3. I would like to ask the police in the North of France if they have information about the death of this 13-year-old. Any helpful contacts?

4. What about making contact with the lifeguards, magistrates, hospitals?

5. Are there other technical procedures, such as ESDA, which could be done on the letter or the hair?

6. Can you suggest other avenues of research that I should follow?

I appreciate that these are a lot of questions, and I will quite understand if you are too busy. I would be very grateful for any suggestions, leads, contacts, etc that you could offer.

Yours sincerely

Karen Liebreich

I waited a few weeks and when this email produced no response I sent another and also telephoned the police chief’s office. I even hinted, in the most delicate way, that I would be prepared to fund some additional research, for instance, if someone other than me had to sit and sift through database entries of adolescent deaths. The emails went unanswered; my calls were always fobbed off by a secretary. I never heard from the police chief again, and my diplomatic friends felt unable to pursue the subject when they next met him.

Perhaps he realized that it was a task beyond his abilities, but then why not send me a polite terminal rebuff? I could only assume that the offer had been bullshit, part of some kind of personal fantasy that he could solve all mysteries. It was a very disappointing outcome after my hopes had been raised.

I knew that the time had come either to abandon the search or to take it more seriously. I turned back to my work, to my children, but found it hard to concentrate on other matters. The letter would not leave me in peace – it was like an itch that had to be scratched. Once again I found I could not give up the quest so easily; there were still a few loose threads left hanging from my earlier enquiries. A little more investigation would surely help to tie them up.

17

The first private detective had mentioned ESDA (Electronic Static Detection Analysis) and I had yet to follow his suggestion up. It required specialist equipment and an experienced forensic detective. When I rang the private eye to see if he could organize something, he was clearly preoccupied, but hurriedly provided me with the details of a laboratory in central London, adding that his name should not be mentioned.

The forensic detective’s offices were in an anonymous block near Victoria Station, a brisk five-minute walk from the Houses of Parliament. A solid-looking security guard stopped me at the entrance. ‘Are you a policewoman?’ he enquired. I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or offended. ‘No,’ I replied, wondering if I would be refused entry, but he waved me through.