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Chapter 106
Thejudge in chambers bail application hearing was a formality. The judge asked some searching questions of Poe and Ania Kierczynska, but his most barbed ones were aimed at Tai-young Lee and the CPS solicitor. He asked why the murder charge wasn’t being dropped, but the CPS solicitor stood his ground and said they would wait until the DNA found in the strong room was confirmed as Frederick Beck’s. Lee glared at him, not wanting to be any part of some bullshit face-saving exercise.
‘I am ordering Professor Doyle’s immediate release on bail,’ the judge said. ‘I understand she has a property in Newcastle?’
‘Yes, your honour,’ Ania replied.
‘I will bail her to that address then and, in light of the CPS refusing to drop the murder charge, I will require her to be electronically monitored.’
‘I’m sure she won’t mind wearing a tag, your honour.’
‘No,’ Poe said. The judge peered over his reading glasses. ‘Your honour,’ Poe added.
‘This is a generous offer, Sergeant Poe. She is only required to be at this address from nine p.m. to six a.m. She can continue with her work, take a walk, eat at a restaurant.’
‘It’s a death sentence, your honour.’
Poe spent five minutes outlining how Frederick Beck had circumnavigated every security measure they had taken so far.
‘Do you have an alternative suggestion?’
‘Actually, I do,’ he said.
Ania Kierczynska was the only one allowed into HMP Low Newton when they collected Doyle. There had been some paperwork to sortout, but Poe had shouted at the governor until he’d promised to expedite it. Immediately after the judge’s ruling, Poe and Bradshaw drove into Newcastle city centre to buy Doyle some clothes, toiletries and a new mobile. Poe didn’t want her going back to her flat in case Beck had been there, and nothing Bradshaw owned was suitable. It wasn’t a straightforward shopping trip. Poe hadn’t realised women’s clothing came in sizes more sophisticated than small, medium and large, and Bradshaw bought all her clothes online. In the end, he had sent Bradshaw into a boutique shop that had a mannequin dressed in fishnet stockings and a red corset in the window, and told her to buy five hundred pounds worth of clothes.
Poe had handed Ania a pair of navy-blue jeans, a black T-shirt with a brightly coloured sugar skull design on the front, a pair of Converse trainers, socks and underwear. He hoped it would all fit.
They had a journey to make.
At Poe’s suggestion, the judge had bailed Doyle into his care. Until the CPS officially dropped the charges, wherever Poe was, Doyle would have to be as well.
‘And she will agree to this?’ the judge had asked.
‘I think so,’ Poe had replied.
‘She definitely will,’ Bradshaw had said.
‘Very well. I hereby bail Professor Doyle to Sergeant Poe’s care. You are to let the local police force know the address you’re staying at and you must accept planned and unplanned checks. Is this acceptable?’
‘It is, your honour,’ Poe had said.
It was ten past three when Ania and Doyle finally walked out of the prison gates. Poe was relieved to see the clothes they’d picked for her fitted. The trousers were a bit baggy, and the T-shirt was a bit tight, but he thought they’d done OK.
Ania walked Doyle to Poe’s car, hugged her goodbye, then headed back into the prison. She had another client to see. Poe got out and opened the back door for Doyle. She got in without catching his eye. She looked tired, like her battery had been leaching energy.Poe doubted she’d slept more than two hours a night since being remanded.
He started the engine then adjusted the rear-view mirror so he could see her.
‘Ania’s explained you’ve been bailed to my care, Estelle?’
Doyle nodded.
‘We need to go back to London,’ he continued. ‘That case I was telling you about, it’s linked to the murder of your father somehow.’
‘Ania told me,’ she said, her voice low and flat.
She looked down and began to sob.
Poe and Bradshaw glanced at each other, unsure what to do. Poe passed his handkerchief over his shoulder.
‘It’s clean,’ he said. ‘Well, cleanish.’
‘Thank you, Poe.’
She wiped her eyes and, although they were still wet, Poe saw the defiance he had expected. Prison hadn’t broken her. He passed her a brown paper bag.
‘You must be hungry,’ he said. ‘Tilly and I stopped off at that Italian restaurant in Newcastle that you like. There’s crostini and some of those rock-hard biscuits. We told the manager it was for you and he refused to let us pay. Said everyone there is missing you.’
She peered into the bag. ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she said quietly.
But this time she didn’t cry.
