Proof of Life

by Steven Suttie

  “I know this is a worrying time…” said Rudovsky, adopting her most sympathetic voice. The detective had a notebook and pen on her lap. “But I do have to ask you some difficult questions.”

  The mother sounded upset, and a little nervous, which made Rudovsky slightly confused.

  “Yes, yes, I understand. He can be a wild bugger sometimes,” said Dawn, the statement was filled with warmth.

  “Yes, that’s something that’s coming across, but it’s a very positive thing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, we find that it’s the kids like Darren who turn up safe and sound in cases like this. The quiet, shy ones are the ones who tend to struggle.”

  There was no reply, Darren’s mother was waiting for the next part.

  “Darren is known to go walkabout for a few days, so we’re not as concerned about it as we would be if this was a boy who had no history of running away.”

  “Yes, but you’re still looking for him, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, oh yes of course. I’m just trying to reassure you that we feel quite confident that everything’s going to be fine. I just wanted to know, before my boss holds a press conference, if you’ve heard from Darren in the past six days?”

  “No, I’ve not heard from him for at least a month. He wanted to come and live with me. I said no.”

  “And you’ve not spoken to him since?”

  “No. I’ve tried, but his dad just starts giving me a hard time when I phone. Things are difficult between us.”

  Rudovsky could well imagine. She totally understood how difficult it would be, being Michael Jenkins’ ex. It had been an ordeal sitting in his presence for fifteen minutes.

  “Do you think Darren might have decided to come and visit you?”

  Dawn didn’t speak, as she considered the question. “It’s a possibility. We were really…” Dawn’s voice started to break, as her emotions interrupted the call. “Sorry…”

  “No, no, take your time. No rush.” Rudovsky was gentle and very supportive, she was perfect for these types of jobs. Dawn sniffed and coughed, and after a few seconds, she continued.

  “He’s been up to see me a couple of times, he never wants to go home.”

  “And where are you living now?”

  “I’m back at my mum and dads, in Aberdeen.”

  “Wow, flipping heck, that’s a hell of a distance!”

  “Yes, well, when you’ve got an abusive ex, it doesn’t feel far enough.”

  “How had Darren got up all the way up there, to see you?”

  “Train, I sent the tickets down to him.”

  “Oh, that’s good, so he’d know how to get up there, to see you.”

  “Is that what you think is happening?”

  “It’s a strong possibility. It happens a lot, this kind of thing.”

  “Well, yes, he’d manage it, he’s a clever lad. It scares me sometimes, how clever he is.”

  Each time Dawn spoke about Darren, she had a distinct affection in her voice. She clearly loved the lad, it was unmistakable. This was the polar-opposite of Michael Jenkins attitude. The fact troubled Rudovsky.

  “Mrs Jenkins, I know this is difficult for you, but may I ask why you said that Darren couldn’t live with you?”

  “Well… it wasn’t as straight forward as that. I said that he could at first, but his dad refused, he said that it will affect his education too much, swapping schools and everything. Michael said he’d fight me for custody. In the end, he said that if Darren moves out, he’ll kill himself. Then he said he’d come up to Aberdeen and burn the house down while we’re all asleep.”

  Rudovsky wanted to point out that he couldn’t burn the house down, if he’d killed himself, but thought better of it, even though she could tell that Dawn would smile at the sarcastic remark.

  “In the end, I promised Darren that he could come, as soon as he left school. It was all arranged, last time he was here.”

  “But that’s not until…”

  “It’s a year away, roughly.”

  “Which is a long time for a fifteen-year-old!”

  “Yeah, I tried telling him, but you know what they are like at that age.” Dawn started crying down the phone, but quickly pulled herself together. “God, I miss him so much, even though he does my head in half the time!” Dawn’s voice lifted at the end of the sentence. Even though she was slagging her son off, she meant it nicely.

  “Well, don’t worry, okay? I’m not trying to sound like a bighead, but my department, the ones who are working on this, we are the best detective team in the Manchester police. My boss, DCI Miller, he’s got a brilliant record. So, you’re in safe hands, there’ll be no stone left unturned in the search for Darren.”

  “Why is it getting such a big response? I mean, that’s not normal, is it?”

  “Well, I’m glad you asked me that. There’s either been a really weird coincidence, or there’s something very peculiar going on.”

  Dawn didn’t say anything. The expectancy in the silence hurried Rudovsky on.

  “At roughly the same time that Darren went walkabout, a teacher from Darren’s school did too. And they’d just had a massive argument.”

  “Which teacher?” asked Dawn, a sudden edge had sharpened her voice.

  “Mr Pollard. Do you know him?”

  “Yes, yes, course I do. He’s been Darren’s head of year since he started, in year seven. He’s gone missing?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so, that’s what we’re investigating. What do you think of Mr Pollard?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love him, he’s the nicest bloke I’ve ever known. He’s so calm, so kind, never judges you. I’m not exaggerating, but once or twice, when I’ve had to go in and see him about Darren, I’ve quite looked forward to it!”

  “Really? Your ex has a different opinion entirely.”

  “Oh, well, there’s a surprise.”

  “We’ve actually got Michael in custody at the moment, we need to ask him some questions about all this. I just wondered if you thought that there might be some possibility that Michael might have caused some harm to Mr Pollard?”

  Dawn was fast in her reply. “No. There’s no way. He’s good at hitting women, and his kids, but he’s a total shit-bag with other blokes. I’d bet my next week’s wages that he’d run for the hills if Mr Pollard asked him for a fight.”

  “Yes, that’s kind of the impression I got as well.”

  “It is very weird though, like you say.”

  “Well, we’re throwing everything at it, we’ll have more to update you with soon, I’m sure. I’ll give you a buzz with any developments.”

  “Please, if you don’t mind?”

  “Certainly. And, just so you know, this is going to be going on the six o’clock news. I just wanted to give you some notice to ring family and friends.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been so kind. Thanks very much, what was your name again?”

  “Jo. Jo Rudovsky. Save my number, and don’t hesitate to call if you want anything, or if you hear from Darren.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  “I know it sounds stupid but try not to worry. We’ll get this sorted.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Miller was sitting in his office, feeling a familiar sense of dread and nervousness. His press conference was scheduled for 6pm, and he never looked forward to them.

  A lot of intelligence had come to light in the six or so hours since he had first heard about this mystery. DCS Dixon, Miller’s boss, had been pleased by the amount of information Miller had managed to gather in such a short time-frame. On the face of it, this was all looking like a very basic job, and both Miller and Dixon were quietly confident that Rudovsky and Kenyon’s good-cop, bad-cop routine would break Michael Jenkins down in no time. And then the mystery would be unravelled, quite possibly in record time.

  But, there was no room for complacency. Miller explained his plan for the press conference to D
ixon, who approved the information which was to be released. Matters were usually complicated where a minor was involved. But as there was a very real concern regarding the boy’s welfare, Dixon agreed to the details which Miller was planning to reveal. The DCS also granted Miller’s wish for five constables to join the team for admin duties such as taking the calls from the public and logging details. It had been a very positive visit to Dixon’s office, as things didn’t always go Miller’s way so easily, particularly where the question of extra staff was concerned.

  Miller checked his watch. It was ten to six. He decided to go over the details again, quickly, before heading downstairs and into the Manchester City Police media-centre.

  *****

  “Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” said Miller as he sat down in his seat, in front of the familiar Manchester City Police motif. The media-centre was packed, dozens of familiar faces from the area’s radio, TV and online new agencies, as well as reporters from all of the local newspapers. There were a number of national news networks in attendance too. Sky News were dropping their six o’clock headlines, and were taking the conference live. This was a big story, and the realisation that Miller was going live on national TV made his nervousness return, despite him having done these broadcasts countless times previously without any real problems.

  “Okay, lots to get through, so we’ll get cracking.” Miller waited a few seconds, allowing the media staff chance to hit their “record” or “on air” buttons. A hush suddenly spread throughout the room as Miller began reading his statement.

  “Good evening, and thank you for coming along tonight. As you will be aware, this is a very fresh inquiry which was only launched this morning, for a variety of complex reasons. But the reason you are here, is because a young lad, and his teacher have both disappeared, at approximately the same time, last Thursday morning.”

  There were gasps and muffled sounds of chattering and whispering. Miller knew that the press had all assumed that it was a female pupil who’d gone off with a male teacher. He allowed them a few seconds to get over the realisation that they’d been wrong. He could see that they were now imagining a female teacher, with the boy.

  “Alright, now, as I’ve mentioned, this is a very complex enquiry, and I’ve invited you along here today in the hope that you can help us to get the information out into the community. We are extremely concerned about the welfare of both missing persons.”

  Once again, there was the sound of muttering. This was turning out to be a bit different from what the press had been alluding to all day. But how different?

  “The teacher is 56 year-old Mr Phillip Pollard, he is a very well-known individual in the Stalybridge and Tameside area. He has been a teacher at Astley High School since the nineteen-eighties, and I know that many viewers and listeners in that community will instantly know who I am talking about, he is described as a ‘larger-than-life’ character, and is considered an extremely popular member of the school community. The pupil, is 15-year-old Darren Jenkins. Darren has a history of problems at school and at home, and has had some involvement in matters that have required police intervention. Darren has also been reported missing on several occasions previously.”

  This brief sentence painted a very negative picture of Darren Jenkins, and Miller was well-aware of the fact. But it was deliberate. It was supposed to provoke a reaction in any former troubled pupils who may have witnessed another side to Mr Pollard.

  “Now, in a very conscious attempt to give out the most accurate information, it is important that I point out that these two individuals are extremely well-known to one another, and that the relationship between them is often quite volatile.”

  It could be seen on the faces of the press that this story had just grown arms and legs and had started sprinting onto the next day’s front pages.

  “Mr Pollard and Darren had a heated exchange in the school grounds last Thursday morning, and a short time later, they both disappeared. Our initial inquiries have found that there have been no sightings of either individual since that time, which was approximately 10.00am on Thursday the 16th May. So, as I have already pointed out, we are extremely concerned.”

  Miller took a pause and lifted his glass of water to his lips. He took a sip and glanced around the room, feeling pleased that the press appeared to be taking this information extremely seriously. The DCI pressed a button on the table-top and the projector screen to Miller’s right suddenly lit up with the faces of the two-missing people. Mr Pollard’s photograph was his staff mug-shot, which was used for his security fob and on the school’s website. Darren’s picture was his most recent school photo. His long, mousy brown hair looked as though he’d combed it with his fingers, and his tie was loose. It wasn’t a very impressive school photo, and Darren appeared every bit the trouble-maker. Mr Pollard’s however looked very warm and endearing. He looked confident, happy, and very smart. Most of all, he looked like a very nice, kind man.

  “These are the people that we are desperate to make contact with. We will of course release a press-statement which will include these photographs, and will contain all of this information, just as soon as we all leave here. I am urging you all to please put this at the top of your news agenda and help us to try and make sense of what’s gone on.”

  Miller took another sip of his water, and let that ominous remark hang in the air a moment.

  “Now, we have made some progress in this enquiry, and we do have a male in custody, and we believe that this person may have some vital information which will help us with our investigation. But we want to hear from anybody who may have seen Phillip Pollard, or Darren Jenkins anywhere since last Thursday morning. The telephone number for our major incident room is on the screen now,” said Miller as he pressed the button again. “Please, even if you’re not one hundred per cent sure it was either of them, we really need to speak to you. Last time Darren was seen, he was wearing the Astley school uniform which consists of black pants, white shirt, black blazer and green and yellow tie. Phillip was wearing a dark grey suit, white shirt and a bright pink, or magenta coloured tie.”

  The press were lapping this up. This was a major story, made all the more interesting by the sinister element to the missing pair’s relationship. Miller could see that they couldn’t wait to get out of here and start writing their first copies.

  “Now, I’m extremely concerned about this situation, as I have said. I won’t be taking any questions today…”

  There was the familiar sound of disappointment from the media people. “Alright, let me finish…” Miller smiled at the press people, many of whom he knew very well. “…I have literally given you all the information that I have. So, there’s no point in asking me questions, because I’m just going to be saying ‘I don’t know’ to everything.”

  Despite what Miller had just said, a few questions were shouted out.

  “Who have you got in custody?” shouted one.

  “Do you think they are alive?” shouted another, without any consideration for the thoughts and feelings of the missing people’s loved ones.

  “DCI Miller, do you think that Mr Pollard has done something to Darren?”

  Miller held his hand up and waited for the silence to return. Eventually, it did.

  “Okay, thanks everybody. I’ll update you all tomorrow at some stage. Thank you for your support.”

  The DCI stood and walked off the small stage and headed past all of the journalists and camera operators, and out of the media centre as the TV reporters began talking excitedly into their camera lenses. They may have been disappointed that there were no questions and answers today, but they were happy enough. They all knew that they had a nice, big, sensational story on their hands with this one.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Miller was back in his office, and on the phone to Clare, his wife, within minutes of his press conference ending so abruptly.

  “Hiya love, listen, got a big one in. I’m going to be late home.”

&
nbsp; “Hi, yes, I know, I just saw you on Granada Reports.”

  “So… I’m apologising in advance…”

  “Yes, its fine, don’t worry about it. What do you think’s gone on?” Clare was always keen to hear the real news, not the bullshit that Miller leaked to the press.

  “Not sure. Very complex one this.”

  “Who’ve you got in custody?”

  “The boy’s father. He’s a right balloon.”

  “Shit. You think he’s done something to them?”

  “Jo does. I’m not so sure. I don’t think he could break the skin on a rice-pudding!”

  “Well, Jo’s not often wrong.”

  “No, that’s true. But Keith reckons there’s another element to all this, and we’re just hoping that the phones are going to start ringing in a minute, and a few clues will start coming in. I’m just feeling gutted that I’m not going to see your pretty face for a few hours, at least.”

  “Oh my God, can you hear me cringing down the phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want a quick word with the twins?”

  “Please.”

  “No worries. Leo! Molly! Dad’s on the phone.”

  Miller laughed as he heard his six-year olds running through the kitchen and into the living room.

  “Hiya dad!” said Leo. He’d beaten his sister to the phone.

  “Hiya mate, are you alright?”

  “Yeah, dad, Luke Parkinson has got a puppy, he’s called Archie. His mum brought him to pick him up!”

  “Wow! Really? Is he cute?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And are you now going to ask for a puppy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And have you asked your mum?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Ask dad.”

  Miller laughed. “Well, we’ll see. Alright?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Listen mate, I’m not going to be home for bedtime story tonight. Got a crook to catch!”