Lille, 1996 – she disappeared at her daughter’s wedding… a letter that was never mailed solved the mystery

The Vanished Marriage: The Mystery of Marguerite de l’Orme

On June 23, 1996, while the reception was in full swing at a function room in the Wazemmes district of Lille, Marguerite de l’Orme vanished without a trace. She was 52 years old, wearing a sky-blue dress that had been altered for the occasion, and had just watched her only daughter exchange vows with a young computer programmer she had met at university. The guests danced, made toasts, and no one noticed her absence until 10:30 p.m., when it was time to cut the wedding cake. Her handbag was still on her chair. Her coat was hanging in the cloakroom, and her half-empty glass of champagne was waiting on her parents’ table.

Marguerite vanished between dances, sometime between 8:15 and 9:00 p.m., in a 100-square-meter area guarded by 80 guests. No screams, no altercation. No sign of a struggle, just an absence that instantly transformed Catherine de l’Orme’s happiest day into a waking nightmare from which she would never truly recover. What makes this disappearance so disturbing is that Marguerite seemed perfectly happy that day. Photographs taken during the ceremony show her radiant, kissing her daughter, chatting with guests, even dancing a waltz with her ex-husband despite their tumultuous divorce ten years earlier. Nothing indicated that she was about to slip away, much less disappear forever.

However, when investigators reconstruct her day, they discover that she had been planning this outing for weeks. Methodically, silently, without ever arousing the slightest suspicion. Lille, in late spring 1996, is a city undergoing profound transformation. The northern metropolis is completing its post-industrial conversion. Old Lille is attracting a dynamic population, and the recent opening of the Channel Tunnel has given the city a renewed European prominence. In this context of renewal, Marguerite de l’Orme embodies a generation of women who have weathered economic upheaval without losing their dignity. A secretary-accountant in a textile company until its closure in 1991, she had had to reinvent herself. Divorced since 1986, Marguerite lives alone in a modest apartment on Rue Solférino, not far from the train station. She raised her daughter Catherine with fierce determination, working a series of odd jobs to finance her studies. Catherine is 26 years old today, has a degree in business engineering and is about to marry Thomas Mercier, a serious young man who works at IBM.

For Marguerite, this wedding represents the culmination of 26 years of sacrifice. Proof that her efforts were not in vain, that her daughter will have a better life than her own. The wedding preparations occupied the last six months. Marguerite threw herself into them completely, managing every detail with a meticulousness that sometimes irritated her daughter. She chose the flowers, negotiated with the caterer, and drew up the seating plan, carefully avoiding placing her ex-husband near her. Her colleagues at the supermarket, where she had worked for two years, saw her arrive every morning with new ideas, new catalogs, an almost childlike excitement. No one noticed anything unusual in her behavior during this time.

On her wedding day, Marguerite arrived at the town hall around 2:30 p.m. She wore a sky-blue dress bought at Galeries Lafayette and altered by a local seamstress. Her hair was styled in a bun. She wore a subtle lipstick, and several guests complimented her on her elegance. During the civil ceremony, she wept softly as the mayor recited the vows. Catherine shook her hand several times. Everything seemed normal, although some witnesses would later mention finding her gaze strangely vacant at times.

The reception began around 6 p.m. in a function room on Rue de Wazemmes. Guests crowded around the buffet. Music filled the air, and the atmosphere was warm. Marguerite mingled among the tables, chatting with people and even dancing a slow dance with her brother, who had come from Roubaix. At 8:15 p.m., several people saw her heading towards the restrooms. That was the last time she was seen alive. By the time Catherine realized her mother hadn’t returned for the wedding cake, it was already too late. Marguerite de l’Orme had vanished without anyone understanding how or why.

When Catherine de l’Orme realized her mother was missing, it was 10:45 p.m. The reception hall was still echoing with music and laughter, but for the bride, time had stopped. She searched everywhere for her mother, questioned the guests, checked the restrooms, the cloakroom, even the kitchen where the waiters were bustling about. No one had seen her leave. Her purse was still on chair number 3, at her parents’ table, with her wallet, apartment keys, and glasses. Her beige coat was hanging on coat rack number 42. She had left her scarf in her pocket. Thomas Mercier, the groom, tried to reassure his wife. Perhaps Marguerite had fainted. Perhaps she had gone off by herself for a few minutes to catch her breath. She would come back. But Catherine knew her mother. She would never disappear like that. Not on her wedding day, not without warning.

At 11:15 p.m., Catherine’s father, Robert de l’Orme, contacted the police. A patrol arrived 20 minutes later. The officers quickly questioned the remaining guests, but no consistent account emerged. Some had seen her around 8:00 p.m., others around 8:30 p.m. The stories differed. Captain Marc Dufren, of the Lille Criminal Investigation Division, took charge of the case the following morning. A methodical man in his forties, he had already handled several disturbing disappearances in the region. He began by reviewing the few amateur videos filmed during the evening. They showed Marguerite dancing, chatting, and smiling. At 8:12 p.m., she appeared in a clip, a glass in hand, talking with a distant cousin. Three minutes later, she was no longer visible. No footage of her leaving the room, no suspicious sequences, nothing to guide the investigation.

In the first few days, the abduction theory was dominant. Perhaps Marguerite had been forced to leave? Perhaps someone was waiting for her outside? But this theory quickly ran up against several impossibilities. The function room had only two exits, both constantly used by guests and staff. Several smokers lingered in front of the main entrance throughout the evening. No one saw Marguerite leave. The emergency exit led to an alley where garbage partially blocked the passage. A neighbor returning home around 8:20 p.m. confirmed that no one had passed that way. Dufren ordered a search of the Wazemmes district within a 2-kilometer radius. Dog teams combed vacant lots, abandoned cellars, and disused textile warehouses. Shopkeepers and residents were questioned, and night taxi logs were consulted. Nothing. Marguerite de l’Orme seems to have literally dematerialized.

Her apartment on Rue Solférino had been thoroughly searched. Everything was in order, almost too much so. The bed was made. The dishes were put away. According to Catherine, no clothes were missing. The mail from the past few days lay on the kitchen table, already opened and neatly filed. What intrigued Dufren was the complete absence of disorder in Marguerite’s life. Her bank accounts were balanced. She had no debts, no outstanding loans. Her statements showed ordinary expenses: groceries, gas, a few wedding-related purchases. No suspicious withdrawals in the days leading up to her disappearance. Her colleagues at the supermarket described her as discreet, efficient, and always punctual. Her few friends didn’t really know her. Marguerite rarely spoke about herself, focusing instead on her daughter and Catherine’s future. A life without apparent rough edges, without visible secrets, without major conflict, apart from that old divorce, which she had already processed.

Robert de l’Orme, the ex-husband, is naturally questioned. Their separation dates back 10 years. It had been acrimonious, marked by mutual accusations of neglect and infidelity. But since then, relations had improved for Catherine’s sake. They would see each other at birthdays and family gatherings without any particular animosity. Robert has rebuilt his life with a schoolteacher from Roubaix. He works as a foreman in a metalworking factory. On the wedding day, he stayed at the reception until after midnight, constantly surrounded by witnesses. His alibi is perfect. And besides, what motive could he have had to abduct his ex-wife 10 years after their divorce?

Weeks passed without progress. The local press seized upon the story, headlining about the bride whose mother had vanished. Testimonies poured in, all contradictory or unusable. A woman matching Marguerite’s description was reportedly seen at Lille-Flandres train station on the evening of the wedding. But CCTV footage didn’t confirm this. A motorist claimed to have seen her on the highway heading towards Paris, but the time didn’t match up. A psychic contacted the police, suggesting a canal where they could search for the body. They did indeed dredge the Deûle canal, without success. The investigation gradually bogged down in a mass of useless information.

Catherine de l’Orme falls into a deep depression. Her honeymoon is canceled. Her marriage teeters under the weight of anguish. She refuses to leave Lille, hoping every day for a call, a sign, an explanation. She has posters printed with her mother’s photo. Posters everywhere in the neighborhood, in train stations, in shopping centers. “Marguerite de l’Orme, 52 years old, 1.65 meters tall, short brown hair, brown eyes, disappeared on June 23, 1996 in Lille. If you have seen her, contact the police.” But the weeks turn into months and no one contacts anyone. There is total silence.

In October, four months after the disappearance, Dufren provisionally closed the case. There were no more leads to follow, no more credible hypotheses to explore. Marguerite de l’Orme had vanished under inexplicable circumstances, and all available police resources had been mobilized without success. The case remained open, of course, ready to be reopened at the slightest sign of new information. But deep down, Dufren knew that this information would probably never come. Some cases remain forever unsolved. Some disappearances never find a rational explanation. The story of Marguerite de l’Orme seemed destined to join this cursed category.

The winter of 1996-1997 was particularly difficult for Catherine. She went back to work, tried to rebuild her marriage, but the ghost of her mother haunted her every day. She regularly visited the apartment on Rue Solférino, now empty and silent, searching for clues the police might have missed. She reread her mother’s diaries, examined her photographs, and questioned the same people again and again. But nothing came of it. Marguerite had taken her secret with her, wherever she went, whatever the reason for her escape. And no one seemed capable of unraveling this mystery that defied all logic.

Captain Dufren took over the case from the beginning in the summer of 1996. He reconstructed Marguerite’s day hour by hour, minute by minute whenever possible. On June 23, she got up at 7:00 a.m. in her apartment and had her usual breakfast: black coffee and buttered toast. Her neighbor across the hall saw her around 8:30 a.m. on the stairs. She was carrying a large travel bag. Marguerite explained that she was bringing clothes to change into after the ceremony. Nothing unusual. The neighbor wished her a nice day. This travel bag was never found, and that was the first detail that struck Dufren. Between 9:00 a.m. and 2:00 p.m., Marguerite’s movements remained unclear. Her landline phone recorded no outgoing calls that morning. Her bank statements showed a withdrawal of 500 francs from the ATM on Rue Nationale at 11:12 a.m. A fairly large sum for the time, but not exceptional. A baker on Rue de Béthune thinks she saw her around noon buying a bottle of mineral water. A seemingly insignificant detail. Except that, according to Catherine, Marguerite never buys bottled water; she always drinks tap water to save money. Dufren notes this contradiction without being able to explain it.

At 2:30 p.m., Marguerite arrived at the town hall of the 5th arrondissement. Catherine and Thomas were already waiting for her. She kissed her daughter, greeted her future son-in-law, and then took her place in the front row with Robert, her ex-husband. The ceremony lasted 40 minutes. The mayor, whom Dufren interviewed personally, remembered a woman who was moved but smiling, who wept discreetly during the exchange of vows. After the ceremony, the guests gathered on the steps for photographs. Marguerite posed with her daughter, with the bride and groom, and with her brother. In the photos, her face betrayed a strange melancholy despite the smiles. Between 3:30 p.m. and 6:00 p.m., the procession headed towards the reception hall. Some guests took their own cars, others rode in the caterer’s vehicles. Marguerite traveled with her brother André and her sister-in-law in a blue Renault Espace. André tells Dufren that his sister was silent during the journey, watching the streets of Lille go by through the window. When he asks her if everything is alright, she replies that it is, she’s just thinking about all those years she spent raising Catherine alone. A commonplace remark, tinged with nostalgia, nothing alarming. Yet, André will later admit to having sensed something strange, a kind of resignation in his sister’s voice.

The reception began promptly at 6:00 p.m. The caterer had set up six round tables to accommodate the 80 guests. Marguerite was seated at table number 3, between a distant aunt and a couple of Thomas’s friends. She ate little, drank a glass of champagne, then a second. The music started around 7:00 p.m. A DJ on a small stage played hits from the era, alternating between slow dances and upbeat tunes. Marguerite danced with André for the first time, then accepted Robert’s invitation to dance a waltz. Several guests would later attest that this moment was deeply moving. The former spouses reunited after so many years apart. At 8:00 p.m., the sun slowly set behind the rooftops of Wazemmes. The atmosphere was warm, glasses were passed around, and laughter filled the air. Marguerite returned to her table, finished her champagne, and exchanged a few words with the woman to her right. It was her cousin Diane, a woman in her fifties who lived in Tourcoing. She told Dufren that Marguerite seemed distracted, that she often looked towards the exit as if she were waiting for someone. When Diane asked her about it, Marguerite lowered her head and smiled, assuring her that no, she wasn’t waiting for anyone. She was simply enjoying this lovely evening. But her gaze belied her words.

At exactly 8:12 p.m., an amateur video captures Marguerite standing near the dessert buffet. She’s holding a glass, still wearing her sky-blue dress. Her hair is perfectly styled. She’s chatting with Diane at that moment. The two women are laughing. Everything seems perfectly normal. The camera then moves to film the bride and groom dancing in the center of the dance floor. When the camera returns to the buffet 30 seconds later, Marguerite is no longer there. Diane is alone, glass in hand, staring into space. Dufren had this footage analyzed frame by frame, but nothing suspicious was found. Marguerite simply walked away between shots. Several witnesses claim to have seen her heading towards the restrooms around 8:15 p.m. It’s a narrow corridor leading to the restrooms, separated from the main hall by a swinging door. A guest, Sylvie Marchand, enters the women’s restroom at 8:17 p.m. She stays there for about four minutes. No one else is there. When she leaves, she doesn’t see anyone in the corridor. If Marguerite did go to the restroom, either she never went in at all, or she came out very quickly. But where to? The corridor leads only to the restroom and a small storage room where the staff keeps equipment. There are no other exits, no windows leading outside.

Dufren questioned the staff of the function room at length: the manager, two waiters, and the cleaning lady who happened to be passing through the kitchens. All confirmed they hadn’t noticed anything unusual. No one remembered seeing Marguerite de l’Orme after 8:15 p.m. The cleaning lady, Fatima Benali, had been in the room around 8:00 p.m. looking for mops. She was certain she hadn’t seen anyone there. Dufren personally inspected the room: an 8-square-meter space cluttered with stacked chairs and cleaning supplies. No possible hiding places, no trapdoors, no secret passages, just four bare walls and a low ceiling. The possibility of a deliberate exit through the main entrance was ruled out. Too many guests had been smoking outside all evening. Someone would have surely noticed her. The emergency exit remained the only logical possibility, despite the neighbor’s testimony. Dufren had the escape route reconstructed through that exit. The door opened easily from the inside, without an alarm at the time. It led to a dark alley. Rue Jules Guesde can be busy in the evening. There were indeed piles of garbage in front, but not enough to completely block the passage. A slender person like Marguerite could have slipped through without difficulty. But why would she have taken that discreet exit? And above all, where would she have gone afterward without her bag, her keys, her coat?

What troubles Dufren is the lack of motive. Marguerite wasn’t fleeing any threat, wasn’t hiding any apparent secrets, wasn’t going through any identifiable crisis. Her life was stable, modest but balanced. She adored her daughter. She was happy about the wedding. So why disappear that day, during the event she had so carefully planned for months? The captain explores several psychological avenues. Perhaps a masked depression, a sudden collapse in the face of the void left by her daughter’s departure. But the testimonies agree: Marguerite seemed to be in excellent health in the days leading up to the wedding. No sign of fragility, no disturbing remarks, nothing that could foreshadow a desperate act.

During the autumn of 1996, several leads emerged and then collapsed. A witness contacted the police in late September to report seeing a woman matching Marguerite’s description get into a dark car on Rue Jules Guesde around 8:30 p.m. on the evening of the wedding. Dufren regained hope and questioned this man, a 42-year-old electrician named Patrick Lemire, at length. But when confronted with the photographs, Lemire hesitated, contradicted himself, and finally admitted that he was no longer certain of the exact date or time. The lead vanished as quickly as it had appeared. False alarm, unreliable witness, wasted time.

Another hypothesis emerged when a former colleague of Marguerite’s mentioned having had a conflict with an aggressive customer two months before her disappearance. The man, furious about a cash register error, had allegedly made vague threats. Dufren tracked down this individual, an unemployed man in his fifties with a clean criminal record. The interrogation revealed a volatile temper but no suspicious elements. The man had an alibi for June 23rd: he was with his family in the Ardennes for a birthday. Dozens of witnesses could corroborate this. Moreover, the dispute dated back to April. No complaint had been filed. Marguerite herself had never mentioned it again. Another dead end, another return to square one.

In November, a rumor spread through the Wazemmes district. Marguerite had supposedly been seen in Brussels, working in a restaurant in the European Quarter. The information came from a distant acquaintance who claimed to have recognized her while passing by the establishment. Catherine and Robert immediately traveled to Belgium, accompanied by a liaison officer. They visited the restaurant in question, questioned the staff, and showed photographs. No one recognized Marguerite. The waitress mentioned by the witness was a 30-year-old Spanish woman who bore only a very vague resemblance to the missing woman. Another hope dashed, another wasted effort. Catherine returned to Lille exhausted and on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Dufren also relentlessly explores the financial angle. If Marguerite planned her disappearance, she must have prepared resources. But an examination of her bank accounts for the six months preceding June 23rd reveals no unusual transactions. No large withdrawals, no transfers to unknown accounts, no new accounts opened at another bank. The 500 francs withdrawn on the morning of the wedding are the only unusual element, a not insignificant sum but insufficient to finance a long escape. And in any case, this money was never used. No transactions appear anywhere after June 23rd.

The captain then took a closer look at the ex-husband. Despite Robert de l’Orme’s alibi, Dufren didn’t rule out indirect involvement. Perhaps he had ordered something, perhaps there was an accomplice? The investigators scrutinized Robert’s schedule during the weeks leading up to the wedding, questioned his colleagues, his current partner, and his close friends. Nothing suspicious emerged. Robert led a quiet life, worked conscientiously, and spent his weekends with his family. His phone records showed no calls to unknown numbers. His finances were transparent. The man seemed genuinely devastated by the disappearance of his ex-wife and, above all, by his daughter’s distress.

A stranger lead emerged in December when a psychologist contacted Dufren. He had read the story in the press and thought that Marguerite might have been suffering from empty nest syndrome. This condition affects some single mothers who, seeing their only child leave home, lose all sense of direction and commit irrational acts. Dufren listened carefully to this analysis and consulted the available medical literature. It seemed plausible on paper. Marguerite had devoted her entire life to her daughter. Catherine’s marriage did indeed mark the end of an era. But then, why hadn’t she left a message, a letter, or any explanation? And above all, where would she have gone without money, without any apparent preparation?

In early January 1997, a new lead emerged by chance. A train conductor for the French National Railways (SNCF) came to the police station with a disturbing piece of information. On the evening of June 23, around 9 p.m., he was on duty on the platform of the Paris-Lille TGV. He remembered a woman waiting alone, without luggage, looking lost. She was wearing a light-colored dress that matched the description of Marguerite. The conductor noticed her because she seemed hesitant to board the train. Ultimately, when it was time to depart, she remained on the platform. The conductor never saw her again. Dufren cautiously investigated this belated testimony. Why hadn’t this man come forward sooner, given the massive media coverage of the case? The conductor explained that he had been on leave throughout July. Then, in August, he was transferred to Marseille. He only discovered the case in December while reading an article in La Voix du Nord at his parents’ house in Lille for the holidays. Dufren checked his story. Everything matched up. The man seemed sincere and precise in his recollections, but this lead led to another dead end. If Marguerite was indeed at the train station around 9 p.m., it meant she left the party hall between 8:15 and 8:30 p.m., walked to Lille-Flandres station, 3 km away, without being seen by anyone. And then, she didn’t take the train. She stayed on the platform before disappearing again. Why? Where did she go next?

Dufren reviews the station’s CCTV footage from June 23rd, between 8 and 10 p.m. The images are of poor quality. Several cameras were out of service that day. Blurry silhouettes and indistinct movements are visible, but it’s impossible to formally identify Marguerite. The captain calls in image analysis experts, but the conclusions remain uncertain. Perhaps this woman in a light-colored dress, visible for a few seconds on platform 7, is Marguerite? Perhaps not. The probability is 50%. Insufficient to build a solid hypothesis. Insufficient to guide the investigation in a specific direction. Once again, the investigation is hampered by ambiguity and uncertainty.

February 1997 marked a psychological turning point for Catherine. She began to accept the idea that her mother might never return, that the mystery would remain unsolved. On the advice of a psychiatrist, she gradually resumed a normal life, returned to full-time work, and invested herself in her relationship, but she still refused to empty the apartment on Rue Solférino. Marguerite’s belongings remained in place as if she could return at any moment. Catherine sometimes spent her Saturdays there, sitting in her mother’s favorite armchair and weeping softly as she gazed at the photographs hanging on the wall. Thomas stayed with her, helpless, unable to say anything in the face of a pain that no words could soothe. Marguerite’s ghost hung over their lives like an incurable curse.

Dufren, for his part, continues to receive sporadic reports. A clairvoyant claims to have visions and places Marguerite’s body in a forest near the Belgian border. The searches yield nothing. An informant from the underworld suggests a settling of scores related to cigarette smuggling in which Marguerite was allegedly involved. The investigation quickly proves the absurdity of this allegation. An amateur journalist publishes a delusional article accusing Robert de l’Orme of having orchestrated a perfect murder with the complicity of the village hall manager. Dufren is forced to publicly deny these outlandish claims. The case attracts pathological liars, conspiracy theorists, all those who see mysteries where there may only be chance and bad luck. The captain learns to sift through the information, to separate the wheat from the chaff. But it’s exhausting.

Time marches on. 1998, 1999. Catherine de l’Orme becomes a mother in March 2000, giving birth to a little girl whom she names Marguerite in homage to her deceased mother. This birth brings a measure of comfort, a new meaning to her shattered life. But the absence of her own mother during this event rekindles the pain. She so desperately wanted Marguerite to know her little girl, to be there for the birth. Captain Dufren has now been transferred to Valenciennes. The case has been definitively closed due to a lack of new evidence. Marguerite de l’Orme joins the long list of unexplained disappearances that fill the archives of the French police.

In September 2003, seven years after her disappearance, an unexpected event changed everything. The apartment on Rue Solférino, unoccupied since 1996, needed to be emptied. Catherine had finally agreed to move on and sell the property. She hired a company specializing in clearing out the apartment. Two employees arrived one morning and began packing up the belongings, furniture, and accumulated boxes. One of them, while moving an old Norman wardrobe from the living room, discovered an envelope wedged between the wardrobe and the wall. The envelope was yellowed and dusty. It had clearly slipped there by accident years before. The employee picked it up, read the address written in blue pen, and called his colleague. The envelope was addressed to Catherine de l’Orme, with the young woman’s former address before her marriage. There was no stamp; the envelope had never been mailed. The employees hesitated, then contacted Catherine, who arrived within the hour. When she sees her mother’s handwriting on the paper, she nearly faints. Her hands tremble as she opens the envelope. Inside are three sheets of paper, written on both sides in the same neat handwriting. A letter dated June 18, 1996, five days before the wedding. Catherine sits on the parquet floor, unfolds the pages, and begins to read. The first words chill her to the bone. “My darling, when you read these lines, I will have been gone for a long time, and you will finally understand why.”

Catherine read and reread the letter, incredulous and distraught. Her mother explained almost everything. Marguerite had been suffering for several years from a degenerative disease diagnosed in 1992, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), which progressed slowly but inexorably. She had kept this diagnosis a secret from everyone, including Catherine, so as not to spoil her daughter’s final years before she settled down. The first symptoms had appeared in early 1996: slight tremors, unusual fatigue. Marguerite knew that the situation would deteriorate rapidly, that she would become dependent and frail. The thought of subjecting her only daughter to this was unbearable. So she had decided to disappear voluntarily on her wedding day.

In the letter, Marguerite details her plan with disturbing precision. She had prepared a bag containing clothes, money saved over the months in small bills, and medication to hasten her death when the time came. On June 23, she planned to leave the reception hall discreetly during the evening, go to a place she had scouted beforehand, and end her life there with dignity before the illness completely destroyed her. She preferred that Catherine remember her as a smiling woman on her wedding day rather than a degraded woman in a hospital bed. She apologized for the pain she would cause, but maintained that it was the only acceptable solution in her eyes. She concluded by assuring Catherine of her undying love.

Catherine immediately called the police. The case, closed for years, was reopened urgently. Dufren, informed from Valenciennes, returned to Lille to participate in this final phase of the investigation. The letter was authenticated by handwriting experts. It was indeed Marguerite’s handwriting, without a doubt. The investigators contacted the general practitioner who had treated Marguerite in the 1990s. After reviewing her records, the doctor confirmed that he had diagnosed a suspected case of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) in May and had referred Marguerite to a neurologist. But she had never followed up, refusing any further medical treatment. Medical confidentiality had prevented her from speaking at the time.

The letter mentions a place Marguerite had noticed. She doesn’t name it precisely, but she speaks of a quiet spot on the edge of town, near the water, where she sometimes went to think. Catherine suddenly remembers that her mother liked to walk along the canal towards Haubourdin, a semi-industrial area where walkers were rare. Dufren immediately organizes a search in this area. In 2003, seven years after the events, the landscape had changed. Wastelands had been…