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He suddenly remembered the packaging from the padlock that he’d shown Armitage. He passed it to Williams.
“Can you get that tested for prints?”
“Yes, sir. Any rush?”
“Yes, I’d like to know if Pollard’s are on there. It would be nice to have the results before we finish interviewing him.”
“Not a problem, I’ll get straight on to it. Oh, and before I go, we’ve also included the data from Pollard’s phone in the file. You’ll find that extremely interesting.”
Gardener turned his attention to the file.
At thirty-eight, Pollard was older than the detective had first imagined, so the offence he’d committed as a junior doctor was quite some time back. The kind of drugs he’d stolen fell mostly into the category of prescription tablets, but he’d also lifted amphetamines, and even morphine. Gardener knew all too well how saleable the latter was.
The report covered the interviews he’d had in custody, and the fact that Ronson had attended every single one of them. It was interesting to note that Pollard would not say a word without Ronson present. And even with his solicitor there, he had not told anyone why he had committed the offence, despite the obvious reasons.
The value of the cache was probably somewhere around five thousand pounds net, and none of it had ever been recovered. The court records informed Gardener that the drugs were mostly smuggled out, although there was also evidence of fraud. The original sentence had been ten years, but Ronson had managed to reduce it to five.
The file contained evidence that he was still dealing while in prison, where Pollard sustained a very serious injury, one that nearly caused the loss of his right eye. The usual thing, it happened in the shower room late one night, and no one saw anything. Both prisoners involved were isolated afterwards.
Following Pollard’s release, he had not served another prison sentence, but what he’d been doing since was anyone’s guess.
Gardener passed it to Reilly and started to update the ANACAPA chart himself.
“This is interesting, boss,” said Reilly.
Gardener finished with the chart. “I think I know what you’re going to tell me.”
“The incident in the showers?”
“Yes. Seems our friend Pollard was muscling in on an existing drug scam inside, trying to take over.”
“And look whose patch it was.”
“Lance Hobson.”
Chapter Seventeen
Gardener and Reilly sat opposite Jackie Pollard. The Senior Investigating Officer judged his height to be around six foot two. He had piercing brown eyes – well, one of them was – and a head of thick black hair. Despite knowing about the eye problem, Gardener couldn’t help but concentrate on it. The scar was now nothing more than a two-inch white line. He also registered that the man only had half an index finger.
“I’m not saying anything without my solicitor.” Pollard was on the attack immediately, tapping on the table in front of him.
“Quite right, son,” said Reilly. “I don’t blame you.”
Gardener nodded, and Reilly slipped out of the room and back in again almost immediately with a cordless phone.
“There you go,” he said, placing it on the table.
Pollard hesitated before speaking again. “I’m going to show you two up for the amateurs that you are. I haven’t done anything.”
“Why the solicitor, then?”
“Because I don’t trust you. Have you got my mobile? I need the number.”
Gardener fished one of Wilfred Ronson’s business cards out of his pocket, instead of the one that Williams had given him.
“No need, Mr Pollard, we already have the number for you.”
The change of expression was minimal, but Gardener noticed. Maybe he’d managed to rattle Pollard earlier than he’d anticipated.
