SHORT FAT STUBBY FINGER STORIES PRESENTS:  THE FINAL COUNTDOWN

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EPISODE: 80

Ten minutes later, unseen by Harvey as he scanned the inside of the ground floor through the glass window at the side of the police station entrance, Chief inspector O’Reilly had just begun to question the three men that Harvey was trying to avoid.   

  A wooden wall, roughly six feet back from where the reception desk stood, separated the reception area from the back half of the building, hiding everything on the far side of the room from prying eyes, other than what could be seen through the narrow opening.  There was, however, on the far side of the wall directly to the right, a small, currently over-crowded, office where Chief inspector O’Reilly was about to interrogate his suspects; a designated work area normally occupied by Constable Hobson.  However, because of the confined space of the station, he had been forced to have all three suspects situated in the same room, along with the other two senior members of the station.   

  Individual interrogation rooms were a big city luxury as far as he was concerned.  It was something that had never occurred to him, to have several interrogation rooms when he had first arrived in the village and helped set up the new station, mainly because he could not visualise himself interviewing cold blooded murder suspects or bank robbers in this country paradise; it had not suited the image he had created of Trenthamville for himself.  He doubted that he would even have to process a speeding fine; far less a murder inquiry during his term of duty.  Chief inspector O’Reilly was aware of the political system that had been behind the increase of staff, and he was more than happy with the offer of a posting to the village.  Chief inspector O’Reilly was a good man, and had served many years with the force in a variety of areas with far more prestige, but now, as recruitment beckoned on the horizon, this had seemed a gift of a lifetime that had been offered to him.  He had even arranged to purchase his own house in the village, which, ironically, was the same house that had been rented out for him in the first place by the relevant police department.  The committee that had organised the creation of the larger police presence in the village, who were so pleased by the reports they had received from certain new villagers about how safe they now felt in the village, managed to have the contract to rent the house amended to create an agreement with its new owner, the chief nspector, which meant that payments would now be made to the rental agency on his behalf and the chief inspector would have all but guaranteed this house had been paid out by the time he retired.  Nobody involved in the matter saw anything illegal in this arrangement; the chief inspector was entitled to accommodation at the expense of the public purse, they had agreed, and just because he had decided to purchase it, it shouldn’t cost him his entitlements, they had decided, so everybody was happy … especially Chief Inspector O’Reilly. 

  And when the chief inspector had been handed the keys to the ancient, heritage-listed, three-story building that was to continue a long, long line of tradition of a law enforcement headquarters in one form, or another, he was spellbound.  The building was majestic in his eyes; it was a grand old relic of the past.  As chief inspector he was the first appointee to the position of ‘Superintendent of the Trenthamville Police Station’ in the history of the village.  Just prior to that position being created, it had been a single constable, who also did shared-duties at the post office, who bore the sole responsibility of representing the law in the village; though it had only been a token gesture by the government at a time when they needed rural votes to retain power, but it had never been closed down following various changes of governments over the following years. The last such role had been assigned to Constable Hobson who had been in service in Trenthamville for twenty years, with barely a fine to be handed out, nor more than a single page annual report to be processed each year.  Life had been good for the young constable, but lack of crime, lack of exercise, and lack of restraint, especially along with the free meals, cakes and snacks provided by the local establishments, had been his undoing. The addition of extra staff came as a bit of belated relief as he now had someone to share his days and evenings with now that the young constable had arrived at the station and shared the house he occupied.  But possibly too late for his current physical problem.

  The extension to the law enforcement, however, had not been in response to increased crime in the village, as it was to the increase in city dwellers who had semi-retired and purchased residences in the village.  To a man, and a woman, all newcomers were continually upgrading their property for when they were fully retired, and had all petitioned the authorities to upgrade the law in the area so they could constantly check on their properties when the owners were forced to remain in London on some weekends.  And as two of these potential full-time villagers were high-ranking police officers, while others included a high court judge and several city lawyers, the recommendation was quickly approved and Chief Inspector O’Reilly was the man appointed, along with the young constable and the sergeant, and long serving Constable Hobson was retained for the sake of all concerned.  A transfer to any other station would, most likely, have eventually resulted in a physical test for the rather obese policeman, which may not have served his future well.  But Constable Hobson was well liked and thought of in the village, and certain senior officers had a soft spot for the only station in the service to have never had a blemished record, and for the man responsible for that record.  So, as a result, it was decided that Constable Hobson could see out his remaining years in Trenthamville, if he so wished … and it was his wish. 

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The building that housed the police station, however, was a different kettle of fish.  A gothic styled building, it had served many causes during the past centuries, including housing portions of the war ministry in both the first and second world wars, and had been used as a court of justice and even a temporary jail at one stage during certain infamous moments of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and much, much, more over time.  However, no records seem to have been retained outlining the original reasons for its design when it was built, but it seemed to have been for a particular reason with its huge glass dome allowing the sunlight to penetrate down the floors below from almost the rising of the morning sun, to no less than fifteen minutes before sunset.  And on a clear night, depending on the phase, the passing moon would allow up to an hour plus of its brilliance to shine down into the building.

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 At its base, the ground floor covered the width and breadth of the building,from wall to wall, from side to side, though the majority of the space was wasted in the front half of the building.  Here, the majority of the available space had been used on the base of the huge spiral staircase that snaked its way up to the third level, stopping and restarting on the second floor which now housed Chief inspector O‘Reilly’s office.

  The remainder of level two and all of level three were now packed solid with remnants from various historical events that had involved the building itself.  Every square inch of level three was occupied by either the narrow walkways that controlled the movement of the punters who visited on open days, or one of hundreds of artifacts on display.  Suits of armour, battle swords, cannons, pictures and paintings, and hundreds of official papers and posters were amongst the many things on offer for the world to see in order to create images in their minds of the glorious past of the village.

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Both level two and level three were physically different from level one in as much as they each only had half a floor: i.e., equal in width, but only a half in depth, but whereas level three was packed to the hilt with displays, level two had now become more restrictive.  The chief inspector’s office occupied half the depth of level two, and half of the width.  It fitted snug against the back and left-hand walls; a rectangle shaped room that a had a solid timber and glass wall constructed to join it to the permanent walls on the other two sides.  The office had originally been created to display materials and coinage that needed both protection from theft, and exposure to the elements, but had now been loaned to the London Museum on a long-term loan.  The larger objects, including a stuffed lion and tiger, and a huge gorilla, were placed on the floor against the length of both walls directly opposite the chief inspector’s office.  While shelving, slightly higher than the highest of the floor-based display ran along the two walls, housing a continuous array of suitably sized artifacts.

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Positioned around six feet from the chief-inspector’s office, the last pieces of historical importance on the second level looked totally out of place, and most likely were, but probably had nowhere else to go; odd things, like ancient hand guns, short bladed swords and knives, along with a variety of small cannonballs were residing on two seventeenth century tables that were placed side by side, running parallel with the length of the chief inspector’s office.

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  As a result of its historical involvement in upholding the laws of various parliaments and kingdoms over many years, the top level, and (now), part of the second level of building had been turned into a historical, mini-museum open to the public and visitors on weekends, or during the week by appointment, and every day during heritage week, and, part time, by bookings only, an occasional restaurant; and now a police station to boot.  The restaurant occupies the outside grounds of the building for day trading, but on the three nights of the full moon; the night before, the full moon and the waning moon, during the summer, and  especially during the tourist season, the area around the entrance to the foyer: the area under the span of the gigantic stairwell, was  set up to accommodate no more than twenty four formally invited punters who would share two hours of delightful food and drink, all supplied by the Rat and the Mouse, in the historic village under  the spell of a full, or nearly full moon.  A tradition that had begun following the beginnings of the tourist invasion by the rich and semi-famous following the end of world-war two.
  The village’s newest tenant, the Trenthamville Police Station, sharing the wealth of history of the town’s most illustrious site with The Trenthamville Common Restaurant was a great public relations gesture from both the community and the police, it was decided, and Chief inspector O’Brien could not predict any occasion that would make this union unfeasible.  And nor could he, for he was not to know that one day pure evil would arrive to disturb the tranquillity of this otherwise peaceful village.  Now, as the chief inspector looked around the temporary interview room, at the space occupied by the three suspects, his own two compatriots, one reasonably large table and six chairs, he shook his head in dismay.  And if they were not enough to contend with, there were now dozens of boxes of paperwork, a variety of stationary aids, a computer, printer and monitor, and several dozen boxes of God-only-knows-what was leaning up against the wall.  Chief Inspector O’Reilly began to feel slightly claustrophobic and embarrassed at the sight.  And for just for a moment, he wished he had never agreed to the arrangement the police real estate negotiator made with the council.  ‘Ah, c’est la vie.’ He sighed inwardly.  ‘Oh, for the knowledge of the future in the past, where it could have been so better used.’ And as he had an individual silent moan over what could have been, he began to turn his attention on what might be a long night.