Rudovsky on the eventualities with Jess. He also filled her in on a few other details that had come to light. Rudovsky filled him in with a few details which North Yorkshire police had uncovered through the night too.

  Things were looking good.

  “Okay Sir, well, we’ll go in now and rip this Daniel Pollard a new arse-hole. Speak soon.”
<
br />   Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Hello Daniel,” said DC Peter Kenyon, as the son of Philip Pollard entered the interview room.

  He just nodded. He was a big lad, and he didn’t look like the kind of bloke who would take any nonsense.

  “Have you not got a solicitor?” asked Rudovsky.

  “Don’t need one.” He’d retained his Manc accent, despite living over here for a decade. If anything, he had an exaggerated Mancunian accent, something the proudest ex-pat Manchester people did. Daniel sounded a bit like Liam Gallagher.

  “Take a seat.”

  The custody officer who had brought Daniel Pollard in left the interview room.

  DC Peter Kenyon read Daniel his rights, and explained the interview procedure, before starting the recording device.

  “So, you have declined your right to have a solicitor present?” asked Kenyon, kicking things off.

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay, well, we’ve got a number of questions that we need to ask you in relation to your dad going missing.”

  Daniel Pollard shrugged.

  “Are you worried about your dad?” asked Rudovsky, picking up on the dismissive body language.

  “Have you ever met my dad?” asked Daniel.

  “No. I’ve not.”

  “No, I can tell.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, let’s just say, he’s not the kind of bloke you need to worry about.”

  “But he has disappeared with one of his pupils.” Said Rudovsky, playing the good cop.

  “Well, yeah, I get that. But like I say, you don’t need to worry about my dad.”

  “Thing is though,” interjected Kenyon, “we are worried. It’s not every day that a teacher just takes off with a pupil.”

  “Well I’m sure he had his reasons.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing. I’m just saying, he’ll know what he’s doing. He’s not gone mental or anything.”

  “You’re talking as though you know something. Have you spoken to your dad about this?” Rudovsky was playing her nice cop role brilliantly. DC Peter Kenyon knew that it was only a matter of time before Daniel Pollard was introduced to the psychotic side of Rudovsky’s personality.

  “Nah, I’ve not spoken to my dad since… God, at least two weeks.”

  Rudovsky decided that she’d strike now, while Daniel was still toying with her.

  “Was that on his normal phone number?”

  “Yes, what… what do… what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Your dad has two phones, doesn’t he?”

  Suddenly, Daniel sat up a little straighter. “No, I don’t… as far as I’m aware, he only has one phone. Don’t know anything about another phone. What do you mean?”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter…”

  “Well, yes, it does matter actually.” Daniel seemed to want to assert some control in this conversation. It was noted mentally by Rudovsky.

  “We’ll ask the questions, Daniel, if that’s okay.” Kenyon was firm in his response, as the suspect locked stares with Rudovsky.

  “Talking of phones. You’ve been talking a lot with your sister over the last few days. What can you tell us about that?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. What have you been talking about?”

  “This and that.”

  “About your dad being the number one news story in the country?”

  “It came up.” Daniel smiled widely.

  “We’ve been looking at your phone.”

  The smile dropped slightly.

  “There’s no record of you phoning your sister on there.”

  Suddenly Daniel looked lost. That confidence and charisma had left the room.

  “Thing is, we know, from your phone records, that you and Jess have been having a right old natter over the past few days. You’ve been pinging texts back and forth like there’s no tomorrow as well.”

  “And your point is?”

  “Well, my point is that there is no record of these calls and texts in your phone. It’s almost as if you’ve deleted them all, for some reason.”

  “Nah, I’ve been having a bit of trouble with my phone.” It was clear that Daniel was a fantastic liar. He didn’t miss a beat with his reply.

  But Rudovsky was just as sharp.

  “All the other calls and texts are there. They’ve not disappeared from the call logs. The text messages are all there as well. The only ones missing are the ones to and from your sister.”

  “Don’t know then. I’ll take it down the shop when you let me out of here. Let them have a look at it.” Daniel had a weird smirk on his face, which was intended to annoy Rudovsky. But it just empowered her. She loved dealing with narcissistic arse-holes, they were easy to mess with.

  “Your sister must be having the same issues.”

  This comment got under Daniel’s skin.

  “What…”

  “Jess. She must be having the same problem. All of her calls to and from you have been deleted from the call log as well. Same with the text messages. How weird is that?”

  “Well, like I say, I’m no phone expert.”

  “Anyway, we’ll come back to phones in a bit.”

  “What do you mean by that? Why do you…”

  “Chill out. We’ll come to that, I said. But first, I just want to ask you about this delivery note.” Rudovsky pulled a folder out of her pile of paperwork and presented a photocopy of a delivery note. She placed it front of Daniel Pollard.

  “For the tape, I am exhibiting a copy of evidence, item number 16B, taken from Daniel’s workplace. It’s a delivery note from East Yorkshire Commercials, dated Saturday the eighteenth of May, for two sets of front and rear number plates. Can you

  tell us anything about this delivery note Daniel?”

  The suspect hadn’t seen this coming. He was visibly rocked by the evidence before him, but he tried to appear cool.

  “It’s just a couple of sets of plates for a job. No big deal. Why?”

  “Can you remember what the registration numbers were, that you ordered?”

  “No. Course I can’t. What a stupid question.”

  “Well I’m sure that your supplier will be able to tell us, when they open.”

  “I’m sure they can… but I’m not…”

  Rudovsky opened her folder again.

  “For the benefit of the tape, I am exhibiting a copy of evidence, number 21B. This is a screen shot of your internet browsing history last Friday afternoon Daniel. As you can see, you were browsing eBay, looking for Eldiss 6 berth motor-homes. Can you explain why you were doing that, Daniel?”

  He looked shocked, and a little numb, but he carried on regardless, and came up with an answer.

  “I’ve been looking for one. You know, for family holidays.”

  “So, just to confirm, you definitely weren’t looking for similar vehicles in order to clone their registration plates?”

  “No.”

  “You looked at a few models, but you didn’t spend very long on the pages where the owners had obscured the reg plates. However, there are two vehicles that did have the registration plates displayed on the adverts. You spent several minutes on both of these pages. Were you reading up, checking that the vehicles were stationary at their point of sale?”

  Daniel Pollard looked as if he was beginning to realise that he’d been sussed. But defiantly, he continued with his routine.

  “This is getting a bit paranoid now.”

  “Is it really Daniel? Your dad hires a motor-home, goes on the run with a pupil from his school. And a few hours after he’s set off in the motor-home, headed towards Scarborough, you’re looking on eBay for the exact same model, and you order two sets of registration plates? Pull the other one Daniel, it’s got bells on!” Rudovsky grinned. Daniel Pollard just stared at her.

  “Is that all?” he asked.

  “I bet you wish it was.”


  “Are you taking the fucking piss?”

  “No Sir, I can assure you I’m not taking the piss. I’m building a bomb-proof, water-tight, brick shit-house of a file for the CPS.”

  “Well, I’m getting a bit fed up with…”

  “Daniel, sorry to interrupt, but going back to your phone for a minute. We’ve had police officers investigating this all night. When the officers cross referenced your call logs with your actual phone calls, they noticed that the only calls you’ve tried to conceal are those to Jess, and those to another number. What can you tell us about this other number?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, I think you do. Think hard. Last Friday, while you were looking through eBay, you were on the phone to somebody, weren’t you? For eight minutes and twelve seconds. You deleted it from your call logs. It’s a bit weird, because that phone number you were connected to was only registered on the EE network an hour earlier.”

  “No idea. Can’t remember.”

  “It was the third phone call that new number made. All three calls were to your number. The first call lasted almost twenty minutes. Come on Daniel, I’m sure you can remember, if you try really hard!”

  Suddenly, it was as though Daniel realised that he had no more bullshit to offer. He had given up, his confident smile faded as he looked down at the table-top and said “Yes, okay. Fair enough. It was dad.”

  PART 2

  Wednesday 15th May

  Mr Pollard sat bolt upright at his desk, holding the envelope in two hands and trying to muster the courage to open it. An anxious, giddy dread washed over him as he stared hard at the brown packet. He had nervously waited longer than six weeks for this moment to arrive, and now that it was finally here, he barely had the nerve to open the letter. The contents enclosed had the power to save his thirty-five year marriage or end it for good. It was a scary, yet strangely tantalising moment and Mr Pollard just couldn’t bring himself to open it.

  There was a quiet, half-hearted knock at the office door which audibly lacked confidence. It was the familiarly feeble sound which always heralded a teacher-to-pupil confrontation. Mr Pollard let out a loud groaning sound as he stood and strolled assertively across to the door, trying to guess which one of the usual suspects was standing behind it.