Eighteen months after Sarah had left her antagonist she and the kids were still being browbeaten by the child welfare chiefs; also the ‘chief of lies’ Greg Potter still had a license to menace.  Most of the time he’d be civil to her face but behind the scenes he’d be stirring up trouble - with the absolute compliance of his authoritarian henchmen.

            One fresh spring morning Satan’s supporter turned up as usual for Jason and Jessica.  “David’s in for it now!” he goaded, “You’ve got no idea what he gets up to; do you?  The police are watching him.  He’ll be getting a criminal record soon; just you watch.  Then he’ll never be able to get a job.  You’ll see.”

            “Oh sod off and slither back under your slippery stone,” she spat.

            “A criminal record is with you for life.  Just watch what happens,” he asserted, laughing as he yanked her whimpering babies from her and plonked them in his car before screeching off at lightening speed.

            Sure enough, Greg’s omen proved to be no idle threat. Exactly one week later, David ran home from the market, shocked and shaken and out of breath.

            “Mum, the police have got my gun.  I was walking with Craig and his nan and his little brother to Craig’s, to do some target practice with him and his dad.  And as we were waiting in the market for his nan - she’d gone to one of the stalls - a policeman came up to me.  He accused me of shooting at a married man’s newborn baby last Saturday.  He’s lying.  I never even had the gun on me then.  I hardly ever take it out and if I do it’s always in my pocket until I get to Craig’s.  I didn’t shoot at anyone and certainly not a baby.”

            “Don’t worry; don’t panic.  I believe you.  If there was any truth in it you’d have been confronted last Saturday by the mystery man.  There would’ve been witnesses - there are enough people in the market on Saturdays and a host of CCTV cameras on that road.  You’ve been framed again.  No prizes for guessing who by.  Nasty bastard.  He’s one hell of an evil fiend.  What did the police say exactly?”

            “The cop said that I was standing at the top of the road shooting at the baby who was in a pram three quarters of the way down the road.”

            “Well if that was the case, I’m sure someone would’ve got in the line of fire.  So what now?  Am I to expect a visit from the fuzz?”

            “He wants you to go to the police station in half an hour.”

Sarah dutifully found herself and her kids sitting in the police station.  A po-faced PC - Rupert Madding entered.  He began banging on about the seriousness of the crime of being in possession of an offensive weapon and that David was in a lot of trouble.  Curiously PC Madding didn’t want to elaborate on his cock-and-bull story, except to say:

            “The man tapped me on the shoulder today, pointed at your son and said, ‘He’s the lad who shot at my baby’.”

            “Rubbish,” snarled Sarah.

            The PC looked alarmed.  “Pardon?”

            “You are telling porkies.  What is the man’s name and what’s his address, please?” asked Sarah, taking out her notebook.

            “Um, I don’t have the details in front of me.”

            “Well, you must’ve made a report…. Last week…. May I see it?”

            “I just told you, I’m not in possession of the report right now.  I’ll try and get hold of it for you.”

            “Well it isn’t very professional, is it?  In fact it’s downright corrupt.  Gregory Potter is behind this, as usual.  He told me David was being watched.  So obviously he is or you are spying on him in his backyard.”

            “Don’t you call me a liar.  This has got nothing to do with your ex and anyway I’m not concerned about what happened exactly; my concern is that your son was carrying a gat gun in a public place illegally.”

            “Well if it was true, why wasn’t David confronted by the man when it happened?  Most blokes would’ve marched him straight to the police station immediately.  Why wait a week?”

            “He ran off.... Now David, you have a choice, either you accept a formal caution at the police station, which will give you a police record or you are taken to court where you’ll get a fine and a conviction.  Either way you’ll end up with a criminal record until you are nineteen,” he said in a self-satisfied way, whilst looking at her son.

            “Oh no you don’t,” Sarah barged in.  “Don’t you dare give my son ultimatums.  When are you going to start picking on real criminals?  What about the likes of Jeremy Hill and Owen Smith and their pals?  Why are they encouraged by the established order to cause trepidation and terror in this town?”

            “Have you finished?”

            “No, I haven’t even started yet.  You lot are a disgrace to that uniform you wear.”

            Ignoring Sarah, Rupert Madding again concentrated his attention of David, but before he could speak, Sarah then asked:

            “Ok, so the law says he can use the gun under adult supervision on private land?”

            “Correct.”

            “Well that’s what he was doing.  But that was today, not last week.  He was on his way to his friend’s.”

            “I caught him with the gun today in a public place.”

            “Well, he was with an adult - Craig’s nan.”

            “ He was on his own when I collared him.”

            “She was only a few metres away, looking in a stall,” piped up David.

            “You were alone when I saw you,” said the smug PC.

            “Now you’re being picky.  The point is this is just another stitch up to stigmatize David.  What are you going to do next, plant drugs on him? Alcohol?” screamed Sarah.

            Rupert began to read David his rights. 

            “Well, you can jolly well pack that in,” stormed Sarah.  “We’re not signing anything.  I need some time to think about this.  But I’ll tell you something here and now; you and all those other dirty little bluebottles will live to regret all this because I fully intend to expose your sordid, secret alliance.  It might take a few years; maybe a lifetime, but I’ll manage it eventually.”

            Rupert gracefully held the door open as she and her tribe trooped out.  Smiling sickly he said, “Goodbye miss Hawthorn.  Have a good day.”

            She spun on her pins, looked him in the eye and said, “I’d have had more respect for you if you’d just said, ‘We know David has got a gat gun....’  The public don’t pay you to lie, make up stories and frame innocents.  Why don’t you start doing the right thing for once?”