Rough Trade

21

7a.m. Passage de l’Industrie

Berican went up the staircase to his workroom, as he did every day it opened. On the landing, four sinister individuals, three raincoats, one jacket. Panic. Was it the Grey Wolves, as with Celik Osman? No. They were not Turks. Were they French police officers? They showed him their identity cards and a document he didn’t read. A search. He came out in a sweat. His vision was blurred. Paulette had sworn this would never happen …

Berican went in with the police officers. One of them stayed by the door. As the workers arrived they were sent into the kitchen. Morale was definitely low.

A rapid tour of the workrooms. The police officers seemed almost absent-minded. Tension increased when they reached the finishing machines. One officer carefully collected the checklists for the labels. But the place they really wanted to search was the manageress’s office. Account books, orders, invoices, they took out everything. One cop sat down and began to leaf through it all. In a locked drawer were designer labels from the couturiers and a register of their issue and return. A quick check showed that the totals were correct. Bottom drawer on the left, the boss opened it. Plastic bag from FNAC. Inside, a cardboard box. In the box, two rolls of labels, Saint-Laurent and Ted Lapidus. About five hundred of each.

‘And what’s this?’

Berican didn’t have to try very hard to look completely astonished.

‘I’ve no idea. This is the manageress’s office. I’m always in the workroom.’

‘And when does the manageress arrive?’

‘At 8.30, every day.’

‘We’ll wait for her. Sit down.’

One of the officers took statements from the workers. Hardly any of them had identity papers, the addresses were imaginary and nobody had ever seen that plastic bag.

Shortly after 8.30 Paulette Dupin arrived. When she saw the workroom empty and two unknown men coming out of her office she went pale. Flanked by the two men she was pushed into the office. She looked at Berican who was sitting on a chair. Salvation would not come from that quarter but he didn’t seem to be in a state of collapse.

Account books, first irregularities identified.

Paulette shrugged her shoulders, suspecting that they hadn’t come to look at those.

‘And these labels? What are they used for?’

Paulette glanced sideways at Berican.

‘I’ve never seen that box. I didn’t bring it here.’

‘In the bottom drawer of your desk, which was locked, and you’ve never seen it?’

‘No.’

‘That’s a position you’ll find rather difficult to maintain.’

The officers took Paulette and Berican into custody, the workers were asked to leave and the workroom was closed.

9.30 a.m. Passage du Désir

Paulette Dupin and Berican were locked up in two separate offices on the first floor. While the Fraud Squad team was preparing the interrogation Attali went to make his report to Daquin.

‘She’s tough. She denies ever having seen the plastic bag. In my opinion it’s a ridiculous defence. We’ll find the retailers who’ve been selling the counterfeit stuff. And perhaps too the producer of the labels in Turkey …’

‘Perhaps, but that’s how Fraud sees it. I want her to break down and quickly. I don’t care a damn about the swindles, I want the truth about the information leaks. We must know before the end of the custody period. After that we’ll never be able to manage it. You’ll be taking part in the Berican interrogation. Only one thing interests us: he has to admit he saw the plastic bag in the hands of Paulette, but if I understand correctly, we’ve little chance of getting that. Nothing else matters to us. Charge Paulette, clear Berican, that way we can release him late in the morning. Got that?’

*

Paulette was interrogated in Daquin’s office. The Fraud Squad superintendent and the inspector directed operations, Daquin observed.

Paulette was brought in by a cop in uniform, sat down in the chair indicated to her and tried not to panic. True, she hadn’t expected this, not she, married to a cop, she wasn’t prepared for it. Only one thought in her head: resistance, persistence, denial.

‘You are the manageress of the Berican workroom?’

‘Yes.’

‘A quick look at your accounts has shown up several irregularities. The workroom declares five workers and employs more than twenty on a permanent basis.’

‘That’s true, but the entire Sentier works like that. Haven’t you heard about the legalization of workers being negotiated with the government at the moment? We aren’t the only people involved.’

‘Let’s move on to the search this morning. That bundle of labels …’

‘I’ve never seen it.’

‘So I understand. Then these are not the labels supplied to you by the manufacturers?’

‘No.’

‘What could such a bundle of labels be used for?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘You’re not credible on that point, madame. After years of managing a workroom of this kind …’

‘I’ve nothing to say about that.’

‘Very well. Do you know a certain Turgut Sener?’

‘Yes.’

‘How did you come to meet him?’

‘The embassy gave us an order for some furnishing work in leather. He was in charge of the arrangements. I met him on that occasion.’

‘When?’

‘Three years ago.’

‘And do you continue to see him regularly?’

‘Yes, he’s a friend.’

‘Did you have lunch with him at Chez Flo, last Friday?’

‘Yes.’ Surprise.

‘And he gave you a plastic bag from FNAC?’

‘No.’

‘We have witnesses, madame.’

‘They made a mistake.’

‘We’ll continue this interrogation tomorrow, madame. One last question: is your husband involved in your professional activities?’

Paulette Dupin sat up, as though electrified.

‘Superintendent, when we married we both retained control over our personal property, and I am an adult. Leave my husband out of this.’

Paulette Dupin was led away for her first day in custody.

Daquin began to hope. She was acting the tough lady, perhaps that’s what she was. But her defence was desperate and totally lacking in flexibility. We can make her crack up. We must concentrate on Sener. According to Romero there’s a good chance they may be lovers. She’s in her fifties, he’s twenty years younger, she surely clings to him.

9.30 a.m. Passage de l’Industrie

Berican’s workers were huddled together at the foot of the staircase. Smoking and arguing with Soleiman, who was passing through. At first, despair: no work, no papers. It was more difficult to find work in leather than in fabrics. Someone suggested going up to the second floor, breaking open the door, taking away the machines, selling them and sharing the money in order to keep going until they found new jobs.

‘Gangster behaviour,’ said Soleiman.

‘In any case you know that if we don’t take over the machines the cops will seize them.’

‘No, there’s no reason to let them do that. Those days are over. We’ll fight, all of us together, we’ll go to the police station to demand Berican’s release and the reopening of the workroom.’

‘It’s impossible. They’re going to bang up the lot of us and send us back to Turkey.’

‘No, you’ll see. The Committee will be there and they’ll telephone the ministry. Other Turks will come and support us.’

Soleiman spoke with real conviction. In the end it was unanimously agreed to go in a group and demand Berican’s release. A stop at the usual café, raki to give themselves courage. On Berican’s account, naturally. In the mean time Soleiman telephoned the Committee. Round up all the French militants you can find, meet in half an hour’s time or sooner at passage du Désir, yes, that’s it, outside the police station. Bring stuff to make a banner. Is Omar there? Yes? Put him on. Omar, run over to the Gymnase and send to passage du Désir all the Turks who want to go. It’s important.

10.30 a.m. Passage du Désir

When the Berican workers reached the local police station they weren’t reassured. A moment’s hesitation. Ten or so French militants arrived at the other end of the passage. Three of them unrolled a broad strip of fabric and painted on it in white: Berican’sworkers want to work, Soleiman and a Frenchman undertook to negotiate with the cop on the door. They wanted to see the Superintendent.

‘Which Superintendent?’

‘The one who ordered the search at the Berican workroom this morning.’

‘No idea who.’

‘A woman lawyer, well known for her aggressive behaviour, bombarded the station with phone calls. She insisted on speaking to Monsieur Berican, who was her client. Why impossible? I’ll call the minister’s office.’

The banner was fixed to the wall opposite the station.

By 10.45 Turks began arriving in small groups. Soon a small crowd of two hundred and fifty or three hundred people were shouting slogans in Turkish and French. Lavorel watched from a third-floor window.

At 11.30 the minister’s first secretary telephoned the station. Everyone should avoid making waves, just when the negotiations were about to be successful. Had Monsieur Berican been charged with particularly serious offences? No? Well then …

At noon Berican was freed and emerged to applause, whistles of approval and cheering, like a member of the Galatasaray football team after a win over a Greek club. Within five minutes the crowd had dispersed and calm returned to passage du Désir. Lavorel was still at the window, admiring and bewildered.

*

The news that Thomas’s wife was in police custody spread like wildfire through the local squad. Thomas, taken completely by surprise, felt unwell and told the Fraud Squad superintendent he was going home. He would be interviewed as a witness the next day, Tuesday, at 10 a.m. Santoni stopped work abruptly and rushed over to the 10th arrondissement commissariat to see Meillant, who telephoned at once: ‘Daquin, I want to see you, this morning.’

‘Come to my office about noon.’

Meillant arrived at the height of the demonstration. He had to push his way through the crowd, nobody seemed to recognize him or take any notice of him. To his fury and astonishment he saw Berican coming out. He went up to Daquin’s office in total exasperation.

‘What’s all this carry-on? Have you decided to play Mister Clean in the Sentier all on your own?’ He pointed to the window. ‘Or are you trying to buy yourself a clientele on the cheap? And what for? On the way you’re destroying one of the best inspectors I’ve ever known, with thirty years’ service behind him. And with me. Is it me you’re getting at?’

Daquin had decided to act friendly. For Meillant the worst was yet to come. Daquin described in great detail how his team had come across Paulette because of Sener (omitting everything about the tapping of Moreira’s telephone) and without knowing she was Madame Thomas.

‘Very well, I accept that. But why act so quickly? You surely can’t believe this is the only case of label trafficking in the Sentier? You should have talked to me before getting Fraud involved.’

‘The decision to intervene was taken for reasons that have nothing to do with Fraud, but I won’t explain them to you today. Not for one or two days, the length of Paulette Thomas’ custody, which will be extended.’

Meillant had completely failed to understand the situation, and he knew it.

6.30 p.m. At the Trades Union Centre

Once again the big hall in the old Trades Union Centre in rue du Château d’Eau was completely packed. Men everywhere, standing between the rows of seats, even along the promenade.

Very different now from the excitement of the early days, the thrill of being together, in the street or the Centre, free from clandestine life. Now people looked grave, there was a buzz of conversation in lowered voices, the tension of decision day. These men had restored something of the utopian atmosphere and nineteenth-century spirit to the old Trades Union Centre.

Soleiman reached the platform along with four Frenchmen and Turgut Sener, present for the first time as embassy representative in the negotiations. They sat down. Sener remained slightly apart, he looked uncomfortable. Soleiman stood up. He spoke briefly, in Turkish, in a loud, hoarse voice, without using the microphone or any rhetorical effects. When he’d finished he turned towards the platform and spoke in French, his voice even hoarser and his accent very strong.

‘I’ve told how far we’ve got in the negotiations with the minister. We’ve made a lot of progress. Yesterday he proposed legalized status for Turks who had arrived here before 1976, barely 10 per cent of us. Today the crucial date has been brought forward to 1979. That involves 80 per cent of us now. Of course, it’s not exactly what we proposed at the beginning. But we’re convinced we won’t get any further in global negotiating. So we have to accept. And afterwards we’ll support each individual case step by step. Many points are still obscure: lodgings, conditions in the workrooms, work contracts. Let’s have confidence in our collective strength. We’ll fight on every front, we won’t let anyone down. Ya hip Yahop, but before we can carry on, we have to say yes to the minister.’

No reaction in the hall. Then came two or three angry objections to the proposed agreement. Soleiman translated for the platform in a low voice. The audience were extremely attentive but still did not react.

Berican stood up. He was in one of the front rows, surrounded by his workers. He told his story. How he’d acquired papers ten years earlier, by paying the embassy, paying the immigration services, paying the French police. His arrest that morning by the French police, then his release: ‘This is the first time I’ve seen successful collective action by Turkish workers in France. It’s a great day for me, I’m proud to be Turkish, here in Paris.’ His voice trembled with emotion. ‘And when Soleiman says he’ll fight for every case, I believe him, for I’ve seen him take action this morning, and win.’

His workers rose to their feet and applauded. The entire hall stood up, applauding and whistling for a good five minutes.

The decision was taken de facto and everyone lost their anxiety. On the platform Sener looked as though he was going to be ill.

When calm returned Soleiman arranged for a vote in due form with a show of hands and a teller for each row. Then all those who hadn’t been able to find a seat voted too: 1,754 for ratifying the agreement proposed by the minister, 217 against. Adopted. Then Soleiman passed on to questions-and-answers with the audience, dealing with all the practical aspects of the first phase of legalization which would begin the following day. The general assembly, broke up into endless little groups. Soleiman omnipresent, patient, indispensable.

The general assembly ended. The Turks streamed out towards place de la République. Romero located Sener who went off alone, looking crushed. He went up rue du Château d’Eau, crossed Boulevard de Strasbourg and went into a building where the many front windows were painted over white up to a height of about two metres. The plate by the door: ASSOCIATION OF LIGHTING TECHNICIANS. Romero went into a porch opposite, climbed up a boundary stone and craned his neck. There seemed to be quite a lot of people inside and the discussions were fairly agitated. Sener’s head was visible occasionally. Romero got cramp. He climbed down from his boundary stone and waited in the dark. Sener didn’t leave until two hours later. On his own and looking even more dejected. Romero followed him to his home and watched the apartment until lights out.

Nothing to report.