Lynda La Plante - Twisted

Jo remained sitting in the Land Rover as Anna gave her a wave and strolled along the small path they had lined with white seashells collected when they had visited Puerto Vallarta. Anna had such an easy way of moving, swaying lightly in her leather sandals, as she gave a smile of welcome. Her natural beauty never ceased to touch Jo, with her wide-set icy blue eyes, thick lashes, carved cheekbones and lovely wide mouth, and the closer she came to the open window, the more Jo’s heart felt as if it would explode.

‘Hey there,’ Anna said as she reached to open the door, and then wafted her hand, as it was hot from the sun.

Jo opened the door and jumped down, reaching into the passenger seat for the groceries and passing them out to Anna. She froze when Anna gripped her bent neck in her fingers.

‘Missed you.’

She turned her arms, holding the grocery bags. Anna immediately reached for them and then stopped.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I’m just hot – it’s been a long journey.’

Anna carried the groceries as Jo walked ahead of her and began to strip off her sweat-stained shirt. She headed to a small area beside the house they had tiled and where they’d hooked up a hosepipe from their outside tap. It was always in the shade, and so the hosepipe water, although never actually cold, was at least refreshing. She turned on the tap and ran the water over her damp hair and tilted her face to feel the spray, using her thumb to squirt the water as if from a showerhead.

Anna had already gone onto the small porch attached to the cottage with trailing fig leaf plants shaded across the wooden slats. She was sitting with the grocery bags on the table and swinging the diamond tiara round in her hand.

‘So why didn’t you get it sold?’

Jo kicked out a stool from beneath the table and wiped her face with an old torn towel, and sat there soaking wet in her old jeans and bra. Looking at Anna, she knew time was running out for them.

‘There was a newspaper in the jeweller’s, an old New York Times , and there was an advert from a legal firm in London.’

Sometimes Anna’s thick eyelashes acted as a shade when lowered, making it impossible to see her eyes or their expression.

‘What have you done?’ she whispered.

Jo broke down in tears, at which Anna quickly put her arms around her, stroking her thick curly blonde hair.

‘Whatever it is, Jo, tell me – don’t lie, don’t ever lie to me.’

The phone ringing woke Reid and he sat bolt upright, totally disorientated. It was five in the morning and it took a few moments for him to pick up the receiver. It was a call he had never believed would happen. He had virtually given up hope, and it had been over a week since he had asked Agent Morgan at the National Crime Agency for help. The FBI Agent now speaking to him apologized for the time and said that they had traced the call to Boatly’s solicitors as originating from a jewellery store in Mexico City. The FBI had spoken with a local detective who attended the store and further enquiries to the shop had resulted in a sighting that fitted the description of Josephine Polka.

Reid listened as the man went on to explain that the store was a very upmarket and respectable business in Mexico City, and the detective had spoken in person to one of the partners, a José Hernandez, who at first had been very evasive, but had eventually admitted that he had allowed a customer to use his landline in the shop. She had said it was an urgent call to England. He claimed that she had not paid for the international call, and he said that he was angry about the way she had behaved as he had considered doing business with her. He at first refused to discuss the so-called business, but then acquiesced as he wanted to make it very clear he had done nothing illegal, nor even contemplated doing so. The agent said the shop owner had been keen to prove that he was a completely legitimate honest businessman, and that he had asked the customer to provide documents of proof of ownership.

Reid was hunched over the phone listening and taking notes while he was told that the woman was trying to sell a very valuable diamond tiara. To prove yet again just how honest he was, Hernandez had forwarded from his partner’s mobile a photograph taken of the piece.

Once Reid heard the description of the customer, he knew without doubt he had succeeded in tracing the last known whereabouts of Josephine Polka. It was possible that she might still be in Mexico City, but as for an address or contact number, the jewellers were unable to give any details – all they did recall was that she had brought the tiara to the shop wrapped in paper in a plastic carrier bag, which bore the logo MAZATLAN GIFTS. Hernandez was very certain about the bag because it seemed an unlikely way to carry such valuable contents and he was concerned that she might have stolen the tiara so he paid careful attention, even more so when she decided against leaving it with them, even though they had offered to keep it in their safe.

Reid asked about Mazatlan and was told it was a very beautiful beach area, with golden sands, exclusive hotels and attractive markets, a popular holiday destination for tourists and wealthy Mexicans.

He lay awake for a long time, asking himself whether his obsession was now becoming farcical. He had fancied Miss Polka, admittedly, but he knew deep down it was her lesbian relationship with Amy Fulford that was feeding his interest. Eventually he got up, showered and dressed and while drinking a cup of black coffee attempted to talk himself out of purchasing an airline ticket to Mexico. He kept on telling himself that it was ridiculous as he was no longer attached to the case, in fact no longer attached to anything even connected to it. He lit a cigarette, having started smoking again, and sat interrogating himself, attempting to face the truth about his obsession, even wondering if perhaps he should make an appointment with the therapist he had been seeing. On the table was the printout of the tiara photograph, emailed to him by the FBI Agent, which he had stared at for ages, trying to jog his memory. He had eventually folded the paper so he couldn’t see it, but now he drew it close as he remembered. It was at Simon Boatly’s house in the bedroom, where he had seen various jewellery cases littered around the floor. He remembered Grant Delany saying that he had not taken anything and many of the old leather boxes were empty.

He pushed his chair back and began pacing the room, puffing at his cigarette. He was pretty certain Grant had been trying to pocket some of the jewellery but then he had said a lot of the boxes had already been empty and Reid recalled them looking at the large oval-shaped case and the indentation of where a tiara had obviously been kept for years. Hastily he turned to his filing drawer and began searching through it for the notebook he used on the Fulford case.

Finding it, he sat down and lit another cigarette as he thumbed through his notebook until he found the correct page. Marcus Fulford described taking his daughter to Henley, and she had gone into the house. This had become important at the time as they were checking out the possibility of Amy taking contaminated food into Boatly’s house. However, it was now clear Amy had never poisoned anyone.

Reid returned to the table and wondered if Amy had gone upstairs and stolen the tiara and other jewellery. If this was the case, it would mean that the girl was planning her disappearance for weeks and she was most probably still alive. He knew it was all conjecture, totally without any foundation, and to even contemplate reporting it to someone like Jackson would be a waste of time. That was unless Boatly’s lawyers had details of the jewellery, for insurance purposes, and could identify the tiara? He was shaking when at nine a.m. he placed a call to them and explained that he was investigating the possibility that property belonging to Simon Boatly might have been stolen, specifically jewellery, and one item might have been a tiara.