Charlotteville, Virginia. Spring, 1963. Our professor, Ian Stevenson, is at his desk,

tortoises shell glasses on the tip of his nose. He switched on his coffee percolator.

To his left, a tall stack of newspaper clippings.

He starts reading through each one.

The professor is looking for that one case of reincarnation,

which will put a stop to all of those jokes at cocktail parties.

And one case, just one case, is all he needs. Or, as Dr. Jeffrey Long says,

it only takes one white crow to prove that not all crows are black. Yeah, Stevenson needs his one white crow. One case that suggests that reincarnation is real.

Then he'll get the recognition he craves, not from tabloids and gossip magazines, but recognition from his peers.

I mean serious academic types.

And then he sees it.

An article about Mr Pollock.

John Pollock of England.

A story which began 13 years earlier.

We're in Hexham, England.

It's 1950.

A cold Saturday morning in January, John Pollock is at his piano in a haze of pipe smoke. He's been trying to master this particular piece for some time.

But the kids are outside making a racket. He heads for the back door and tells them to keep the noise down.

Jacqueline Pollock, one of his two little girls who will die in that terrible accident eight

years later, is now just three years old. She's riding round on a little tricycle, dressed in a red

woolen coat, round and round she goes.

Their mum, Florence Pollock, has just left a metal bucket of hot soapy water on the back step.

...