
Who killed our beautiful mum? Hunt for Karen Carter's murderer goes on
Inside the café, a photograph now hangs at the wood-panelled bar. Karen Carter, 65, volunteered there at the café before she was stabbed to death at her home nearby two months ago. Her killer is still at large, and the photo of the smiling Carter is the only hint that the café, festooned with lights and bunting, and the village, remain a focus of the murder hunt.
Investigators have a working theory: that the killer harboured a personal grudge against Carter, a married mother with four adult children, or a problem with the relationship she had struck up with Jean-Francois Guerrier, with whom she helped to run the bar at Café Village.
He and another volunteer, Marie-Laure Autefort, who made public her infatuation with Guerrier, were both arrested and released without charge. Today, as Trémolat moves uneasily towards its peak tourist season, Carter's adult children have spoken for the first time about their mother's murder, which police said was 'planned and exceptionally violent'.
Guerrier, 74, found Carter dying from multiple stab wounds in her driveway at 10pm on April 29, after she had left his farmhouse on the edge of Trémolat where he had hosted a wine-tasting event. He had followed her at a discreet distance to spend the night at her converted barn. Guerrier tried to revive her as he called the emergency services, but she was beyond help.
'I keep thinking about what her last moments would have been like,' said Liz Carter, 29, an engineering student in the United States. 'The colour in my life has washed away'. She learnt of the death after a call from her father, Alan. From South Africa, he had to break the news to all four children — two daughters and two sons — scattered between Britain, the US and Australia. The family later reunited in Trémolat, where they had spent many holidays, to visit their property, which is now a crime scene, and hold a funeral.
The prosecutor's confirmation that his wife's affair was the investigation's focus, Alan Carter said, compounded the shock with a sense of betrayal. The couple, married for 30 years and dual British and South African citizens, had spent years renovating Les Chouettes, an old cottage and barn that Karen ran as gîtes. The couple had disagreed about how to divide their time, with Karen keen to live in France permanently.
Katy Carter, 30, who lives in Britain, said her mother had been 'so excited about her life in France and growing old in Trémolat'. After spending most of her life in South Africa worrying about crime, Karen Carter often spent months alone in Trémolat, leaving doors unlocked, her family said.
Her murder was the most violent crime anyone can remember in the Périgord region. It is believed her killer lay in wait and lunged from the shadows as she got out of her car, stabbing her eight times from the front. The first blow, to the heart, was fatal, according to the post-mortem examination. Liz Carter imagines the killer 'was a deeply disturbed individual who had nothing going for them. They saw my mother's beautiful life and, for whatever reason, chose to extinguish her light'.
Widespread coverage of the murder has concerned Éric Chassagne, Trémolat's mayor for 30 years. He feared it would put visitors off and keep the locals at home. Instead, the village is buzzing, even if the unsolved murder is 'causing suspicion to weigh on the village', with concerns that the killer is likely to be in their midst.
More than 200 people are thought to have made statements to police, and multiple searches have been made in the fields and woods surrounding the Carter property for clues and the murder weapon. 'The most probable [lines of inquiry] involve people we know. It's the most obvious,' the mayor said.
Chassagne was one of the last people to see Carter alive at the small gathering at Guerrier's home, to taste new wines that he and Carter had chosen to stock Café Village. The venue was set up in a vacant village shop at the end of the pandemic as an attempt to bring a social focus to Tremolat's jumble of old blue-collar families, such as Autefort's, the retired city professionals, including Guerrier, and expat holiday-home owners with their limited French.
Organisers announced its 'indefinite' closure after the murder, and its revival feels too soon for some regulars who feel the merriment beneath Carter's portrait is disrespectful and premature, while her murder remains unsolved. The mayor, however, believes life should not be paused. 'I was in complete agreement with the reopening. It had to reopen eventually … Trémolat must get on with life and carry on welcoming people from everywhere,' Chassagne said.
Guerrier, originally from Paris and who spent some years in England as an IT executive, has kept a low profile. Autefort, a 69-year-old retired carer, has not been seen in the village since her release after two days of police questioning.
Her brother Philippe Monribot, who was a fireman for 42 years, was questioned by investigators for four hours last week, he told The Times. He has lived in Trémolat his whole life and said he had been asked by the gendarmes to show them spots where the killer might have dumped their weapon in the woods which surround the properties belonging to the Carters, him and his sister.
'They're wasting their time,' said Monribot, who is convinced the murder was a professional hit, though he understood why his sister, Autefort, fell under suspicion. She had been in love with Guerrier, whom she called 'the tall one', Monribot said, adding that Guerrier had once demanded she divorce her husband to be free, but then spurned her.
A police source said they did not consider the crime to be a contract killing.
Nick Sachs, Carter's son from her first marriage, who lives in London, said the family all struggled to imagine the future without her. 'It's a hole in our lives that we can't fill.'
His brother, Jonathan, who works in construction in Australia, said he had felt 'aimless' since his mother's death and was prepared that the killer might never be caught.
'I've come to realise that there is a possibility that the culprit may never be identified and we as a family will need to learn and accept that,' he said.
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


Times
an hour ago
- Times
Forged in the gulag, Belarus's real first couple is reunited
For Belarus's most prominent political prisoner, liberation from a cockroach-infested cell after years of solitary confinement began with a bag over the head. Siarhei Tsikhanouski, a charismatic entrepreneur and video blogger with millions of followers, was jailed in the run-up to presidential elections in August 2020 after announcing that he would challenge Aleksander Lukashenko, the country's dictator. In his absence his wife, Sviatlana, a stay-at-home mother with no political experience, stood instead, and was widely seen as the rightful winner of the subsequent rigged election in which Lukashenko declared victory. Faced with jail and separation from her two young children, she went into exile in neighbouring Lithuania. Then last month the couple's life took another dramatic twist. As Tsikhanouski was paying a rare visit to the exercise yard on June 20, a guard unexpectedly led him back to his cell. 'He told me to pack my things and gave me two minutes,' he said. 'Then they took me to another cell, put a bag over my head, handcuffed me and threw me into a car.' The men in the cell were members of the KGB, as the Belarusian security service is still known, who later bundled Tsikhanouski into a minibus that took him and 13 others who had fallen foul of the regime towards Lithuania. When they arrived at the frontier at about 11am the next day, a different group of men boarded the bus. 'They said: 'Take off the bags. You are now under the protection of American diplomacy. You will be given water and medical care.'' Tsikhanouski's first request was for coffee and a mobile to call his wife, who was surprised to see a Belarusian number flash up on her phone. Sviatlana knew that a prisoner release was about to happen but doubted her husband would be among those freed. 'He is considered to be the biggest enemy of Lukashenko and I was sure that he would be released only among the last of the political prisoners,' she said. 'Joy overwhelmed me. I didn't know what to do.' Sviatlana was nevertheless shocked by her husband's appearance when he emerged from the minibus a few hours later near the American embassy in Vilnius and hugged her. Once weighing more than 21st, he was now below 13st and in poor health for a man of 46. 'If I had just been walking past him on the street rather than getting out of the bus, I don't think I would have recognised him,' she said. The pair make a slightly unlikely couple as they sit in a meeting room in the anonymous block on the edge of Vilnius that has become one of two bases for the Belarusian opposition, who are split between the Lithuanian capital and Warsaw. Tsikhanouski's cheeks are sunken and his hair, which was shaved to the skull in jail, has barely grown back. His red T-shirt hangs loosely off him. A different man from the robust figure in family photographs, he talks quickly, as if he is making up for time lost in jail — especially during the final two years and three months, when he was denied contact with the outside world. By contrast, Sviatlana, 42, his wife of just over two decades, looks the part of the assured stateswoman she has become over the past five years, with her neat black bob, elegant pink jacket and perfectly manicured nails. As we speak, she flips effortlessly between Russian and the English she learnt when she was sent aged 12 on a trip to Ireland for children from parts of Belarus affected by the disaster at the Chernobyl nuclear plant in Ukraine nine years earlier. Security for our meeting is tight. Aides are still reeling from an interview the couple gave earlier in the week to two young men claiming to be journalists who asked strange, provocative questions apparently intended to drive a wedge between them and their Lithuanian hosts. They called the police, who found that the men had been hired for $100 over Telegram, the messaging app, presumably by the KGB. The prisoners' release was part of a US-brokered deal under which Lukashenko, who has run Belarus since 1994, was rewarded with a meeting the same day with Keith Kellogg, Donald Trump's special envoy for Ukraine, that he could show off on Belarusian state television. More prisoners are expected to be released next month, although in the meantime another 28 have been detained. • I'm fighting Putin and Lukashenko — for my husband's life Yet three week later, it remains unclear why the Belarusian leader chose to include the man who mocked him so mercilessly in his videos among the initial 14 — most of whom had foreign passports — rather than any of the country's estimated 1,100 other political prisoners, who are thought to include two Britons, whose names have not been released. Among those still held is Maria Kolesnikova, a flautist turned opposition activist who was one of a pair of women working with Tsikhanouskaya on her election campaign. Veronika Tsepkalo, the other woman, fled abroad to avoid arrest. One theory is that Lukashenko may believe that by releasing Tsikhanouski, a larger-than-life figure, he will provoke disagreement between the couple, and the opposition as a whole, over who is now the boss. Tskihouskaya aims to prove them wrong. Her husband, though 'a natural leader', will settle into the role of 'first gentleman', she believes. 'He fully respects, understands and accepts that I am the president-elect of Belarus. I don't see any competition between us.' I turn to Tsikhouski for affirmation. 'By my nature, I can't do diplomatic work like my wife,' he admits. 'She's more calm, more practical and has the experience that I don't have.' He has instead resumed his vlogging career. 'My aim is to take concrete steps to make this regime collapse.' Franak Viacorka, Tsikhanouskaya's chief of staff, thinks that Lukashenko has badly miscalculated, just as he did when he allowed her to run against him in 2020, deriding her as 'this little girl'. While Tsikhanouski was in jail, she had reason to temper her words and actions out of concern over what the regime might do to her husband. 'Now they don't have this leverage any more,' said Viacorka. As a couple, they must process their divergent experiences of the past five years. 'I had to sleep on an iron bed,' Tsikhanouski said. 'There was no mattress, blanket, pillow or anything.' Besides the cockroaches, there were mice and rats, which crawled up the pipes. He and his wife wrote letters but were allowed only one brief phone call. Then in March 2023, for reasons that were not explained, Tsikhanouski was placed completely incommunicado. 'It was hard not to have any news about relatives and friends, not to receive letters and phone calls, or meet my lawyers,' he said. 'I was not even allowed a priest to confess or receive communion.' Conditions improved after the death in February 2024 of Alexei Navalny, the Russian opposition leader, in a Siberian labour camp. Tsikhanouski's jailors appear not to have wanted to lose him too, especially after he managed to convince them his health was worse than it really was — which may have helped secure his release. All this time, his wife was left alone to look after the children, while pursuing a career on the world stage that she never sought or prepared for, meeting the likes of Joe Biden, Emmanuel Macron and Boris Johnson, who 'adopted' her husband after he was jailed. Initially she told her son Karnei, who was then aged seven, and her daughter, Ahniya, then four, that their father was away on a business trip. 'Then, as it became more and more obvious that it might take a while, I told them the truth: that their dad was a hero who 'wanted a better life for you in Belarus. He was sent to jail for this'. And they've known ever since.' She urged them not to tell their friends at their Russian-speaking school. A few days after Tskihanouski's release, Ahniya, who had not at first recognised her father, asked her mother if she could tell people he was back. 'It was very important for her to be able to say she now had a father,' she said. Her son, meanwhile, was relieved he was no longer the only man in the house. 'It had been such a weight on him.' Even now, for security reasons, Tsikhanouskaya advises the children not to reveal the identity of their parents. 'They are within the risk zone,' she said. The pair are now looking forward to spending time together with their children. What comes next for Belarus is less clear. Lukashenko rode out the biggest protests in the country's history after the election in 2020, which at one point drew 200,000 people on to the streets. This January he won a seventh consecutive term with an implausible 87 per cent that will take him to 2030, when he will be 75. • After a winter of discontent, has Lukashenko crushed all opposition in Belarus? 'All these years, Belarus has been like a big gulag,' Tsikhanouskaya said. 'Lukashenko is a dictator, he intimidates people and repressions have never stopped, even for a single day. 'But the situation has changed for him. He realises that during these five years he did not manage to persuade Belarusians to like him again, love him again or trust him again.' Lukashenko also allowed Vladimir Putin to drag Belarus into a supporting role in his war against Ukraine, which has gone down badly with his people. The old guard, known as 'bisons', who have been with the former Soviet-era state farm boss since he was elected as the new country's first president, remain loyal. But younger members of his inner circle are beginning to lose faith and are leaking information to the opposition, such as details of sanctions busting, which they dutifully pass on to their Western allies. Rather than oust Lukashenko through an uprising, the couple hope to encourage these waverers to join a national dialogue — similar to the one that ended Communism in Poland in the late 1980s. 'We are not threatening to hang them from the streetlamps,' she said. 'We tell them that Lukashenko will die one day and they have to think about themselves.' Encouraged by Kellogg's visit, Tsikhanouskaya and her supporters are looking to America to make this happen. Although the couple have yet to talk to President Trump, they would like to meet him — if only to thank him for Tsikhanouski's release. 'It's very difficult for Trump to deal with Russia, but Belarus is like low-hanging fruit for him,' she said. 'The Belarusian people are united around the idea of change. Trump has the power and leverage to bring it about.'


Daily Mail
3 hours ago
- Daily Mail
Calais police pose for a selfie after they slash people smugglers' dinghy... before letting the gang saunter away
French police failed to chase down 12 suspected people-smugglers yesterday after they abandoned their boat on the beach near Calais and sauntered away. The officers made no attempt to follow despite the intense focus on their president's new deal with Sir Keir Starmer to stop the boats. Instead, minutes earlier, the same policemen – in full riot gear – had fired rounds of tear gas to disperse at least 50 migrants, who had emerged from the sand dunes to try to board the vessel at Gravelines beach to make their way to Britain. At the same time, a police drone hovered in the sky overhead as a few more officers monitored the situation from a nearby lighthouse. As if to drive home the farce of the dawn spectacle, witnessed by The Mail on Sunday, three officers then amused themselves by slashing the inflatable dinghy to make it inoperable – before taking selfies. It is thought around 200 migrants had slept in the dunes overnight, hoping to be lucky. Among them was a 26-year-old Bangladeshi man, Shahin, who admitted he had planned to seek asylum as soon as he reached England – by claiming he was a minor. He had even shaved for the occasion to make himself look younger. The Mail on Sunday's reporter caught up with him as he hurried back to Calais with a group of ten Vietnamese nationals, many still clutching their life jackets, to catch a bus back to their camp in Dunkirk, 18 miles away. Migrants sit on a dinghy in Gravelines, France, as they prepare to sail into the English Channel on May 31, 2025 Begging us not to film or photograph him, Shahin said he had been living in Britain until three months ago, having arrived on a domestic work visa and had claimed asylum while working in the construction industry. When his asylum claim was rejected, he said he then married a woman in London, living in Whitechapel until the marriage broke down and he decided to leave for France. Shahin said he had reconciled with his wife and paid a Kurdish people-smuggler £1,730 to take him to the UK, and had already tried twice in lorries, but was caught both times. Speaking in his native Bengali, he said, laughing: 'This is why I have shaved. I am actually 26. When I finally get there I will say I am underage.' Meanwhile, three boats carrying dozens of migrants successfully left from other destinations along the coastline and were intercepted by Border Force cutters mid-way in the English Channel and brought to Dover. On Friday, 353 boat migrants arrived in Dover in ten boats, bringing the record tally this year so far to 22,043. French Police enter the water to try and stop migrants boarding small boats that had come to collect them from further down the coastline on June 13, 2025 in Gravelines, France French police officers watch a group of people thought to be migrants board a small boat leaving the beach at Gravelines, France, on May 31, 2025 Last night, Shadow Home Secretary Chris Philp said: 'After Keir Starmer's posturing and fake bonhomie with Emmanuel Macron last week, The Mail on Sunday has uncovered the reality of what is actually happening on the ground in France. 'Far from smashing the gangs, brazen people-smugglers are allowed to walk free. 'And now we learn that a 26-year-old Bangladeshi plans to pretend to be under18 in order to get special treatment in the UK.' Mr Philp added: 'Since we're the only country in Europe not to use scientific age-assessment methods and activist lawyers help the illegal immigrants fake their age, he will probably get away with it and may pop up in a classroom near you soon.'


The Sun
3 hours ago
- The Sun
We should consider introducing same prison sentence as France on hiring illegal workers here… and bring back Rwanda
ILLEGAL immigrants across Europe now see the UK as a soft touch. They are willing to risk their lives to cross the Channel from safe countries like France, thanks to Keir Starmer's weak approach to fighting illegal migration. 3 3 3 I saw this with my own eyes a couple of weeks ago. I went to an asylum hotel in central London, populated by illegal immigrants who had mainly come here on small boats. In a small compound next to the hotel I found dozens of bikes, many of which had Deliveroo, Just Eat or Uber Eats containers. A shopkeeper over the road confirmed that the residents of the hotel routinely worked on these bikes — despite having no right to work here. The Sun has done great work to expose this illegal working as well. People-smugglers now openly advertise the fact it's easy to work illegally in the UK. This illegal working is also putting women and girls at risk if a late-night delivery is made by an undocumented and unknown illegal immigrant. Afghan males, for example, are 22 times more likely to be sex offenders than average. This is exactly what happened to a 32-year-old pregnant woman in Glasgow. Her attacker, Muhammad Faizan Khan, brutally sexually assaulted her in her own home, causing her pregnancy to be lost. Khan was using someone else's Deliveroo account that he had paid to use. By allowing accounts to be rented without proper checks, companies such as Deliveroo are making the UK a magnet for illegal immigrants and putting women and girls at risk. This madness has to stop. First, the Home Office must urgently end illegal working based at the hotels they run which taxpayers are funding. Action by Immigration Enforcement and the police against illegal working must also be ramped up. The likes of Deliveroo, Uber Eats and Just East must face massive fines for what they are enabling. Allowing illegal immigrants to work on their platforms has become part of the business model. They are complicit. Log-ins to work on the platforms are openly bought and sold — a practice called 'substitution', where one person can work in place of another. Deliveroo and others claim driver substitution is fine but it is allowing illegal immigrants and unverified people to make deliveries without proper checks. Those running companies which enable illegal immigrants to work on their platforms, or do not have systems to identify substitutes and verify they are in the UK legally, would be deterred by facing prison. In France, employers can get up to five years in jail for hiring an illegal worker. We should now consider introducing that same prison sentence here. The Government must also stop illegal arrivals in the first place. Keir Starmer claimed last year that he would 'smash the gangs'. This has laughably failed. Illegal channel crossings have surged by over 40 per cent since Starmer was elected, and this year so far has been the worst for it in history. Sir Keir's recent deal with France — if it ever starts — will only see six per cent of illegal immigrants crossing the Channel removed. What we need is a removals deterrent where every illegal arrival is removed without interference by judges. An approach like this worked in Australia about 12 years ago. And this is exactly what the last Government's Rwanda plan would have done. It was ready to go last July and was handed to Starmer and Home Secretary Yvette Cooper on a plate. And what did they do? They cancelled it days before it was due to start. We need to end illegal working and we need to bring back Rwanda. Then illegal immigrants will know there is no point in trying to come here in the first place.