The UK police are extremely courteous even if they don't solve crimes.
The reason for inflicting this inconsequential episode on readers is to extol the British commitment to courtesy. A stroller on the beach may not throw a lifeline to a drowning man but won’t fail to say “Good morning” (or whatever the time of day) to someone gasping and spluttering in the water. New Britons, whether from Bosnia or Bangladesh, have also mastered the art as I discovered when my wallet vanished from a table in McDonald’s in fashionable Kensington.
The manager, Sylheti or Dhakai from accent and appearance, was all smiles when he eventually appeared. He clicked his tongue sympathetically on hearing the wallet contained a fair amount in cash, club and library membership cards, personal photographs, credit cards and — my ultimate stupidity — the relevant PIN codes. But that was all. I pressed for a search, for inquiries. He smiled pleasantly. Didn’t McDonald’s have closed circuit television? An amiable nod. Could we see it since the theft must have been recorded? He explained sweetly that “only the ‘poolish’ could examine the tape”. Company policy, he smiled.
Off I went to the Kensington “poolish” station a stone’s throw away where a pretty blonde policewoman on duty was horrified to hear that cards and PINs had been together. She produced 24-hour phone numbers for the credit companies and a telephone too. After I had stopped payment, she meticulously entered all my details into the computer and gave me a case number. That’s where service ended and the pleasantries and courtesies took over. What about examining the CCTV? “McDonald’s should do that” said another policewoman nearby. “What nonsense!” she snorted when I repeated the manager’s version. “They’re just being difficult.” The blonde promised the CCTV tape would be examined. When? As soon as possible. I would hear from the police on a weekly basis. As I left, she murmured that thieves usually took the cash and threw wallets into the nearest litter bin.
The next development was the Metropolitan Police Crime Management Unit’s letter. It was in three sections — “What we will do next”, “What you should do”, “Further information” — and oozed charm. The anonymous writer thanked me for reporting the loss, expressed sympathy and promised “further investigation”. I was also offered “free and confidential emotional support, information and practical help”. A leaflet invited me to visit the police website. There were numbers galore to call for a chat and comfort.
But the letter’s date — July 27 when I lodged the complaint — was baffling. It suggested a diligent copper burning the midnight oil since it was quite late in the evening when I left the police station. But if it was written that very night, as the date indicated, why was it delivered four days later?
Two phone calls in the next three weeks assured me the police were on the job. But they hadn’t seen the CCTV tape yet. “It’s being examined” they promised. Examination sounded like a continuing process. When I told the second caller I was returning to Calcutta, she (where have all the policemen gone?) said they would e-mail me once a month. The Met Police and I were obviously entwined in a lifelong commitment. Haunting McDonald’s and the police station every few days during those remaining weeks, I learnt that the police hadn’t been anywhere near the restaurant. The blonde policewoman murmured on my last visit that it was “a low-level crime”. I wrote a sharp letter and flew back on August 21.
An e-mail on September 1 (from a male constable!) said they were “sorry” they had not traced the thief. “The case has now been closed.” It could be reopened if further evidence was unearthed. I asked if the CCTV had been examined and, if so, when. The response was immediate. “CCTV enquiries were carried out last Monday (24/8/09). The manager of McDonald’s looked into it and informed Police later that week that the hard drive at McDonald’s had since (sic) deleted and recorded over any CCTV images from the date in question.”
Forget the idiosyncratic grammar. The reply admits the police waited 28 days before approaching McDonald’s. The evidence was destroyed during that time. It wouldn’t have been if the restaurant had been warned not to tamper with the tape. Even after 28 days, the police asked “the manager of McDonald’s” — an interested party — to do its work. There was in effect no investigation.
When I told a British diplomat, he exclaimed. “The police are making progress! They called you twice, sent a letter and two e-mails!” The motto: Do nothing but do it with a smile.
Not that I gained nothing. Initially, the British Library, which jealously guards its membership, demanded £10 for a new card. “The original was free”, I grumbled, whereupon the assistant explained that fees are waived only when a card is stolen and there’s a police case number. Triumphantly, I whipped out the Crime Management Unit’s letter and received a replacement card gratis. Fripperies have their uses.
Moreover, I can write this without fear of retaliation because the force is too busy being polite to take umbrage. I hope!
