I was contacted by two other people who had known either Tim or Tina's daughter after the book was published, both of whom provided significant information. One was Edwin Rowntree, another former colleague of Tim's, who recalled 'Mr Franklin' as 'the perfect gentleman' and then recalled a story in which Tim complained about his struggle to manage since his 'good lady' had 'upped and left' him, as well as having an ex-wife to support. Chillingly, Tim's 'good lady' - Tina Strauss - was laying buried in the back garden at the time, having been beaten and strangled by him. According to Mr Rowntree, who was working with Tim fairly closely at the time, he never saw him drunk or depressed during the seven months before the crime was uncovered, as has been alleged. Tim, he said, was always very together. He recalled inparticular a company social function in which Tim completely charmed his own wife. All of this is typical of Tim and does, I think, confirm his sociopathic personality, of which the ability to charm and deceive, and the lack of guilt (and not taking responsibility for) the consequences of their actions are characteristic.

The other person to email me was a relative of the Strauss family who wanted to know whether I'd managed to make contact with Tina's daughter. She was desperate to find out what had happened to her cousin, and we began corresponding regularly. She was able to provide privileged family information which gave us a starting point - something I'd lacked before - and, armed with that knowledge, I sent my researcher, Barbara, back to the archives and indexes. Eventually, Barbara rang me and said, triumphantly, 'I've got it!' and suddenly there I was with the name and address I'd waited so long to find. After all that time searching, I was now faced with a new dilemma: whether to contact her or not.

I decided, in the end, to let her cousin make first contact. It seemed only right, and besides, Tina's daughter might be more likely to respond to a relative than to someone she didn't know. Considering she has hidden her identity so carefully - her new name (she is married) does not appear on internet searches and her phone number is ex-directory, she has gone to some lengths to remain undiscovered. The schoolfriend of hers who emailed me told me that, even when they did resume contact back in the 70s, it was always through a forwarding address and she was never able to contact her directly. The cousin drafted a careful letter, mentioning the book, which she sent also to me. But she never got a reply, which left me with the choice of turning up on Tina's daughter's doorstep, or letting the matter drop.

I thought about going there, or, possibly, sending my private investigator to see what he could find out. I tried to imagine the scenario, meeting her, talking to her. It seemed unlikely she would have missed the publicity the book received - it was a big story in several national newspapers, broadsheet and tabloid, as well as on TV and radio - and even if she had, her cousin's letter referred to it. I had to conclude that she could have made contact with me easily enough if she'd wanted to, and the fact that she hadn't meant she wouldn't welcome me knocking on her door. I could appreciate why. The journalist in me wanted to take it further, but I had to respect her privacy. She went through a terrible time and her story is hers alone to tell. In some respects it was a relief to come to this decision. The curiosity's still there, naturally, but it's not eating me up like before. Knowing that I could have made contact was, ultimately, unexpectedly, enough.