In 2003 a young woman student who worked part time in the cafe where I went for my daily demi-baguette and espresso breakfast failed to turn up for her usual shift. Her name was Anna and she was a delight, always smiling and helpful. She had the slight build and grace of a ballet dancer and was charming and innocent. To be served by Anna was always a good start to the day. The next morning we learned that she had been murdered by the driver of the bus she caught to work each morning.