“That’s right Simon. And I suppose that myself and my colleagues here, close to the family home, are hoping for a few words with the family, or with Darren. But as the time goes on and with absolutely no response from the police officers or the boy’s family, that is looking more and more unlikely.”
“Okay Vici, we’ll leave it there for now. On to other news now, and…”
SIX MONTHS LATER
Chapter Thirty-Eight
6 months later
Preston Crown Court had seen some major criminal cases in recent years. Many high-profile trials had taken place at this famous red-brick building.
The hugely expensive trial of Dale Cregan, the drug-dealer who killed two young, female police officers in an unprovoked attack in Hattersley had taken place here. His trial had been one of the biggest security operations the UK security services had ever undertaken, as dozens of police vehicles escorted his prison van to and from Strangeways prison each day, and armed police officers trained their guns on the building from nearby roof-tops.
Preston Crown Court was also memorable for shocking the nation to its core with the trial of Dr Harold Shipman, the family GP who was sentenced to 15 life sentences for the murder of 15 of his patients, although the true figure was later revealed to be at least 215 people, and possibly as many as 260.
The court had also held the trial of the killers of Sophie Lancaster, in a case which broke the nation’s heart. The promising, beautiful young woman had been attacked and beaten by a gang of youths in a Lancashire park, simply because of the clothes and make-up she had been wearing.
And today, Preston Crown Court was facing another high-profile case, as the trial of Philip Pollard was due to get underway, 6 months after the teacher’s disappearance with one of his pupils had dominated the news here, and across the world.
It was a windy, dark and grey October morning in the north of England, but the weather hadn’t deterred the press, they were all there outside the famous, circular shaped building in full force. All of the major broadcasters were there, PA, Sky, BBC, ITV, CNN, with their expensive outside-broadcast vans. And they were joined by broadcasters and journalists from much smaller, but equally as relevant media establishments from Mr Pollard’s community, such as Tameside Radio, the Manchester Evening News, the Tameside Reporter and many of the Greater Manchester news and broadcast companies that had made the thirty-mile trip north.
The public gallery was full, and many disappointed members of the Stalybridge community were left standing outside the building, having failed to gain access to the court. As the morning went on, the tension and expectation from the press, and the public, continued to build. This had been a very strange news event during the summer. And although it had all seemed to have been resolved without anybody being hurt, physically at least, there were literally thousands of questions that the public wanted answers to.
At the very top of the pile was a very simple question. What was it all about? Why would a celebrated, well-respected teacher destroy his career, and his personal life, as well as his distinguished reputation? Many, many other questions were also waiting to be answered. Was this a love story? Did Mr Pollard do anything to Darren Jenkins? The public were desperate to hear all of the dark and grisly secrets from this strange case which had fixated them for a few days earlier in the year.
Finally, the wait was now over, and the answers to these, and many other questions would hopefully be revealed through the course of the forthcoming week.
The court case was opened at 9.30am by Judge Gilbert Francis QC. For the next hour, he explained the role of the court, how the trial would run, and then defined the job of the jury, for the benefit of the jurors.
Following a brief explanation of the case, Pollard was called. He stood in the bullet-proof, glass-encased dock, flanked by two prison-officers and faced the judge and jury. He was asked to tell the court his name, age, address and his pleas in relation to the two charges, of child grooming, and abduction, of a fifteen-year-old child.
“How do you plead to the first charge?”
“Not guilty.” Said Pollard, his head bowed.
“How do you plead to the second charge?”
“Not guilty, your honour.”
Suddenly, the calm, detached mood of the court-room changed, as an angry voice shouted out from the public gallery.
“How can you say not guilty? You fucking nonce!”
From his position in the dock, Mr Pollard couldn’t see who’d shouted it, but he recognised the voice. It was Michael Jenkins. That voice had taunted the school-teacher for years, it was just a little deeper, and a lot more bitter now.
The Judge stared at Jenkins Snr, and turned to the court usher. “Is that the boy’s father?” he asked quietly. It was inaudible to most of the people in the packed court-room. The usher nodded discreetly and mouthed something. The judge turned back to face Michael Jenkins.
“That will be the first, and final interruption to this court. As you are the boy’s father, I will allow you to stay on the understanding that any further interruptions will result in you being dismissed from this court for the remainder of this trial. Is that completely understood?”
Jenkins nodded apologetically. His hammy outburst had sounded so rehearsed and disingenuous, it was obvious that it had been on his to-do list for several weeks, probably since Pollard’s pleas had been received at the pre-trial hearing. He looked pleased with himself, as the trial got under way.
The prosecutor gave a long, and extremely damning assessment of the accused, making endless innuendos and assertions that Mr Pollard was a sexual predator, who had taken the boy, Darren Jenkins away for no other reason than to have sex with him. When the prosecution lawyer had finally finished outlining his case, Mr Pollard spoke. He was defending himself, and this was his opportunity to put his outline of the case forward.
“Sir, with the greatest of respect, I have listened carefully to the evidence against me, and whilst it has been very uncomfortable to hear my name linked to the sordid suggestions and innuendos made about myself, I accept that it has been necessary, and the proper thing to do.”
“Thank you, Mr Pollard.”
“However, as this trial continues, I’m sure that there will be further attempts to make this trial about my conduct, and naturally, to explore my motivations. But I would just like to make it clear that this was, and has always been about the welfare of Darren Jenkins. As a teacher, with extra responsibilities as a head-of-year, I have always taken my responsibilities extremely seriously. On the morning of May the sixteenth, I was faced with an extremely difficult situation.”
Mr Pollard went on for the next five minutes, speaking clearly and succinctly about the events which led to him finding Darren Jenkins, close to his home address.
“I had literally just hung up my phone on the headteacher, who was in the process of instructing me to return to school, when Darren appeared from around the corner, near to his home address.”
“Why, may I ask, did you defy the instruction of your superior?”
“Because I was extremely concerned about the welfare of the pupil in question.”
“And had you passed that information on to the headteacher?”
“Yes. And I was told, I can’t remember the exact phrase she used, but it was something along the lines of ‘if you have told his father that he has absconded from our care, then it’s no longer our problem.’ The insinuation was that I had done my job and that I should return to school.”
“Yes, I quite understand that, Mr Pollard. But I, and I’m sure the members of the jury will also join in me in wondering what your motivation was to, as you put it, ‘hang up’ the telephone and continue to look for Darren?”
“I felt that I should respect the duty-of-care that I had towards him, and I was profoundly concerned about his welfare and his state-of-mind.”
“Yes, and that’s all well and good Mr Pollard, but if your line-manager had instructed you to return to the s
chool, then surely you were duty-bound to follow orders and do just that?”
“Well, in the calmness of this court-room, I would be inclined to agree with you. But the circumstances of that day were not calm, and as far as I was concerned, my priority was to find Darren and to ensure that he was okay.”
“I’m sure most rational thinking people can agree in principal with that. But is it not possible that this is nothing more than a cover-story? A smoke-screen? I think it’s quite plausible that you can quite easily hide your real motivations behind the heavy cloak of this safe-guarding excuse?”
“I am simply answering your questions in an attempt to provide an honest account of what happened. If you insist on pursuing this red-herring and insinuate that I had sexual desires for Darren, then I’m afraid you are only going to confuse the matter and make it a lot more complicated than it actually was.” Mr Pollard wasn’t trying to be smart, but his reply certainly came across that way.
“Whether you think that my line of questioning is confusing the issue, or not, I shall persist with my questioning, thank you.”
“But you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“I think it would be wise to leave that decision to the jury Mr Pollard, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. But you are deliberately trying to lead them up a dead end. I’m just conscious of wasting everybody’s time.” Mr Pollard smiled politely towards the jury. There was an awkward sound, hard to distinguish if it had been a cough or a stifled laugh from one of the twelve jurors.
“So, back to the issue. You refused to return to school. Can you explain why you would do that?”
“I’ve already said. I was concerned about the welfare of one of my students. He had left the school in a very disturbed state and I was aware of the problems that he was facing.”
“And would you care to enlighten us as to what these problems were?”
“Yes, Darren was on a final warning. I had just upset him, albeit unintentionally. He was very angry and ran away from my office. He accidentally smashed a door in the school corridor as he ran. He would have been under no illusion that this action was going to result in his exclusion. I wanted to find him, apologise for my own actions which had upset him, and try to work out a solution to the problem with him.”
“You say that you upset him. What did you do?”
Mr Pollard explained the situation with the essay and how he had flatly refused to read it, which resulted in Darren storming off and breaking the door.
“So, let us be absolutely clear with regards to the timeline of that fateful morning. The incident with the broken door occurred at what time?”
“I had just arrived at school, so it will have been approximately eight-thirty.”
“And at what time did you leave the school premises, and go to look for Darren?”
“That will have been roughly ten o’clock.”
“Ten o’clock. Some ninety minutes after Darren had run away?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m not trying to be insolent, Mr Pollard, and please forgive me if that is the way I sound. But isn’t ninety minutes a long time to elapse? Did you not think that leaving an angry, upset pupil, whom you were so concerned about, for a whole ninety minutes was a little excessive?”
“No, not particularly. Ninety minutes is a very long time in a teenager’s life. To you or I, perhaps it would seem an excessive amount of time. But in the case of an upset teenager, in my experience, ninety-minutes can see a number of different moods. From sadness, to happiness, via despair and hysteria. Ninety minutes is an extremely long time to sustain an emotional episode. Half an hour, in my experience, is a long time to maintain an emotional episode. Usually, a teenager would have calmed down and been distracted by something else. By the time that I had left the school to go and look for Darren, both myself and the headteacher had reached the conclusion that he wasn’t coming back.”
“So you had wasted that vital ninety-minutes on the wrongful assumption that Darren would return to school?”
“Yes. That’s usually how these things happen. In normal circumstances a teenager storms off somewhere, calms down, thinks about a new bike or a new games console or whatever it is that occupies their mind, then they come and apologise, and the event would be forgotten about.”
“You see, I’m inclined to think that…”
“Sorry, do you mind if I interrupt you?”
“No, go ahead.”
“Thank you. I’m not being funny, but this jury, they’re just ordinary people, picked at random from society, aren’t they?”
“Yes, I can confirm that being the method of selection for jury service.”
“So, if all these people are just normal, everyday folk, do you mind if I ask why you talk like that?”
“Like what, may I ask?”
“As though you’re in a Dickens novel.”
“That’s absurd. We are standing in the Queen’s Crown Court.”
“Yes, I know that. But I’m just concerned that people are nodding off over there and I want them to know what happened.”
“And know what happened Mr Pollard, they shall.”
“All I’m saying is, instead of asking me all these questions, using all these old-fashioned words and phrases, and making me stop and start after two minutes, why don’t I just tell you what happened, and then if there’s anything you’re unsure about, you can quiz me about it after? That’s how they do it on TV.”
There was another muffled cough from the jury. Followed by another. The prosecution lawyer looked a little bit embarrassed, following this patronising dressing-down. In a bid to save face, he walked across to where the twelve jury members were sitting. The prosecutor had the undivided attention of the men and women who ranged all ethnicities, ages and employment backgrounds.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. You all heard what Philip Pollard just suggested. I must point out at this juncture, that this is a most unorthodox request. The legal system in this country is, I admit, very traditional. And I am very proud to say, our legal system has an excellent record for bringing justice and fairness, it is a system which is recognised and admired the world over.” He spoke to each and every member of the jury as he addressed them, holding eye contact with each person for several seconds.
“However, if you are all in agreement with Mr Pollard’s wish, I am quite prepared to let him explain the events in the manner which he describes.”
The nodding and gentle gestures of approval from the jury was unanimous.
“Okay, Mr Pollard, I think that the jury are united in their agreement.”
“Thank you. Right, well, let’s start at the beginning. I’ve been Darren’s head-of-year for the past four years. I first got to know him about a month or so after he started at the school. He’d been kicked out of his lesson for being disruptive. Now, being disruptive in class is obviously a major issue for teachers because it makes life hard for the teaching staff as well as the kids who are trying to learn. The problem with disruptive kids is that they don’t fit into the education design we have. Trying to get disruptive kids to learn in a class of thirty other kids is the same as trying to get square pegs into round holes. The current methodology of ‘sit down, shut up and learn this’ simply doesn’t work for these kids.”
For the first time since the trial had begun, the jury looked engaged and interested in what was being said. The glum, sterile atmosphere seemed to have subsided a little, and one or two of the jurors were smiling.
“Now before I go any further, I’d just like to explain a bit about my experience as a teacher. I’ve been doing this job all of my life, from leaving University. After a while, you begin to realise that practically every class that you teach has the same dynamic mix of characters. Every single class that comes along is the same as the last and they keep coming along, every single year. It’s no different today than it was in 1982 when I started my career in teaching. Kids are all the same, and that is the thing that te
aching has taught me. I would like to demonstrate what I mean by that.” Mr Pollard was looking at all twelve members of the jury as he addressed them. “Now, as I describe this class to you all, I want you to please cast your mind back, and think about your own school, and your own class-mates.”
The jury members nodded their understanding of what Mr Pollard was saying.
“I think you’ll all agree that your class had a swot!”
There was an embarrassed laugh amongst the Jury members. It was clear from their faces that they could picture their own class swot.
“You all know who I mean!” said Pollard, smiling as he addressed the smiling faces. “Teacher’s Pet. The one who has their hand up to answer every question. First in with their homework, which was always perfect, last to leave the classroom after the bell had gone. The person in the class that you wished you’d sat next to when it was a test.”
There was another gentle laugh. Pollard laughed silently at all of the grinning faces. They knew exactly who he was talking about.
“Every class has a swot. I’ve not taught a class that hasn’t had one. What about, casting your mind back to when you were at school, what about the class sports-star? Did you have one?”
The jury were nodding and smiling.
“Yes, the kid who was the star footballer or netballer, or the fastest runner who was going to win gold in the Olympic games in a few years time. Then there was the geek! Did you all have a geek? A kid in your class who was so immensely brainy about a specific topic, whether it was politics or history or steam trains? Every class has one. They also have a lazy-bones in there as well.”
Another polite laugh escaped the jury, only it was louder than the last, but not loud enough for this court-room to be classed as a comedy club.
Proof of Life Page 27
