There I was, ten minutes ago, sitting at my computer screen minding my own business when the doorbell went. I opened the window - as is my wont - and there he was. I knew as soon as I set eyes on him: “Mr Baron, police officer.”
Not another fit-up I thought. There were two of them, both detectives.
Were you convicted at Horseferry Road on January 27?
You have to attend Catford Police station within seven days to provide fingerprints, a photograph and a DNA sample.
Yes, it took two of them to tell me that.
They’ve already got all three.
Not for this, we haven’t.
Anyway, I agreed to go along there at 1pm next Monday.
This sounds like it’s nothing sinister, just more red tape and more bullshit, but watch this space and when you don’t see me posting here you’ll know they’ve fitted me up for dealing in cocaine, running arms to the IRA, or spitting on the sidewalk.
For the record, I filed my appeal against conviction yesterday afternoon. I expect it to succeed due to numerous procedural errors if not abuse of process and the obvious perjury of the principal witness.
Meanwhile Mr Smith of Catford, sorry we haven’t caught the people who burgled your house last month. Mrs Brown of Forest Hill, we apologise profusely that we couldn’t spare a detective to investigate the theft of your handbag, but two of our finest had to serve papers on a notorious criminal who writes rude letters to hysterical women, and that’s far more important.
Like I said, watch this space.
A Baron - Sydenham,
February 17, 1998
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