Twisted

Chapter 42

San Carlos is a subdivision of the port city and municipality of Guaymas, in the northern desert state of Sonora, Mexico. A six-hour drive from the United States, and with a population of only seven thousand people, it is noted for the exceptional clarity and warmth of the ocean water in its shallow bays along the Sea of Cortez.

The vast Sonoran Desert outside San Carlos was the location used to film the 1970s movie Catch-22. The parts of the set that had survived were clearly visible, but what was most striking was the incredible expanse of sand. It was rumoured that the director would only film between three and six in the evening, to ensure he always had the exact same light conditions. Some people, but not many, have made the two-mile journey into the Sonoran Desert to sit, watch and experience the brilliance of the sun’s glow on the mile upon mile of empty sand. The views of the sun in this desolate area were almost beyond description, the orange glow as it rose in the morning as if balanced on the horizon, then come sunset it slowly retreated beyond the horizon in azure-blue colours that created the illusion of an ocean across the soft undulating sand.

Jo Polka had first visited the Sonoran Desert years ago when she was deeply in love with her then-partner. She had watched her take hundreds of photographs, including many of her lying in the soft sand, with only the line of the vast sky to interrupt the golden desert. She had dreamed about returning, conjuring it up in her mind many times, and had even painted it from memory when she was in England. After her lover found another woman to pose and sleep with, and rejected her, she was heartbroken. Jo had never wanted to return to Sonora, or at least not until six months ago when she finally desired to see for herself the reasons why her lover had found such artistic inspiration in the desolate spot. It is true that time heals, and for her at last it had. She never believed it would be possible to form a loving and deeply committed relationship with anyone other than the woman who had in the end betrayed her. That was no longer in her thoughts, because she had found love. It was complicated when she stopped to think about her reasons for wanting to return. It was not out of hurt, but more out of a need to experience for herself the same incredible power of the Sonora sands.

They had been together in the tiny Mexican village for six months, but choosing to remain in seclusion from the outside world they used no computers, no mobile phones and no television. They read and talked and painted and only occasionally did Jo use the ancient Land Rover to drive into the nearest town to buy any supplies they needed. The rented a stonewalled, whitewashed cottage that had long since been left empty by the previous owners and was now their home. It had become their sanctuary, their healing place, with a plentiful stock of oil paints and canvases. No electricity, just oil lamps, candles and an open-fire cooking range with a simple grid, and an old barbecue outside which was where most of the cooking was done. Fresh food was a rare treat, so they existed mostly on simple meals of rice dishes and tortillas. They financed themselves at first from Jo’s savings, but when those ran out, it became necessary to travel to Mexico City. They never travelled together, it was always Jo catching the run-down bus and spending twenty-four hours away as she carefully chose which jeweller’s would be the most trustworthy. She never used the same people, calculating that the more the items were broken up the less likely they ran the risk of suspicion. She knew she was being offered low prices, but foremost in her mind was always the need to protect their safety. However, the tiara posed a real problem. They discussed it endlessly; intact, it was perfect, even though the individual stones could have fetched a good price on their own. Finally they agreed it was too beautiful to dismantle. On this occasion Jo thought it necessary to go to a more upmarket antique jeweller’s, one which, judging from its window displays, dealt with finer and more costly items.

Showing the tiara to the dapper Mexican, who spoke some English, Jo explained slowly that it had been a family heirloom, and the value had to be in the region of two hundred thousand dollars. She was taken aback that he never queried her asking price. He said the stones were of exceptional beauty and were rose diamonds, the centrepiece being an astonishing four carat which had been set in platinum with gold inlay. He asked that she leave the tiara with him so he could get his friend to look at it for a second opinion and valuation.

Jo was no fool and refused to leave it in his possession, but said she’d wait until his partner arrived. She was taken into the back room of the elegant shop, and given coffee while they waited for a José Hernandez to arrive. The back of the shop had a small yard and barred iron gates, which she stared at in the heat of the day until Hernandez drew up in a new BMW convertible. He was wearing a white suit and pale blue shirt with a flamboyant necktie; he also had a heavy gold and diamond ring on his little finger. He spoke perfect English and when his partner explained why Jo was there he was extremely eager to see the tiara. He immediately said it dated from the 1920s and then took his time with an eyeglass, inspecting every single stone. Jo found it intensely nerve-wracking, and she was sweating and beginning to think she had made a big mistake in not doing as they had done with all the other pieces and splitting the stones to sell one by one.

More coffee was served as the two men sat in a corner, carefully checking the tiara. Jo was left to wait on a plush-covered sofa with a large statue of the Virgin Mary on a coffee table beside her. There was also a copy of the New York Times, days old and already brownish, having been left by the window in the sun. She picked it up, trying to appear uninterested as they spoke in Spanish to each other. Hernandez left to go into the main shop, from where she could hear him talking to someone on the phone. As she turned to the back pages of the newspaper, her suspicions grew as his partner used his mobile phone to take photographs of the tiara.

The advert had a black border, and leaped out at her as she read the name of the London lawyers seeking to trace the heirs to Marcus Fulford and Simon Boatly’s estates. She had not known that Marcus Fulford was dead. Without even considering the reason for the advert, she realized she had to know if this was Amy Fulford’s father.

Putting the paper down and getting to her feet, she asked if it would be possible to make an urgent call to England. Hernandez, having finished his own call, hesitated then invited her to use the office phone. Jo was shaking when she finished speaking to the solicitors and could hardly take in what Hernandez said next, but gradually she forced herself to listen to him as he explained that he would require confirmation that the tiara was legally hers to sell, and if she could provide papers that proved its provenance, they would be very keen to purchase it.

She assured them that she would return the following day with the documents, and they offered to retain the tiara for safekeeping in their safe but she refused. Both men were extremely eager to persuade her to agree. Sensing they were becoming threatening, she insisted they give her back the tiara. By now she was beginning to panic, afraid that she had inadvertently created the very thing they had tried so hard to avoid. They had appeared to grow suspicious and Hernandez offered to drive her to wherever she had the legal ownership documents, but again she had refused, lying about having someone waiting for her, and by the time she had left, clutching the tiara wrapped in tissue paper in the old plastic bag, she was very frightened.

They had watched her hurry from their premises, Hernandez furious at the possibility they had just lost a big sale, but at the same time his partner was equally angry since if he hadn’t queried the ownership of the piece they would have had for a quarter of the value a tiara that when broken apart would have made them a fortune in the sale of individual diamonds. The two men argued with each other, Hernandez suggesting that in his opinion it was more than likely stolen, and as such he was just protecting their good name. This had created further disagreement as they had made some very shady deals in the past, but as Hernandez pointed out, it was the Englishwoman who had approached them. He opened the pictures of the tiara on his partner’s mobile and they looked with disappointment at what they believed was a golden opportunity they had just lost, and they doubted the Englishwoman would return.

Jo caught the dilapidated local bus and sat clutching the tiara; she kept on turning round, scared she might have been followed. To take extra precautions she changed bus twice, which meant a long wait in Guadalajara. To pass the agonizingly slow time she went into an internet café where she paid for half an hour and spent it checking out news items and anything on the net that was connected to Marcus Fulford’s death. Eventually she got on the bus to Mazatlan after shopping in the markets for fresh provisions, the tiara hidden beneath potatoes and carrots. She had pressed her head against the dirty glass in the old dented bus, seated beside a woman with hens in a wooden crate, sweating and uncomfortable on the wooden seat. It was a long trip and she slept through the night, boarding yet another bus before she reached the nearest stop to where she had left the Land Rover on the outskirts of Mazatlan.

Jo drove for another hour before turning onto the dirt track that led to their rented cottage. She could see Anna sitting outside, breaking an old stale loaf into crumbs which she held in the palm of her hand for the hens to peck at. She was wearing a pair of faded jeans cut and frayed at the knee, and a washed-out gingham shirt tied in a knot at her waist. She had short-cropped boyish hair bleached white from the sun, and she was deeply tanned, tall and slender. Brushing the remaining crumbs from her hands, she shaded her eyes from the sun as she could see Jo approaching.

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.

It was a lengthy and frustrating call as he was transferred from one person to another as they attempted to check their files. He emailed them the picture of the tiara, but still he was kept waiting and eventually he hung up as they said it would take time to look into his queries and they would get back to him.

It was after ten thirty when they did. There was some hesitancy as the insurance certificates and photographs of the jewellery they had on record were out of date and no insurance had been renewed. They were concerned that they were unable to clarify all the items that they had not been able to locate. Reid was starting to get irritated, even wondering if Grant Delany had stolen all the jewellery after all. He was relieved when told that they did have a photograph that matched the picture of the tiara in the email, and it belonged to Mr Boatly’s great-grandmother. The record they had was very precise and described the tiara as made up of matching rose diamonds, with a large centre square-cut diamond of four carats set in platinum and gold inlay. It was from the 1920s and valued at three hundred and fifty thousand pounds, but as the estimate was ten years old it was more than likely now worth a considerable amount more.

Reid could hardly believe it, but they seemed inclined to do nothing, not even to contact the police. When he told them that he had good information that the tiara had surfaced in Mexico, and as they had identified it as being the one belonging to Mr Boatly, it was therefore highly probable that it had been stolen, they didn’t seem interested as it was not within their legal jurisdiction. Reid interrupted and asked whether, if the tiara could be recovered, he would be in line for a finder’s percentage.

‘Absolutely’ was the response, and by the time the call ended Reid rashly calculated that his plane ticket and costs for the trip would be covered. He booked a plane ticket within an hour, and he was packed and ready to leave the UK by early afternoon.

On the plane, his initial excitement palled somewhat as he went back over the call that had brought about his decision. It was possible that Miss Polka might have become scared once she learnt the value of the tiara, or saw that José Hernandez was suspicious of how she had come by it. His confidence that Amy Fulford could be with Miss Polka began to lessen and he had a sinking feeling that he had allowed his obsession to override his senses, and yet it was too late to turn back. He pulled down his tray table and began to study the maps he had bought, realizing if he was to first stop in Mexico City and question the jewellers it would mean a further delay. He decided he would rent a car, drive from Mexico City to Mazatlan and begin his enquiries from there. He had in his suitcase photographs of Amy Fulford and Josephine Polka and knew that whatever names they were using would be immaterial if he could get the pictures identified. Yet again he was certain that he was right and that Amy Fulford was alive and had engineered her disappearance with clinical and clever subterfuge. He leaned back, closing his eyes as he went over his interaction with Miss Polka at the school, how she had behaved and reacted to his questions. Had she been lying to him, was she that good an actress? Yet again a wave of scepticism swept over him, and he hoped against hope that for once he had not reached a total dead end.