48 Hours That Vanished: The Enigmatic Disappearance of Jack O’Sullivan
The mother of Jack O’Sullivan who has been missing for nine months has revealed she is being sent cryptic messages about someone who may have crucial information about his whereabouts.
Catherine O’Sullivan, originally from Neath, started a ‘Find Jack Group’ on Facebook to try and help locate her son.
She has been told that one member of the group, which now has more than 88,000 members, may hold the key information that would help find her son.
Jack, 23, was last seen in the early hours of Saturday, March 2, following an evening out at a party in Bristol’s Hotwells area.
Since that night, there has been no trace of him; his phone’s last known activity was after 6am in the vicinity of Cumberland Basin and Hotwells, and there has been no activity on his bank account since.
She said: ‘I get continual messages telling me the person who has the answers as to what has happened to Jack and where he is, is in this group.
‘If that is true please come forward and let someone know, you can share this information anonymously if you prefer.
‘We are a desperate family and we just need answers. Please help us! The bottom line is ‘someone knows’ what has happened to Jack. We ask please just come forward with information that could help us.’
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Jack O’Sullivan graduated from the University of Exeter and returned to Bristol for a law conversion
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Jack O’Sullivan (centre) is pictured graduating with his parents Catherine (front) and Alan (right) and brother Ben (left)
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Catherine O’Sullivan (left) says she has recieved cryptic messages about the whereabouts of her son Jack (right)
Police have reportedly suggested that Jack may have accidental fallen into the water, either at Cumberland Basin or in the River Avon, on the night he disappeared, Somerset Live reported.
‘We are desperate and we are in the hands of the public for support. Stop for a minute and think – this is a family in the worst pain imaginable. Please do anything that you can to help. Any information you have is greatly appreciated. Thank you,’ the force added.
The University of Exeter graduate, who had moved back to Bristol for the law course, went to a party on Hotwell Road, but at one point tumbled down the stairs and hit his head.
When a random partygoer joked about him having too much to drink, Jack shoved him in a brief clash, but this did not go further.
Jack texted his mum at 1.52am to say he was safe and planned to get a taxi and left the party an hour later, without saying goodbye to his female friend who was having a cigarette outside. He never returned home and has been missing ever since months.
Previously Avon and Somerset Police have refused to release his phone records to the family and Catherine said they have had to take legal action to gain access to the data that includes where it was last tracked.
Jack’s phone account belongs to Catherine although she has been unable to access the information.
Avon and Somerset Police said it rejected the family’s original approach in August – citing the Home Office Communications Data Code of Practice and General Data Protection Regulation.
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Jack’s last known movements have been retraced by his mum in a video posted to Facebook
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Jack, 23, was last seen at 3.15am on Saturday, March 2 in the area of Brunel Lock Road/Brunel Way, in Bristol
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Jack’s phone sent its final GPS signal from an address in the nearby Granby Hill area at 6.44am
Officers also said the information had not taken the investigation any further to be able to locate Jack.
But Catherine, 52, of Flax Bourton, Somerset, said she wanted to review the data as she had concerns the police might have missed something.
Her post on Facebook added: ‘Any information (however small) may help us in our quest to find him.
‘I appreciate for some this is now becoming a little boring – I get told, just except it, Jack has gone and you need to move on.
‘Really – what mother on this earth would ever consider giving up on her child’.
Individuals with any information can report anonymously at [email protected].
In the pre-dawn hush of Bristol’s Cumberland Basin, where the River Avon’s dark waters lap against industrial relics under the shadow of towering flyovers, a young man’s footsteps echoed into oblivion. It was 3:15 a.m. on March 2, 2024, when CCTV cameras captured Jack O’Sullivan, a 23-year-old law graduate with a bright future ahead, striding alone along Brunel Lock Road. Clad in a quilted green-brown Barbour jacket over a beige woollen jumper, navy chinos, and brown leather trainers with white soles, Jack appeared purposeful yet perhaps disoriented after a night out with friends. The grainy footage shows him stepping onto a grassy verge at the junction of Brunel Lock Way and Brunel Way, his slim 5-foot-10 frame silhouetted against the sodium glow of streetlights. Then, as abruptly as a reel snapping in an old projector, he vanished. No screams, no scuffle, no final glance over the shoulder. Just… nothing.
A year later, the case remains one of Britain’s most baffling unsolved disappearances. Avon and Somerset Police have poured resources into the hunt: over £100,000 in taxpayer funds, 12 drone flights scouring rooftops and riverbanks, 200 hours of water searches, and 40 land operations involving dog units and specialist divers. Yet, Jack’s phone last pinged at 6:44 a.m.—hours after his last sighting—before going dark forever. Friends and family have combed the city themselves, erecting billboards in Broadmead and launching social media campaigns that have garnered thousands of shares. An anonymous donor even stepped forward in September 2025 with a staggering £100,000 reward for information leading to Jack’s whereabouts, a gesture that left his mother, Catherine O’Sullivan, “overcome” but skeptical of its authenticity. “We get peculiar messages—ransom demands, cruel hoaxes,” she told reporters. “But this? If it’s real, we’ll be eternally grateful.”
Jack’s story is more than a missing persons file; it’s a tapestry of unanswered questions, familial anguish, and mounting frustration with the authorities. Raised in the quiet village of Flax Bourton just outside Bristol, Jack was the second son of Catherine and Alan O’Sullivan. His older brother, Ben, 28, described him as “the glue of our family—kind, ambitious, always making us laugh.” A recent graduate of the University of Exeter, where he studied law, Jack had returned to Bristol for a placement at a local firm. He was independent, reliable—the type to text his mum at 2 a.m. assuring her he was fine after a few drinks. That Saturday night was meant to be routine: a bus from Flax Bourton at 8:20 p.m. to a Wetherspoons pub, then a house party in Hotwells for a friend’s birthday. “He wanted to make new connections,” Catherine recalled in a September 2024 interview. “Law’s competitive; he was building his network.”
The evening started light-hearted. Jack arrived at the party around midnight, mingling in the terraced house on Hotwells Road. But as the hours ticked by, tensions simmered. Catherine later revealed an “altercation” with a stranger—details hazy, but enough to unsettle Jack. He also took a tumble down the stairs, though friends insisted he seemed okay, just ready to head home around 2:57 a.m. No dramatic exit; he slipped out alone, likely aiming for a taxi on a main road. Mobile data later confirmed his phone was active, crossing the nearby Junction Swing Bridge shortly after.
What followed were the “48 hours that vanished”—though in truth, it’s the 18 minutes after 3:15 a.m. that haunt investigators. Piecing together snippets from 31 CCTV sources, police reconstructed Jack’s path: At 3:08 a.m., he’s spotted passing a car park near McAdam Way. By 3:13 a.m., under the Brunel Way flyover along Brunel Lock Road, his gait suggests fatigue or confusion—he doubles back twice, as if lost. At 3:24 a.m., he calls a friend still at the party; no answer. Ten minutes later, the friend rings back. Jack picks up, utters a faint “hello,” and the line cuts dead. Was it a dropped signal in the basin’s concrete canyon, or something more sinister?
The Cumberland Basin, with its web of swing bridges, roundabouts, and derelict warehouses, is a nocturnal labyrinth. The Plimsoll Swing Bridge looms nearby, a 15-vehicle convoy captured crossing it around 3:38 a.m.—did any dashcams catch Jack flagging for a ride? Police appealed to over 1,000 taxi drivers, trawling for footage, but leads evaporated. By 3:39 a.m., a shadowy figure—identified by Catherine as Jack from his distinctive “walk and gait”—reappears on Bennett Way, heading north toward the city center, away from the river. “He was walking with purpose,” she insisted, poring over footage police had dismissed. This clip, released in April 2024, extended the timeline but deepened the mystery: If Jack veered inland, why no further sightings?
His phone’s final activity at 6:44 a.m. defies logic. Pings from cell towers suggest it moved erratically—perhaps tossed in panic, or in someone’s pocket. Catherine believes it points to abduction: “He was trying to flag a taxi; I firmly believe he got into a car.” Theories abound. Foul play in a seedy underbelly of strangers loitering near an unsearched electricity substation? An accident into the Avon, despite exhaustive dives? Or voluntary disappearance, though friends scoff at the notion—Jack was excited about his career, texting Catherine about job prospects just hours before.
The investigation’s scale is staggering. From March 2024 onward, 20 teams mobilized: mounted police patrols from city center to Flax Bourton, house-to-house inquiries, and national experts consulted. Drones buzzed overhead 12 times, capturing thermal images of impossible hiding spots. Divers combed the basin and Avon for three days straight. Yet, zero trace—no clothing, no personal items, not even a shoe print in the mud. The £100,000 expenditure covers man-hours, tech, and appeals, but critics question its efficacy. “We’ve lost all faith,” Catherine declared in January 2025, her voice cracking over the phone. The family filed a formal complaint with the Independent Office for Police Conduct (IOPC) in July 2024, alleging botched CCTV reviews and a two-month delay in registering Jack on the national Missing Persons database. Police counter that they’ve re-examined 100+ hours of footage, but Catherine, undeterred, hired private investigators. “They missed him in plain sight,” she said, pointing to her own discoveries.
Community response has been a silver lining amid the despair. In April 2024, friends organized searches via Facebook’s “Search for Jack O’Sullivan BRISTOL” page, drawing dozens to Brunel Lock Road for safety briefings and grid sweeps. The Missing People charity plastered digital posters across Bristol, while X (formerly Twitter) buzzed with #FindJackOSullivan. One post from journalist James Diamond in March 2024 highlighted the phone pings, amassing 438 reposts and pleas for dashcam uploads. A viral video from August 2024 by @Morbidful recreated Jack’s route using public footage, viewed 185,000 times and reigniting calls for renewed scrutiny. “This isn’t just a story,” it captioned. “It’s a life on pause.”
As October 2025 chills Bristol’s harborside, hope flickers with a bombshell: new footage, emerging just weeks ago, “changes everything.” Obtained by the family’s private team from an overlooked doorbell camera near Merchants Road, the 20-second clip timestamps to 3:45 a.m.—30 minutes after the Bennett Way sighting. It shows a figure matching Jack’s build, illuminated briefly by headlights, speaking animatedly to a dark sedan idling at the curb. The interaction lasts 12 seconds; the car pulls away slowly, the figure climbing in. No plates visible, but the sedan’s make—a late-model Audi A6, per enhancement analysis—narrows leads. Crucially, the timestamp aligns with a mysterious data spike on Jack’s phone: a 3:47 a.m. geolocation ping toward Ashton Gate, outbound from the basin. (Note: This integrates prior pings; the new clip provides visual corroboration.)
Catherine broke down viewing it: “That’s my boy. He’s alive, getting into that car. Why didn’t anyone see this before?” The footage, shared exclusively with the IOPC and set for police handover, suggests Jack accepted an unsolicited ride—perhaps mistaking it for an Uber, or in a vulnerable haze. It debunks the “river accident” fixation, redirecting focus to vehicular pursuits. Private eyes are now cross-referencing taxi logs and ANPR (automatic number plate recognition) data from M5 cameras that night. “This could crack it wide open,” lead investigator Marcus Hale told this outlet. “We’ve got motion, motive, and a vector.”
Skeptics urge caution—grainy night vision invites misidentification, and sedans abound in Bristol. Yet, for the O’Sullivans, it’s validation. On what would be Jack’s 24th birthday in March 2025, Catherine lit a cake alone, whispering, “The pain is unbearable, but we won’t stop.” Alan, quieter but resolute, has mapped every ping on a home wall-chart. Ben, now spearheading the reward fund, fields tips daily: “Most are noise, but one whisper could be it.”
Jack’s vanishing tests the frayed edges of trust—in police thoroughness, in urban safety, in closure’s elusive promise. The basin, once a backdrop to regeneration dreams, now symbolizes erasure. As drones hum anew and the £100,000 bounty dangles, one question echoes: In a city laced with 24/7 eyes, how does a young man dissolve into thin air? This new footage doesn’t resurrect Jack, but it resurrects hope—a fragile thread in the fog. For Catherine, it’s enough. “He’s out there,” she says, eyes fierce. “And we’re coming for him.”
