Crime Under the Sun
I was managing section of a campsite accommodating a UK holiday companies guests. My office was a large tent in the middle of the site and I was sitting outside at a table working. With as much noise and drama as could be delivered, one of those cumbersome postman pat style vans used at that time by the French police, skidded past spraying sand with its blue light flashing. It stopped next to one of our staff tents and an unlikely number of men in various uniforms leapt out. The French police come in multiple varieties and sometimes they appear in unexpected roles. The CRS riot police, who mostly do their thing in Paris and the large towns, are despatched to the coast in the summer. Presumably because the people they usually intimidate are on holiday.
One rather unlikely role they take up is to man the inshore coast patrols. It was not entirely obvious they were at one with the unfamiliar environment. I was boarded literally, they leapt onto the boat and ripped the mast down because as they perceived it I was ignoring their orders to return to the shore. I was entirely in sympathy with the objective but given this was sailing dinghy without a motor and a vicious offshore wind had blown up heading direct to land was not an option and a they interpreted a series of short tacks as taking the piss.
To come back to the story there are the gendarmes who appear everywhere across France, the local municipal police who sort out market stalls, parking etc and finally the inspector Maigrait detectives in plain clothes.
As far as I could see in the milling throng, we had acquired 3 out of the four varieties, not quite a full set. A few minutes later they emerged from the tent dragging Frank, a member of our staff who they skilfully threw into the back of the van. having been assured they had gained maximum points of drama and style they departed in similar fashion.
I decided that masterly inactivity was the order of the day but after a few minutes the owner of the campsite appeared and said that I was required in his office to assist the police by translating during their interrogation of a suspect.
Frank has been the result of one of our sophisticated recent recruitment drives. If people happened to wander by and we were shorthanded we gave them a job. A few days earlier he had popped in, said he was hitching round France, and could we give him a job.
In the office I found Frank understandably looking dishevelled seated between two burly gendarmes while a plain clothes officer asked questions. It soon became apparent to me that he had told me lots of lies about his background and prior movements. Fortunately, as it happened, I became increasingly irritated with him as the questions and answers continued. This must have communicated itself to the detective. All of sudden he leapt up, grabbed Frank by the hair and pulled vigorously. A wig came off in his hand, not I imagine without discomfort. It then became clear that the detective spoke excellent English and the objective of the charade has been to establish if I was a confederate. It emerged that Frank was a well-known European criminal wanted by Interpol for a number of offenses. He was, rather to my relief arrested and taken away.
The campsite owner with whom we had a good relationship came over to me. At the time I had a head of hair.
He grasped it and gave a gentle tug saying ‘ à l’avenir, vous tous les anglais devront passer le test de perruque’
In future all of you English will have to take the wig test.