The Year is Almost Over

The Disappearance of a Girl in Amiens

"...even after twenty-seven years she was driven by the memory of her loss..."

In January of 1935 the eyes of the world were focussed on the trial of Bruno Richard Hauptmann, accused of the kidnapping and subsequent murder of Charles Augustus Lindbergh, Jr., the son of pioneering aviator Charles Lindbergh. The great nations were still struggling under the burden of the Depression, and the National Socialists in Germany were consolidating their power, in an evil direction of which the world was not yet aware.

It seemed every day brought more reason to avoid reading the papers. Yet I was content in my own life - I had ceased my travels abroad, and was financially secure. I had memories, both of the wondrous sights and experiences of the continent, but more importantly, the many years I had shared with my late wife. I had absorbed myself in my hobby of lepidoptery, engaging in lengthy correspondence with prominent entomologists, and was preparing a treatise on the diversity of moth species in Northern Queensland. The occasions when I happened to read the newspaper were seldom, and the little that I read rarely captured my interest.

Yet the Lindbergh affair seemed to mesmerise the world, and even I began to follow the trial. It was in mid January that I was surprised to read that a highly respected Dutch criminal investigator had been consulted on one or two minor points associated with the case. I knew it could only be the man I had met in Bavaria, my friend Pieter Lindenbaum.

I wrote to congratulate him on achieving such prominence in world affairs. He in turn replied promptly;

Dear Albert,

Thank you for your kind sentiments. I assure you I was not able to offer much advice. There is no mystery to the Lindbergh case. It is only complicated by the overwhelming intrusion of the press coverage, fabrication of evidence and a number of hoaxes. From the records that have been submitted to my office, there seems little doubt that Hauptmann will be found guilty.

I am glad to hear that you are well. The two cases with which we were involved are among many that have begun to affect my reputation such that I am being more frequently consulted with investigative police work, and I am beginning to wonder if I may need to leave the insurance industry.

Upon learning that I had been consulted on the Lindbergh case, a woman by the name of Maria Montpelier has asked me to investigate the abduction of her six-year-old daughter Louisa in Amiens, in 1908. As you can imagine, it seems highly unlikely that there can be anything new to discover after twenty-seven years. On the other hand, there will be no activity required - merely a number of cardboard boxes containing evidence to review, and no urgency to obtain a result.

Would you care to visit? It would be of some help to have your comments, and I have no doubt it will be more interesting than the Lindbergh case! My wife Emma is a charming hostess, and would be as thrilled as I to welcome you.

Warmest regards,

Pieter

Of course, the invitation was warmly accepted, and within two days I found myself in the study of his home in Amsterdam.

"Have a cigar, my friend."

Lindenbaum lit our cigars, and we sat down in the two large armchairs in his study.

Lindenbaum reached down to a large cardboard box beside his armchair, extracted a number of documents and placed them on his lap. Then he passed me a small photograph. It was a picture of a young girl, blonde, with a fringe. She was smiling for the camera as children are so often instructed, but the pretense seemed to convey a vulnerability, almost as if she was afraid of something. Lindenbaum pointed to another photograph in a frame on the shelf.