Proof of Life

by Steven Suttie

  Chapter Five

  “Hello Michael, I’m DCI Andy Miller from the police.”

  “Alright?” said the young lad as he threw his school-bag on the floor and stood in front of Miller.

  “Take a seat, lad.”

  Michael sat down. He had the typical, huffy attitude of a teenager. His face was covered in acne, and his attempts at growing a beard were comical. Miller wondered if he wanted to grow the beard to cover his angry-looking zits. His black hair looked as though it had been in style several months ago, and that he was now desperately due a trip to the barbers.

  “Ever been in trouble with the police, Michael?”

  “No, why? What’s been said?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, I’ve not done nothing.”

  “Good. That’s great to hear. But your mate Darren has had a few brushes with the law, hasn’t he?”

  “I’m not sure about that. Well, maybe. A few times.”

  “Any idea where he is?” asked Miller, deciding to cut through the warm-up act and get straight to the point.

  Michael looked down at his feet, and Miller sensed that he had stiffened up a bit. It was a reassuring gesture.

  “Michael, come on, tell DCI Miller what you know…” said Mrs Horsfield, which broke Michael out of his trance.

  “I don’t know. Honest. He’s not said nothing to me about running away or anything. I swear down.”

  “When did you last see Darren?”

  “The other day, the day he ran off, Thursday. He knocked on for me on the way to school but it was well early. I’d only just got out of bed.”

  “What time?”

  “Dunno, about five past eight.”

  “Was that unusual?”

  “Yes, DCI Miller,” said Mrs Horsfield. “Extremely unusual. These two usually arrive at five past nine, don’t you Michael?”

  The teenager grinned and looked down again. The grin broke into a laugh, which Michael tried to conceal. It was as though the school secretary’s observation had given him some kudos, which in turn gave his ego a slight boost.

  “So what time would Darren usually knock at your door?” pressed Miller.

  “Dunno. About quarter to…”

  “And how far away do you live?”

  “Not far, about twenty minutes away.”

  “Have you any idea why Darren was running ahead of schedule then,” Miller checked his notes, “last Thursday morning?”

  “He had to give something to Well’ard.”

  Miller looked confused.

  Mrs Horsfield interjected. “I think Michael meant to say Mr Pollard, didn’t you?”

  “Miss.”

  “Is that the school nickname for Mr Pollard?” asked Miller, continuing to make notes.

  “Yeah. He’s been called that for years. You used to hear about Well’ard before you even started at this school.” Michael seemed to be glad that he was being listened to. Miller got the impression that he rarely had this kind of opportunity.

  “And why do they call him that?” asked the DCI.

  “Well, I think it’s because he’s the teacher you don’t mess with. He doesn’t take any messing about.”

  “And what was it that Darren had to give to Well’ard?” asked Miller. It received a chuckle from Michael.

  “Some essay or summat. Daz had to get it to Well’ard before assembly. If he didn’t, Well’ard was going to make him get up at the front of the whole school and show him up.”

  Miller looked across at Mrs Horsfield, to try and gauge if she knew anything about this. He could tell that she didn’t.

  “Okay, you’re really helping me here Michael, I really appreciate it.”

  “It’s alright.”

  “So, why did Well’ard make Darren do the essay?”

  “He was sent out of class or summat, he was shouting beans-on-toast, so Well’ard said he had two choices. He said Daz had to either do a two-thousand word essay, or he had to come to the front and shout beans-on-toast all the way through assembly.”

  “So, he chose to do the essay?”

  “Yeah, well, it’s like, he was really excited about it. When he came to mine, I said come in while I get ready, but he just shot off. Said he wanted to get this to Well’ard.”

  “Okay. So he got to school, and then there was some altercation on the corridor? Is that right?”

  “I don’t…”

  “An altercation is an argument, Michael,” said Mrs Horsfield, with an encouraging smile on her face.

  “Oh, right, well I’m not sure. Like I said, I was at home.”

  “And you’ve not seen Darren since he knocked on at yours?” asked Miller.

  Michael shook his head.

  “Have you heard from him at all? Facebook, text message or anything?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “And do you think he’ll be alright?”

  “Yeah, yeah, definitely. He just… he hates his dad. His dad hates him. He hates school, and everyone at school hates him. So, I bet he’s just done a runner.”

  “Has he talked about that kind of thing before?”

  “Yeah, all the time. He’s always on about it.”

  “And what does he say? What would you say is his plan for running away?”

  “Well, I’m not… nothing pacific. He just always says that he’s going to get away from everyone. I never take him seriously. He’s just talk.”

  “Until now?”

  “Well, probably, yeah. I think so.”

  “Do you know if Darren has any cash?”

  “No, not really. He has his paper-round money. Gets paid Fridays. He gets about seventeen quid.”

  “And no savings or anything?”

  “Nah. You’re joking aren’t you. He spends his wages on the way to school normally! Fills his bag with tosh.”

  “Where does he do this paper-round? I mean, which shop is it?”

  “It’s the paper-shop near his house, Raj’s.”

  Miller made some more notes, before he spoke again. “And you say he has a tough-time at home?”

  “Yeah, well, he’s always in mither. Always grounded for summat.”

  “And does mum not live at the address?”

  “Nah, she moved out about a year ago. She lives down in Scotland now. Daz goes there sometimes.”

  “Okay, well that’s interesting. I might need to speak to you again, if that’s alright Michael?”

  The teenager shrugged.

  “Well done Michael, what lesson are you supposed to be in?” asked the school secretary.

  “Art, Miss.”

  “Right, well you go back, and tell Mr Francis that you’ve been here with me. Okay?”

  “Miss.”

  Once Michael had left, Miller asked Mrs Horsfield if he could speak to the head, Mrs Houghton. He was quickly led through into the head’s office, next door.

  “Good afternoon,” said Mrs Houghton. She was an attractive lady, roughly the same age as Miller, early forties. She looked quite relaxed, which surprised Miller as the school was in the middle of a crisis which had attracted news reporters to besiege the place.

  “Ah, hello. Sorry to intrude…”

  “Not at all, not at all. Please take a seat. Can I organise a drink for you? Tea, coffee?”

  “No, no I’m fine, thank you. I just wanted to pick your brains about this peculiar situation we find ourselves with.

  “Yes, naturally. It’s very peculiar.”

  Mrs Horsfield left, and Miller thanked her for her help.

  “She’s been a great help,” said Miller as the secretary closed the door.

  “Excellent.” Said the head.

  “I’ve spoken to Michael Donnelly. He’s been very helpful, too.”

  “Oh good, I’m glad to hear that. He can be a handful at times. It’s good to learn that he has been helpful. I’ll give him a gold star.”

  “So, I was just hoping to hear your thoughts?”

  “Of course. Well, as you�
�ve probably gathered already, I was the last member of staff to speak to Mr Pollard before he stormed out of school last Thursday morning.”

  “He stormed out, you say?”

  “Yes. I gave him some constructive feedback about his handling of the incident with Darren Jenkins. He didn’t take it too well, it would seem.”

  “And do you usually have a good relationship with Mr Pollard?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say ’good.’ It’s quite a frosty relationship in all honesty. He doesn’t really approve of the direction that the education sector has travelled in over the past decade. I think he views me as being somehow responsible.”

  “So, you don’t get along?”

  “Well, yes, professionally, we have no choice. We get along, just about, but we’re not likely to meet for drinks outside of the school environment.”

  “Tell me about the circumstances of Mr Pollard storming out please,” said Miller as he turned a fresh page in his notebook.

  “Right, well Darren had been to see him, first thing on Thursday morning. Mr Pollard had sent him away, and Darren apparently snapped. He flung a door open in the corridor, smashing the glass, before running out of the school. He’s not been seen or heard of by my staff since.”

  “And do we know why he reacted so violently to Mr Pollard?”

  “Yes, well that was the reason that I had a go at, sorry, the reason why I gave the constructive feedback to Mr Pollard. Darren had written a very heart-felt letter to him, and Mr Pollard told him that he didn’t have time to read it.”

  “Michael said that Darren seemed excited to bring the work in for Mr Pollard. Was this letter the work that he was talking about?”

  “Yes, it was an essay, two-thousand words I think. It was Darren’s attempt at explaining the way that he felt, describing the problems that he faced in the school community. He was really wearing his heart on his sleeve.”

  “You saw the letter?”

  “Yes. I read it. Then I had a word with Mr Pollard, and he went off. As I understood it, he had gone to try and locate Darren and bring him back into school, and to get the situation resolved. But obviously, that hasn’t happened. I instructed Mr Pollard to return to school when he phoned me, but he hung up. We’ve not seen or heard from Mr Pollard since.”

  “And what time did he go looking for Darren?”

  “It would be around about 10am.”

  “So, a good while after Darren had broken the door?”

  “Yes, the incident happened just after eight-thirty. So, there is a window of around ninety minutes.”

  “Do we have any concrete evidence that Mr Pollard was inside the school until 10am?” Miller was thinking of the paperwork he’d have to submit to the CPS, much further down the line, if Pollard was with Darren Jenkins.

  “Yes, he left through the main doors, which are covered by CCTV inside and out.”

  Miller wrote in his pad. “Do you still have the note that Darren gave to Mr Pollard?”

  “No. And I have looked in Mr Pollard’s office. But it looks as though he took it with him. He still hadn’t read it by the time I had. So presumably, he took it with him with the intention of reading it. It was a very good letter, very mature. Very thoughtful.”

  “And what was the main thrust of it?”

  “Well basically, Darren was saying that he hates school, and that he hates messing about all the time, and that he can’t help himself. He concluded that he wanted to leave school. I really think that he poured his heart and soul into it and was devastated when Mr Pollard just dismissed it.”

  Miller looked up from his paperwork and locked eyes with Mrs Houghton. “What’s your theory of what’s happened?”

  The headteacher looked a little flummoxed by the question. It had come from nowhere and Miller could tell by her body-language that he’d caught her off-guard. He sensed that she hadn’t actually come up with a theory and that she was slightly embarrassed about that. It made her appear as though she didn’t really care either way. They both felt their cheeks warming up as an awkward silence hung heavily in the air.

  “I’m… I mean, this is still a very new consideration. I’ve not actually had…”

  “What’s your initial reaction to the suggestion that Mr Pollard and Darren are together?”

  Mrs Houghton looked stunned by the question.

  “It’s the angle the press are reporting. And by the way, the leaking of this story has only come from here…”

  The head tried to cobble a sentence together. Her mouth was open and she looked engaged to speak. But no words came out. Eventually, she spoke, and she sounded different, her polite but patronising accent had dropped away noticeably.

  “The press are involved?”

  Miller raised an eye-brow. He wondered how it was possible that the person in charge of running this school could be unaware that the place had a press-pack at the main-doors.

  “Well, they were when I walked in here. They’re camped outside.”

  This announcement made the headteacher’s face turn white. Miller was starting to think that this lady was out of her depth in this job. Maybe that’s what Mr Pollard thought too, maybe that would explain the tension between them. Miller was thinking fast as Mrs Houghton was clearly planning her press-statement in her head. One thing was certain from this encounter, Miller didn’t rate the headteacher of this school. Not in the slightest.

  “Do you know if Mr Pollard has a history of any mental health issues?” asked Miller.

  “No, certainly not. I know he’s been having some domestic problems in recent months. But no, I’m confident that he’s not ill.”

  “What about Darren? Do you think he might have a tendency to hurt himself?”

  “No. I don’t think so. Kids like him are only down for a few minutes before they bounce back up. I’m sure that his lust for life is currently just as strong as ever!” Mrs Houghton tried to make it into a sarcastic remark.

  Miller had had enough of this woman’s failure to grasp the enormity of the situation. He hadn’t planned to put a flea in her ear, but as the words came out of his mouth, he realised that he was doing.

  “Mrs Houghton. I’m becoming concerned that you seem completely oblivious of the magnitude of this situation. We have an adult and a child from this school reported as missing persons. The two people disappeared on the same day, within a very short-time frame of each other. My job is to locate them, in the quickest time possible. I’m afraid you need to sharpen yourself up a little if I’m to be successful.”

  Mrs Houghton looked stunned, and rather ashamed. Miller felt that he’d hit the bullseye with his assessment of her. She was way out of her depth in this job, and right now, when the chips were down, she looked like a frightened rabbit caught in the headlamps. He wondered if she was about to cry.

  “Mr Miller, I…”

  “Do you think that Mr Pollard might have taken Darren?”

  “In what respect…”

  “I don’t know. To teach him a lesson for smashing the place up? He might have gone to give him a bollocking, and things got out of hand?”

  “No, I don’t… I really don’t think that…”

  “Michael told me that Mr Pollard is best known amongst the pupils as Well’ard. Can you explain that nickname?”

  “No, it’s meant affectionately. It’s a term of endearment. No pupils have ever made any accusations against Mr Pollard. He’s as straight as they come.”

  “But he’s called Well’ard for something. He has been for decades apparently. Do you know why?”

  “Well I imagine that his no-nonsense approach with the pupils can be seen by some as ‘hard’ if you like. And it’s a funny play on Pollard, isn’t it?” Mrs Houghton seemed to be recovering from Miller’s harsh questioning a little.

  “As the DCI of Manchester’s serious crimes unit, I’ve been given this job because the police force think that it is an extremely concerning case. Can you explain why you seem so relaxed about it all?” Miller
was going in on the Headteacher as though she was a suspect, and he was sitting in the interview room back at HQ.

  “Look, I understand if you feel slightly frustrated. But I don’t know what I can say to you. I do not believe that Mr Pollard has had any involvement in this. I imagine that it is a very bizarre coincidence. Nothing more. I have every faith that Darren will walk in here any moment now, as though nothing has happened.”

  “What about Mr Pollard?”

  “Well, I have no idea about that.”

  “I think you may do.”

  Mrs Houghton stared squarely at Miller. She looked as though she was getting tired of his aggressive interview technique. “I’m sorry. What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Has Mr Pollard put in a request for voluntary redundancy?”

  “Oh, I see. Well that’s entirely out of my hands. I have no jurisdiction over these matters, it’s the education department who oversee these human resources matters.”

  “Do you know if his application was successful, or unsuccessful?”

  “I believe that it was unsuccessful. Three members of my staff applied for two redundancy packages. I’m aware that two members of staff were told they had been successful last week.”

  “Were either of them Mr Pollard?”

  “No.”

  “And what day were these announcements made?”

  “Last Wednesday.”

  “The day before he disappeared?”

  Mrs Houghton looked as though she’d not put these details together in her mind. Miller could see the penny begin to drop but he decided to help it on its way.

  “So, Mr Pollard’s marriage has just broken down, he has a pupil doing his head in on a daily basis, and has been knocked back for a redundancy package, and the next day, you give him a bollocking for not reading a letter off the kid that has probably driven him so crazy that he’s applied for redundancy in the first place. And you don’t think this is significant?”

  “Well…I…”

  “Tell you what, Miss. Remind me not to send my two to this school.”

  Chapter Six

  “Alright Keith, it’s Miller.”

  “Hi Sir.”

  “Hiya, right, interesting stuff here at the school. I’m going to go off to see Darren’s dad. Something sounds a bit iffy with him.”