Awaiting Amateur Sleuth Companion - The Google Mystery Van
December 6, 2007 – 9:12 am
The name that the press has given this case is really worthy of being on the cover of an Agatha Christie novel or at the very least a “Scooby Doo, Where Are You!” episode: “The Canoe Man Mystery”. Oh, the original Scooby Doo, not the one with Scrappy Doo or the other big white hillbilly-yokel type of relative, I forgot his name. By the way, Scrappy’s crappy, just to get the record straight.
Despite the name, the actual case was interesting to say the very least. Here’s the timeline up to this year, as presented in the Daily Record:
January 2002: Darwin sums up his life story in an entry on the Friends Reunited website. He adds: “I hope to retire soon.” March 21: Darwin is last seen at 8am paddling out to sea in calm water. His wife reports him missing at 10.30pm. A huge air and sea search is launched. March 22:A paddle from the canoe is found 100 meters out to sea and, weeks later, the shattered remains of the kayak. September: Anne Darwin issues a statement expressing her sadness at having no grave to visit to mourn her husband. April 2003: An open verdict is recorded at an inquest into Darwin’s death and the coroner declares him dead.
What happened next looked like it had been ripped out of the pages of the worst nightmare of an evil mastermind: Darwin and his wife posed for a picture after renting a room in Panama City, in July last year, and it appeared on the property company’s “Move to Panama” website, and from there it was indexed by Google, so when the amateur sleuth searched by chance for “John”, “Anne” and “Panama” it popped on the screen. How lucky was that?
Yesterday, the “dead” Darwin (not Charles, but John) was brought to police custody, after being arrested on suspicion of fraud. He just walked into a London police station and claimed to be a missing person with amnesia, after Mrs. Darwin had sold the family house, in November, and moved to a flat in Panama City, totally by coincidence, they say.
Looks like having an obsession paid off for the “private eye”, who now gets to say things like “If something bugs me, I’ve got to get to the bottom of it!” Ok, Sherlock, where’s Jimmy Hoffa?
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