“I remember thinking that she looked very sad,” the woman continued. “She was standing in the sun, smiling at the photographer, but there was something about her eyes. It was as if they were … extinguished. Perhaps it was all in my mind, but she certainly made a lasting impression on me.” She picked nervously at the handle of her handbag.

Schäfer cleared his throat and was about to ask her to get to the point when she looked up again.

“I think I’ve seen her.” She clasped her hand over her mouth as if her own words had shocked her.

Schäfer said nothing for several seconds as he watched her.

“You think you’ve seen her?” He could feel his heart beginning to race. “What do you mean?”

“I saw her,” she replied, with greater conviction in her voice. “She looked different. Her hair was much shorter. Darker. But it was the same face, the same eyes. It was her. I’m sure of it.”

“And where did you see her?” Schäfer took out his pad and pen from his inside pocket and started taking notes.

“We always spend August and September in our holiday cottage—”

“By Tisvildeleje Beach?”

“No, in Provence, France. We have a farmhouse just outside Saint-Rémy, which we bought when Vilhelm retired.” The woman jumped in her seat when she realized she had given away her husband’s name.

She looked at Schäfer with startled eyes.

“I didn’t hear that,” he assured her with a wink and asked her to continue.

“Well, so my husband and I have this house in the South of France. We’ve been going there for twelve, maybe thirteen years now. For the first few years we only explored the area close to where we lived. It takes a while to get to know a new town, although it’s really quite small. But in the last few summers we have made trips to various other towns in neighboring departments. To explore.”

“And you think you saw her on one of those trips?”

“Vilh … my husband didn’t see her, but I did. We had gone to a small village an hour’s drive north of Saint-Rémy and we were people-watching in an outdoor café when I spotted this woman. I think I noticed her because she was standing apart from everyone else, and she looked angry. Or maybe angry isn’t the right word, but certainly not happy. And as I sat there watching her, it occurred to me. It was her. The woman you’ve been looking for.”

“Did you speak to her?”

“No, she walked on immediately afterwards, and I’m afraid I didn’t see her again.”

Schäfer’s initial hopes were shattered. An old lady catching a glimpse of a someone who sort of looked like Anna Kiel in a village in the middle of nowhere wasn’t exactly what he would call a solid lead.