Dominique Manotti: Rough Trade

Negotiations with the office of the Secretary of State for Immigrant Workers would be opening the following day. The Committee was taking part. Brief confab. Soleiman was appointed, unanimously, to represent the Committee.

He could forget Daquin, breathe again. Soleiman left to chat up the girls on the boulevards.

7 p.m. Drugs Squad

‘Our first leads at last, patron . But there’re a few fairly significant points I’d like to talk to you about, which aren’t in the written report.’

‘I’m listening, Théo. I’ve all the time in the world. My wife’s off skiing, and I’m a bachelor just like you. Whisky?’

‘No thanks. I’d like a vodka though, if you have one. When you formed my team a month ago, we had a clear objective. It was to be a very limber, loose sort of group, set up to look for leads. You promised me you’d fill it out in due course as we progressed, or have the Paris Drugs Squad take up certain files. Does this still apply?’

‘Sure.’

‘Good. For nearly a whole month now we’ve found nothing. We checked the names and info the Germans supplied and they don’t tally with anything of ours. Maybe the guys in question aren’t in France, or more probably we haven’t found any trace of their presence. Now Attali’s gone through all the police files on overdosing there’ve been in the last three months in the Paris area, to try to find any abnormal overdosing compared with the usual scenario, so we can track down eventual dealers. Good idea. Loads of work. Complete dead end. What’s more, our statistics don’t yet show any rise in deaths through overdosing, as the Germans’ do. It’s probable that Turkish opium isn’t yet operational. Our second line of attack was to nose around the Turkish communities in the area. Romero’s been mooching round the Turkish workers at Citroën-Aulnay. They’re very isolated — no contacts with the French, very confined. So, hardly likely there. I’ve kept the Sentier for myself. I wasn’t familiar with it at all, but I had a good sense of the place: right in the heart of Paris, an expanding immigrant population, and not illiterate peasants, but totally uncontrolled — neither by our police, nor by the immigration services. At the same time, there’s a move among the Turkish workers in the rag trade to get legal papers. I don’t know if you’ve been following this item in the newspapers?’

His chief gave a vague wave of the hand, which could have meant absolutely anything, accompanied by a large swig of whisky. Daquin found himself wondering if the Old Man was interested in anything he was saying. He had to overcome his feeling of despondency and carry on.

‘Seventeen Turks have been on hunger strike since last 11 February. The people behind this strike are extreme left-wing militants. According to our German colleagues, if you recall, the drugs are in the hands of the extreme right. I’m going to hang around on the strikers’ side. I’ve had photos taken. I’ve asked our Turkish colleagues for reports on this whole community. And from their responses, I’ve chosen a guy who seems to me, let’s say, “vulnerable”. He’s here without any papers, under a false name. In Turkey, he’s labelled a militant in a very active ultra left-wing group. He’s been wanted since ’79 for the assassination of an extreme right-wing militant in Istanbul and close on the heels of that, for the murder of a cop who was chasing him. Not only that: between eighteen and twenty, he was arrested several times by the Istanbul police because he made a living as a prostitute in the tourist areas.’

His chief glanced over his glass. There, I’ve caught his interest, Daquin thought. He could swear that his eyes held a smile, but he chose to ignore both the smile and its innuendo.

‘He seemed to me to correspond exactly to the profile I was looking for. We provoked a brawl in a bistro where he hung out, arrested twenty or so guys, and dispersed them among the police stations in the arrondissement. The following day, my young assassin was in my office. There I forced him to accept or refuse: either he stirred himself and got me leads on drugs in the Sentier, or I sent him straight back to Turkey. It didn’t work right away. So, I threw in the bit about the drug network being controlled by the Turkish extreme right. If he gave me these tip-offs, I’d liquidate the extreme right, and then he could do what he liked with his mates: legalizing illegal workers, I don’t give a toss. I added a couple of remarks about what the effect would be if his mates found out he’d been a prostitute. I told him the Turkish police had sent us photos — which wasn’t true — but it worked. Yesterday, he gave me our first lead. But this morning two inspectors from the Local Squad in passage du Désir came to see me. Yesterday they found a body in a workroom in the Sentier, a girl of twelve or thirteen, a Thai, probably a prostitute. And, in the same workroom, two bags which had contained heroin — the purest sort — exactly what we’re looking for. About a kilo’s worth. Which could be the start of a second lead.’

‘Brilliant job, my dear Théo, and when all’s said and done, in record time. So, what is it you’re asking for?’

‘Well, first, I wanted to put you in the picture, as regards my snout, bearing in mind the current unrest among the Turkish workforce. Then, the body in the workroom. The workroom manager’s in police custody, but time’s running out for that, and the case belongs to Crime. I’d like to be able to keep the follow-up of the inquiry into this murder, since it’s probably linked to drug trafficking, and for that augment my team with the two inspectors from the Local Squad who’ve let us take part in it, and who’ve already been very impressive. We’ve everything to gain by this.’

‘It’s a reasonable request. We’ll extend police custody for your man, and I’ll give you an official reply as to the rest tomorrow; but, for my part, I agree. I should also tell you that the Marseilles team has drawn a complete blank. In spite of the, let’s say, “insistent” leads from the Americans. And in spite of promising beginnings. You remember that haul of six kilos of morphine-base found in the tyre of an Armenian’s car last December? Since, then, nothing — impossible to find where the network starts. We’ve just folded up the team. Daquin, don’t put your trust in appearances, don’t believe I haven’t listened to you with the utmost attention. I really like your approach to your work.’

* In France an inspector is roughly equivalent to a detective or an American lieutenant.

8 a.m. Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Martin

Attali took the first surveillance shift — from when the sandwich shop opened. They were in an apartment belonging to a patrolman from the 10th arrondissment police station, retired for almost fifteen years. It was Meillant, the Superintendent from the 10th, who introduced them. Third floor, almost opposite the shop. Two tiny rooms, but with two big windows on the street, massive dark wood furniture, small kitchen, bog and so forth: every modern comfort. Attali had sunk into a large high-backed armchair by the window, the telephoto lens trained on the shop entrance, a truly comfortable situation. The old man wandered into the room, in slippers, with the red puffy face of an inveterate alcoholic. He was as happy as Larry to take up with the service again, he said. He’d prepared some café au lait and croissants. Then, without any breathing space, the first pastis. Attali tried vainly to be an honourable drinker, but right after the coffee the pastis was a bit startling. And already smells of sautéed mutton and haricot beans were coming from the kitchen.