Jackie Danicki

I got a voicemail very early on Thursday morning from a detective who said he needed to speak with me about my mugging. While Emmanuelle drove me to Bob Hope Airport in Burbank at 5.30AM (talk about a hostess who goes above and beyond the call of duty), I called the number the detective left, hoping to hear that they’ve found my stuff and flogged the scumbags.

ME: “Hi, I received a voicemail from a detective - his surname sounded like McClime, but he was speaking too quickly for me to be sure - about my mugging, which happened a few weeks ago.”

COP: “You’ve called the wrong department. You need to call 0207 [blah blah blah].”

ME: “But this is the number the detective told me to call. Why would he give me the wrong number?”

COP: “You’ve called the wrong department. You need to call 0207 [blah blah blah].”

I called 0207 [blah blah blah].

ME: “Hi, I received a voicemail from a detective - his surname sounded like McClime, but he was speaking too quickly for me to be sure - about my mugging, which happened a few weeks ago.”

COP: “McClime?”

ME: “Like I said, he was speaking very quickly - I listened to the voicemail message three times and still can’t be sure what he said.”

COP: “What’s your crime reference number?”

ME: “I’m abroad and don’t have it with me. Can I tell you what my case is and you can see if you know who’s handling it?”

COP: “No, I can’t help you. Do you have your crime reference number?”

ME: “No, like I said, I’m abroad and I don’t have it with me. Look, this call is costing me £2 a minute and I could really use your help to find the detective who needs to speak with me.”

COP: “I can’t help you.”

From the boarding lounge for my flight, I opened my laptop and used its last bit of juice to retrieve my crime reference number via Google Desktop. I then called 0207 [blah blah blah] one more time. Another (female) officer answered, took a full three minutes to find the case, then asked, “Is this regarding a snatch?” I was so incensed at the cost and futility of this farce that this didn’t even strike me as a little bit funny.

The officer told me that I had called the wrong department. I told her that when I called the number the detective gave me, the officer on that number told me I had called the wrong department. I also told her that most people wouldn’t spend £30 to chase down officers in an effort to progress the case, and that I was seriously unimpressed with the level of apathy from everyone I had spoken to so far. She replied, in that well-practiced, uninterested monotone that public ’servants’ have down pat, “I can understand your frustration, but there’s nothing I can do.”

On the plane, while everyone else boarded, I kept trying to call the original number that the detective gave in his voicemail. After fifteen tries, still nobody picked up. I called Antoine, enraged nearly to the point of tears, and asked him if he could try chasing the police while I was in the air. He very kindly agreed, even though it was his deadline day and he had a lot going on at work.

ME: “I just cannot believe how USELESS and unconcerned they all are!”

ANTOINE: “What do you expect? It’s a nationalised industry.”

I have kept trying to call, from New York, and got no answer. I wish I had more to share about what’s actually going on, but so far, I can only share my frustration and anger. Sorry.

Filed under: Life