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January 13, 2008

Comments

Em

Hi. I'd like to add a twist to the story. Here is my suggestion of a posting on Kim's blog, purportedly from a stalker who has been searching in vain, until now, that is, for Kim. He by chance, tuned in to the BBC & heard Kim's story. Now, in twisted glee, he just cannot help but gloat at the fact that Kim had unwittingly thrust herself onto his radar once again... his ego just HAS to let Kim and the world know, what a brilliant stalker he is! And how he can, and WILL, strike FEAR in Kim's heart...hehhhehhehhhehh (sinister snigger):
" so...you have showed up...and in your own words, 'at last'... Well, when you make that recording tomorrow, don't forget to say the kind of things that you would like the listeners out there to remember you by & put in your eulogy.. You have only your foolishness and the BBC to thank... hehh hehh hehhhh! (sinister snigger)".

Polly

Greta! Is that you? It must be. Do you remember me? I'm Polly. Try to remember. We got chatting over a cup of coffee at Heathrow Airport last Friday. We sat at the same table and stretched our legs then both laughed aloud because we were wearing identical black shoes! As we talked we discovered that we were both waiting for the same plane too - the flight arriving from Vilnius in Lithuania.
You were quiet and nervous at first. I was excited. I'd come to meet son returning from three months teaching in Vilnius. Remember? I showed you his photograph and you said he looked like me. That was when you began to open up. You told me that you were Lithuanian and had lived in Vilnius. You had left you family and travelled to England alone six months ago and found some work on a farm in the West Country. You speak very good English so had helped other Lithuanians by teaching them and interpreting for them. I think you said that you spoke Russian and Polish too. You showed me your photographs. The one of your dear Mum and Dad who didn't really want you to go and another picture of you with your handsome young husband. You were holding your your little girl. You said that she was two now - a happy little girl with big brown eyes.
You told me that you had come to the airport to meet them.They were coming to England to join you but you were worried. Six months is a long time. Would your marriage survive the long separation? Would your little girl remember you? Would you find work and settle down as a family in the U.K.?
We sipped our strong coffee and kept our eyes on the 'Arrivals' screen. Suddenly we both groaned. Oh no! The flight from Vilnius was delayed, in fact it hadn't even taken off yet. We had at least another four hours to wait.
Well, we didn't want to sip coffee for four hours did we? You said you had booked into a hotel in London but there was no point in going back there. So we did the only ting possible. We found a couple of comfortable seats in the airport lounge, kicked off our shoes and curled up to try to get some sleep. It was a long restless night. My back ached but you fell asleep quickly. You were talking in your sleep. I think it was Lithuanian. I didn't understand but you seemed fretful and scared.Eventually I dozed too.
I don't know how long I slept but I was awakened by the announcement that the flight form Vilnius had landed and passengers were already coming through Customs! I woke you quickly. we grabbed our things and rushed to the meet the passengers just in time to see my son trundling his massive suitcase and smiling. It was so good to see him. He gave me such a big hug. He looked tired and he said that I looked tired too. Well, it wasn't surprising after that long wait.
We stood with you for a while. We waited and waited until no more passengers were coming. No-one. there were tears in your eyes as you realised that they were not there.
I took you over to an 'Enquiries' desk where you were told that there were no more passengers on that flight. They had not boarded the aircraft; in fact they had not even checked in at the airport.
O Greta! What happened? I'm sure there must be some explanation. Where did you go after we left you?
And Greta.... I know it must be you because.... guess what.... my black shoes are just a bit too tight!

Dupin

So Kim. I suppose out of politeness I should wish you luck. In truth I wish the Holborn meeting had not happened. I fear the worst. But I am a late - too late - arrival on this blog.

So many clues! And yet so few are followed up. Well, let us begin: it is time to play 'Kim's game.'

The key. Well that mystery has been solved at least. But who was the "really nice man" at the bank who had, with supernatural observation, noticed all those keys from the mailbox down the road? Is he working with Helen, or perhaps with someone else?

The shoes. Days have passed, yet we still do not know their size. You could quickly establish if they were Helen's. They are hardly Jimmy Choo's. They are hardly pretty, Polly: do you really think they were yours? You could identify them from the photograph now, if they were. I don't think so. Please tell us the size, Kim.

The lipstick. What are those initials - Max Factor? Not much to go on there. Has it been properly examined, though? Fingerprinted?

The 'biro'. With 'Amphora' and the little insignia upon it. Mark wrote and said you had been staying at the Amphora Hotel in Kas, Turkey - a beachview hotel for couples - recently married couples? There has not been much talk of Amphora. It could soon be established if the pen was from that hotel. And the flight passengers from Dalaman to Heathrow - Turkish Airlines, I believe? - could perhaps be examined.

The tape from Helen's answerphone. The Producer has it. Why don't we play it and see if there is anything else that we might learn?

There was the message from Trixie, talking about 'our' lockers. But we know where the key has come from. So perhaps we know where to look for Trixie.

Julia wrote about her father-in-law and you, Dominique Leclerc, hoping that he would not find out. Then he himself phoned the BBC and named you independently. It is either truth or deliberate falsehood: there can be no case of mistaken identity there. And why does he not leave contact details for his amnesiac wife?

It is the same with Anna C. She has an air of reality. She talks about her sister Helen from Ghana, and Helen says she has been in Ghana. Anna C says she knows the Wrights from Africa. Would that be John and Sue? Perhaps Anna and Joel need to compare notes.

And then there is Nicky's Bar, the name that came back to you from oblivion. I could not quite follow the radio programme. Were you talking about a bar in Stockholm? Or is this a bar in London, one attached, perhaps, to a hotel? That could be checked by the police.

Your accent. No one has talked about your accent. It is a strange mixture - Welsh? Something from the West of England, anyway. And foreign, Arabic, Haitian, French? I am sure the BBC World Service with all their knowledge of international language could decipher from your accent where you have been living. One thing is certain. You sound nothing like Margaret Regent of Ipswich. I know this will be very disappointing to you, dear Laura. Unless Kim spent her formative years in Haiti and Wales, I do not think she is your half-sister.

Finally, there is the curious incident of Kim's photo. Ah, I hear you say, there is no such photo. Well, that, you see, is the curious incident. Here is a young girl desperate to find her own identity. What better means to establish her identity than a photo on her blog? We were promised it on 11th January as soon as Kim could get hold of Helen's camera. And on 14th January you gave us our promised photo - a photo of a 'biro'.

So tell me, dear Kim, what is your game?

I fear the worst. I smell blood.

Dupin

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