“We don’t know the route he took on Friday, but we do know that he came back this way.” Dixon traced the huge S shape with his finger. “As far as we know, there is no rhyme nor reason for this peculiar route from Scarborough to Llandudno.”
“Does there have to be one, Sir?” asked Miller. He didn’t look as though he was understanding the point.
Dixon took the tip off his marker and scored a thick, black line along the land between Llandudno and Forfar, half-way up Scotland, creating a large “tick” shape. In this context, Miller began to see how strange the route was. It looked stupid.
“Now, the point I’m trying to make is a simple one, Andy. Pollard doesn’t know where he’s going, so why the hell would you?”
“Sir, to be fair, we know why he went to Scarborough.”
“Yes, I accept that, to pick up the number plates from his son. But the thing I can’t understand is this…” Dixon drew another line from Scarborough to Forfar. It was a very neat journey, staying close to the east coast all the way up.
“Do you see?”
“No. What?”
“If his intention was to go to Forfar, then he’s gone a pretty strange way. Via Llandudno!” Dixon laughed at his own joke.
Miller stared at the map. It was totally insane. Miller nodded slowly, he knew that his boss had a point.
“Based on this completely random and erratic activity, I think it would be unwise to assume that Pollard is anywhere near Forfar right now. He’s had enough time since yesterday afternoon to be in Brighton, or Cornwall by now.” Dixon pointed to the two examples he’d given, on the south-coast of England, locations as far away from Forfar as he could find.
“But the lad’s mum lives in Aberdeen, Sir. There’s a strong argument for them going up there.”
Dixon nodded. “I agree, in theory. But that would contradict this.” Dixon retraced the S shape between the east and west coasts. “Not only that, but if Pollard is trying to evade the law, it would be quite foolish to travel anywhere near the boy’s mother’s address.”
Miller blew out an exasperated breath. Dixon was right. It was the first rule of detective work, never try to guess what a crazy person is going to do next.
“Andy my advice is simple. Forget Forfar, or Scotland, or anywhere for the time being. He could be anywhere on this map. As soon as you get your next piece of evidence which points to a location, lets do this exercise again, and see if any kind of pattern is emerging. But for now, we sit tight.”
“I agree, Sir, in principle. But we know the new registration plates now. Rudovsky’s running an ANPR report off as we speak.”
“Good. If she comes up with anything, we’ll look at this map again.”
“Sir.”
“Come on Andy, it’s a marathon, not a sprint. You’re close to grabbing him. Now is not the time to let rash emotions get in the way of skilfully crafted thoughts.”
Miller knew that Dixon was right. It was just a disappointment, feeling that he had Pollard in the net and then realising that he had nothing of the sort.
“Think about that stunt with the tracker device, Andy. For all we know, Pollard might have stuck this phone under a wheel-arch on a truck. There’s not enough evidence here to justify travelling up to the Scottish highlands.”
“Okay, Sir. I agree.”
“We might be talking about this again in five minutes so
put your bottom lip back up near your face, Andy.”
Miller stood and left Dixon’s office, annoyed that his boss was so calm and collected, and rational. He knew that he needed to work on this skill-set.
As he made his way down the stairs, away from the relative luxury of the top-floor, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He took it out and saw that it was Rudovsky calling.
“Jo.” He said.
“Sir, I’ve been onto the firm that made the new registration plates for Daniel Pollard. Both sets correspond with the two vehicles he was checking out on eBay last Friday afternoon.”
“Go on,”
“One of the fake plates has pinged an ANPR camera this morning.”
“Where?”
“M6, near Carlisle, south-bound.”
This was unbelievable. Miller stopped dead outside the SCIU department’s doors. Dixon had been spot-on.
“So, he’s heading south now?”
“Yep. Totally. I’ve looked at the ANPR photo, it’s the same vehicle, same markings on the back.”
“Could you see the occupants?”
“One male driving, Sir. Looks like Pollard, but its not a HD image. Physical profile looks right, though.”
“No sign of Darren?”
“Negative, Sir.”
“What time was this Jo?”
“Just after nine.”
Miller checked his watch. It was quarter past twelve.
“Shit. He could be anywhere now.”
“Anywhere, Sir?” Rudovsky sounded confused.
“Yes. He’s just driving around randomly. Could be headed back up the other side of the motorway for all we know.”
“Yes, I’ve got all the ANPR logs since Sunday. He has been all over the place in this motor-home. We’ve had him in the Peak District, then over to Hull, then he’s gone up to Inverness…”
“Fucking hell.”
“Then down to Glasgow, then back over towards Aberdeen yesterday. It looks like he’s having a real tour of the north of Britain.”
“Jo, I need these reports as soon as you can fire them over.”
“Already sent them, they’re in your e-mails, Sir.”
“Brilliant. Any news on that phone?”
“It’s not been switched on since yesterday. I’ve checked the areas that aren’t covered, and there are no black-spots on EE’s network in this part of Scotland. So, the conclusion that EE have come to is that its switched off and the battery has been removed, otherwise it would have pinged a mast.”
“Right. Okay. This seems to get weirder by the minute, but the nets closing in now we have that new registration plate.”
“Yes, and the minute Pollard turns his phone on, we’ll have his precise location.”
“In theory…”
“What do you mean by that, Sir?”
“Oh, Dixon’s got me paranoid. He’s put it in my head that the phone might be stuck under a truck, to send us off the smell.”
“He’s talking shit. How could a phone with no battery attached to it send anyone off a smell. He’s talking bollocks.”
“Would you say that to his face?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“But trust me. He’s chatting shit Sir. That phone will either be switched on again, or it won’t.”
“Oh, that’s a compelling thought Jo!”
“Well what I mean is, he’ll turn it on when he needs to, or, he’s chucked it away. If he’s put the radio on in that motor-home, he’ll know about Daniel and Jess being arrested. So he might have chucked the phone.”
“Yes, the thought crossed my mind too. Anyway, get your arse back over here with Pete and your prisoner. I want a chat with him.”
“We’re just going through the transfer paperwork. The custody sergeant’s being a bit of a jobsworth about it all.”
“Okay, tell him to phone me if he doesn’t pull his finger out. I’ll threaten him with a phone call off the Chief Constable.”
“No worries. Alright, keep your phone on, EE have got me on speed-dial.”
“Cool. On your way over here, give Darren’s mum a call, see if she knows what the hell is going on.”
“It’s on my to-do-list.”
“What else is on it?”
“Well, one of the things was to have fish and chips on the front.”
“Sack that. But if we get a positive result on this job, I’ll take all of the team to Llandudno for a chippy tea, and a few pints. I owe a big favour to the manager of Wetherspoons. We’ll have a laugh.”
“Deal.”
/>
“Brill. See you in a couple of hours.”
Part Four
“Come on, Darren, just get in the car.”
“I don’t want to go back to school, Sir. What’s the point? Just to sit through a lecture and then get expelled.”
“I know. I agree with you. I just said, I’ll take you to McDonalds.”
“KFC?”
“If you like. I want to talk to you about your essay.” Well’ard held open the passenger door, and Darren walked solemnly towards him. He got in.
“Good lad,” said Mr Pollard as he closed the door. Darren just sat there with his school-bag between his feet. He was clutching his loaf of bread on his lap.
“Were you planning on feeding the ducks?” said the teacher as he got in the passenger seat and clipped his seat-belt. Darren ignored the comment, and just stared out of the window.
“Stick your belt on, mate.”
Darren reached over his shoulder and grabbed the buckle, clipping it into the slot without a word.
Mr Pollard turned the key and started driving the car slowly away. He recognised that encouraging this frosty silence was the best idea. He knew that Darren would snap out of this bad mood soon enough, but not if he was being nagged.
“Where’s the nearest one?” he asked, gently. He knew, of course, but he thought that he’d divert Darren’s thoughts for a minute or so.
“Ashton, I think.”
“Ashton? What in the town-centre?”
“No, it’s… do you know where the cinema is?”
“I don’t, I hardly go into Ashton. Last time I went to the pictures in Ashton it was the Metro. Loved that place.”
“It’s hard to tell you because I just get the tram there. But its like down from IKEA.”
“Oh, got you! I know now, Ashton Moss. They’ve got a Frankie and Benny’s and a Five Guys there as well, haven’t they?”
“Yeah, and McDonalds.”
“No problem. I know where I’m going now. Leave this to me!”
Mr Pollard continued driving, heading through Dukinfield, past the Morrisons supermarket.
“I remember when this was a great big cotton mill, here.” He said as he waited at the traffic lights. Darren didn’t seem too excited by the observation. Mr Pollard decided to continue talking anyway. He’d seen that Darren was beginning to mellow, so decided to carry on with the distraction tactic.
“It was gigantic, had about a thousand employees. All these houses you can see were built by the mill owner, and the staff worked there 6 days a week, then paid half of their wage back to the mill for their rent. The Victorian mill owners were an unscrupulous bunch!”
Darren didn’t say anything. He just sat there quietly.
“There’s a photo of the mill, just inside the doors in Morrisons.” Mr Pollard sounded as though he was really interested in what he was saying.
“Sir, are you in the team for the boring Olympics?”
Mr Pollard looked at Darren and laughed loudly.
“You cheeky little sod! I’m not boring!”
“No Sir, definitely not. Everything you just said was fascinating. Truly.” Darren pretended to yawn and made Mr Pollard laugh again.
“Well, okay, maybe I am a bit boring. But I’m not Olympic medallist standard.”
“Oh, you are. Trust me. Gold medal, Sir. No question.”
Mr Pollard laughed again. Darren’s dead-pan delivery was even funnier than the brutal insult. Once he’d stopped laughing at Darren’s outrageously cheeky comments, Mr Pollard decided to stay quiet and leave the history lesson out. But Darren seemed happy enough with the reaction he’d received. He kept sniggering at himself.
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“Well, you laughed!”
“True. I’ll give you that, you’re a good comedian.”
“Thank you. I try my best.”
“Do you know something, a weird thing I was reading the other day?”
“Oh my God, this isn’t about a mill is it?”
“No. It was about comedians, it was saying that all the best comedians were always in trouble at school for joking around. I was just thinking about it, how they’ve become millionaires and hugely successful celebrities. I bet their teachers must be gutted when they see them on telly now. Or if they get the DVD for Christmas. I bet it really hurts!”
Darren seemed interested in this. “Like who?”
“Oh, loads.”
“Peter Kay?”
“No, not sure about him. He went to Uni, so I doubt it. But have you heard of Russell Brand?”
“Yeah. Course I have.”
“He was always in trouble at school. What about Kevin Bridges, do you know him?”
“Aw yeah, the Scottish guy, he’s proper funny.”
“He was expelled from school.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Have you heard of Frank Skinner?”
“No, I don’t think so…”
“You know that song that comes out whenever England are playing, Three Lions?”
“Yeah, course.”
“That’s Frank Skinner, and his mate David Baddiel. They were the biggest TV stars in the 90s.”
“Wasn’t born then, Sir!”
“No, no, I bet you weren’t.”
“No, Sir, I actually wasn’t. I was born in the year 2002.”
“God. A year after nine eleven. That makes me feel old.”
“You are old.”
“Alright, bloody hell. Anyway, the point is, Frank Skinner is a comedian, and another one who was expelled from school. There’s so many of them. It was a really interesting article.”
“Sir, if you’re trying to tell me that I’ve been expelled, in
a nice way, I’m not bothered. Like I put in the essay, I just want to leave anyway. I can’t stand the thought of another year of this bullshit!”
“Well, listen, if it did come to that, you’d be joining a pretty cool bunch of stars. People like Adele. She was expelled, the most successful British female singers of all time! So was Lily Allen.”
“Honestly? Darren looked shocked.
“Ever heard of Eric Clapton? You might be a bit young to know who he is. He was expelled.”
“Yeah, I know him Sir.”
“There’s loads of mega-stars who were expelled from school. Stephen Fry was. Amy Winehouse. Cheryl Cole. Lewis Hamilton. Who’s the cleverest bloke you’ve ever heard of?”
“Albert Einstein?”
“Correct. Expelled.”
“Shut up!”
“Seriously. Albert Einstein was expelled from loads of schools.”
“You’re making this up!”
“Who’s the richest bloke you can think of?”
“Richard Branson.”
“Expelled.”
“Shut up. You’re blagging my head Sir!”
“Honestly. You know that Ed Sheeran?”
“Course.”
“He couldn’t stand school, just like you. He walked out at fifteen.”
“Right, wait a minute Sir. You’ve spent the last four years warning me that I need to behave better or I’ll get expelled and my life will be over and today you’re telling me that basically everyone who is doing well in life was expelled!”
Mr Pollard didn’t reply, he was concentrating on his driving as he negotiated a round-about on the outskirts of Ashton. Once he had got around and into the correct lane, he apologised for his sudden loss of conversation.
“Sorry, I hate that roundabout. I always get in the wrong lane. Anyway, sorry, what you were saying… oh, about leaving school, like Ed Sheeran did?”
“Yes, I’m done, Sir.”
“Thing is though, Darren, you’ve got to go, until you finish year eleven. They’re the rules of the law.”
“I know, I know, but if school want me out anyway, it just… it makes sense doesn’t it? Like what you were saying about Mr Briggs yesterday. Doesn’t make sense to keep me th
ere, doing everyone’s head in, making Mr Briggs lose his job. Here it is, here on the left.”
Mr Pollard started indicating as the KFC sign suddenly dominated the view.
“Ah, brilliant. I’m starving.”
“Same!”
“Have you had your breakfast?”
“Nah.”
“What are you having?” asked Mr Pollard as he pulled into the car park.
“I’ll just have some chips, and popcorn chicken please Sir.”
Mr Pollard locked the car and caught up with Darren who was already by the entrance of the fast-food restaurant. The smell of fried chicken filled the air.
“Ah, smell that! That’s the best smell, Sir!”
“Yeah, my mouth’s watering.” Darren held the door open for his teacher. “Cheers. So, what do you want, popcorn chicken and a portion of fries?”
“Yes please, Sir.”
“Is that it?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Alright, grab a seat, I’ll be back in a minute. What drink do you want?”
“I’m alright, thanks.”
Darren went to find a seat whilst Mr Pollard went to the counter. He felt sad for the boy, just asking for popcorn chicken and chips. Both items were off the budget menu. And he’d obviously felt cheeky asking for a drink. The polite gesture touched Mr Pollard.
Several minutes later Mr Pollard walked across to the table with a tray stacked up with food.
“Flippin’ heck Sir! Are you hungry?”
“Ha, don’t be cheeky. It’s not all for me, you moron.” The teacher started passing food across the little table to Darren.
“There you go, chicken zinger tower burger, fries, corn on the cob, and a hot wing! Side of beans, side of gravy. Oh, and your popcorn chicken. Here you go.”
“Sir, you shouldn’t… thanks, but…” Darren looked embarrassed by his teacher’s generosity.
“It’s a special deal or something that they’re doing today. Order popcorn chicken and you get a free zinger tower box meal. I think that’s what the guy said, anyway.” Mr Pollard had a mischievous look on his face but avoided eye contact as he grabbed his own food from the tray. “Oh, and a free Coke as well. You might as well have it, I don’t drink that rubbish.”
Proof of Life Page 23
