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.’