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Chapter 9

EstelleDoyle was being held at Newcastle City Centre Police Station. It was at Forth Banks, near the Centre for Life, the science village in Times Square. Poe drove past it to the multistorey car park in the nearby Copthorne Hotel. There were closer places but there was more chance of him finding a one-ended stick than working out how to use his mobile phone to pay for on-street parking. He pulled his ticket from the electronic barrier machine, parked, and walked back up the hill.

‘I’m here to see Estelle Doyle,’ he said to the woman behind the desk. ‘I believe she’s being held here.’

‘Can I see some identification, sir?’

Poe slid his NCA ID card though the slot in the screen. Although he was triple-warranted, meaning he had the combined powers of the police, customs and immigration, he knew that didn’t mean anything up here. He was skulking around someone else’s backyard and they weren’t about to throw him a welcome parade.

The woman entered his details into her computer, then picked up the receiver on her desk phone. She whispered into it, stealing glances at Poe as she did. Before long, a beefy-faced sergeant appeared. He had a rugby player’s ears, a beer drinker’s nose and a mole on his chin that looked like a sultana. He also wanted to see Poe’s ID.

‘I thought you were told not to bother coming?’

‘Yet here I am,’ Poe said.

‘I’d better tell someone who might give a shit then,’ he said. He took him through to the custody suite and pointed towards some moulded plastic seats bolted to the floor. ‘Wait there. This may take some time.’

Poe took in his surroundings. The custody suite looked like astate-of-the-art airport check-in area, easily the most modern he’d seen. The cells were in blocks of ten. The sign above him suggested Poe was seated near cells forty-one to fifty. He wondered how high the numbers went.

It was as busy as an ants’ nest and just as organised. Cops, some in uniform, some in plainclothes, marched around purposefully. Nobody paid him any attention. He checked his emails, expecting to see one from Flynn telling him how she’d managed to kick yet another suspect in the balls. It was becoming a habit with her. To his surprise there wasn’t one. Wasn’t one from Bradshaw either. He was about to send Bradshaw a text asking her where she was, when a beleaguered-looking Asian woman approached him.

She was wearing the type of suit he’d worn when he was with Cumbria CID. Smart, but machine washable. Her hair was clipped short – wouldn’t take long to sort out if there was a middle of the night call. Probably a detective inspector, maybe higher. She certainly looked tired enough.

‘Sergeant Poe?’ she said, taking the seat beside him.

‘That’s right.’

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Tai-young Lee. I understand you’ve asked to see Professor Doyle?’

‘I have.’

‘Are you her legal representative?’

‘I think you know I’m not.’

‘That’s right, you’re not. You’re National Crime Agency.’

Poe nodded. ‘I’m the DS in the Serious Crime Analysis Section.’

‘The serial killer unit?’

‘Close enough.’

‘Can I ask what the NCA’s interest is?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I haven’t spoken to her yet. Professor Doyle asked for me personally.’

‘Not true,’ Tai-young Lee said. ‘She actually said, “TellWashington Poe.” So I’ll ask again, what’s the NCA’s interest?’

Poe decided honesty was the best policy. He held up his handsand said, ‘The NCA isn’t interested in this case, ma’am,I’minterested in it.’

‘And why would that be? I understand when my DI informed you of Professor Doyle’s arrest, you left the Spring-heeled Jack operation in Watford and rushed up here.’

‘You’re well informed.’