Call me Miss Marple

A Finnish friend called Sami writes crime novels. That’s how he pays for his ship’s biscuits and colourful interior fabrics. I contacted him to offer him the rights to my recent crime busting exploits. He’s just finished his latest novel and I thought a ‘true story’ plot line might pique his interest.

Here’s the intrigue. We are in Bora Bora checking out which takes a couple of days and decided our engine battery may be on its last legs. Dave went to find a replacement and identified one in SuperU but it had no price on it and the helpful shop assistant explained that a call needed to be made to Tahiti. Come back tomorrow at 9am.

We had moored temporarily on the town dock and as it was mid afternoon we decided to stay the night rather than go back out to anchor. Security is always more of an issue being tied to the land and this being a public dock, access is completely open.

I have a scout round the deck at night making sure nothing of any value is accessible and we go to bed. The following morning, I get up, go on deck and notice the two old knackered tennis balls we use on a boarding ladder to provide protection are missing. Hmmm. Someone has been on the boat.

It dawns that a pair of Dave’s expensive walking sandals which had just been tucked under the spray hood cover were missing too. Damn. I’d missed those last night.

This is not a good start to the day. A. Someone has been on the boat. B. There’s no chance of replacing these sandals here and Dave wears them all the time.

After some machinations and grumbling, I head off to the supermarket to buy bread. It’s a really busy day in town as there’s a kids cultural performance event happening. I walk through the throng looking at people’s feet. I’m sleuthing.

In the supermarket, there they are. Dave’s shoes on someone else’s feet. I want a photo of this guy as “exhibit one” so leg it back to the boat to get a phone. What’s the chance he’ll still be around when I get back, especially with so many people around?

Camera in hand I go back to the supermarket, walk down the street, wander around the crowd. There’s no sign of him. Then at a food stall there he is! I sense I need to be a little cautious taking a photo. But I want his face and his feet in the same shot. As I go to take the shot, the perpetrator sees me and actually poses. Really, does this man have no shame?

Then it’s off to the police station with my primary piece of evidence. About 10 gendarmes are involved, some out on the street looking for him, the rest helping in the station.

I’m sat by the the front desk waiting and about 20 minutes later, a barefooted man is escorted off the premises and I’m handed a pair of wet sandals in a bag.

I asked one of the gendarmes if this guy was known and he didn’t give much away but did mention the word ‘fou’ – which means mad or crazy.

So that’s how my second to last day on Bora Bora panned out. Catching the criminal element. We are officially checked out and will depart for Fiji tomorrow. 1800 ish miles. Two weeks, give or take, is what we imagine. Feeling good.

So there you go Sami. Do you think its a blockbuster?

8 thoughts on “Call me Miss Marple

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