Inspector Sullivan had never been a big fan of country living. He wouldn't say he hated it- he did quite like the peace and quiet of his surroundings, and being able to see nothing but stars at night was very nice. Yet there were extreme drawbacks- disastrous roads, muck, dirt, people who didn't pass any remarks on said dirt or even worse, revelled in it.
Still, at least Kembleford Station was mostly clean. But there was one huge issue.
"Door, constable."
"Close that door please."
"Shut the door after you please."
"Will someone shut that bloody-"
Everyone in Kembleford seemed to adore fresh air and draughts. So Sullivan's door seemed to stay open constantly, particularly when he was in a crucial point in a case.
It was a bitterly cold morning in autumn, and not only had the main door outside been left open, he'd had to shout for Goodfellow to close the door to his office and that he was, under no circumstances, to be disturbed; he felt that the arrival of a priest-shaped annoyance was imminent. He rubbed at his eyes and shuffled his case files. He stared at his pages and attempted to deduce something, when something seemed to move in the corner of his office.
He turned around to tell whoever it was off, but it wasn't a constable, criminal or interfering clergyman. Something rusty brown. He leaned over the desk.
A fox looked back at him.
He scrambled onto the desk, knocking pages and evidence everywhere. The fox started sniffing at a possible murder weapon.
"Shoo! Shoo!" The fox did not pay any attention to the tall, well dressed man standing on the desk shouting at him.
Sullivan was starting to panic.
The fox wandered into the far corner of his office and started to gnaw at a skirting board. He grabbed a paper weight and lobbed it at the trespassing vermin, who hissed back at him.
The situation couldn't get any worse.
Oh wait. It could.
"I didn't do it and don't worry, I'll close your door, giving that you're so particular- what are you doing up there?" Sid Carter had just walked in and could confidently say he'd never been more confused. The terrified man was shaking and pointing at something in the corner.
"Get it, get it, get it-"
"What are you on a-aaaaargh!" The fox was approaching Sid's leg. He took one huge leap and landed on the table beside Sullivan, throwing his arms around the Inspector's neck to steady himself. In desperation not to fall, Sullivan grabbed the other man's waist.
"How the hell did that get in-"
"Well I don't know, do I?" Sullivan looked at Sid, who resembled a trembling ghost. "How can we get rid of it?"
Sid looked at him in horror. "I'm not going near it!"
"I thought you'd be able to handle a fox-"
"What gave you that idea?"
"Well you are always poaching-"
"Eh, I was having a quiet walk in the-"
"Oh my god it's coming closer!"
The bushy-tailed villain was now chewing on the table leg. Sullivan was close to tears and had buried his face in Sid's jacket.
Sid made the situation worse again.
"Ere, I had an uncle once, and he got bit by a fox and his leg went septic, right, and then it dropped off and then he died."
Sullivan let out a muffled sob.
The fox stood up against the desk, it's paws very close to Sullivan's shiny leather shoes. Sid was paralysed to the spot, too scared to scream for help. He accepted his fate, shut his eyes and buried his face in Sullivan's meticulously styled, nice smelling hair. The two men held each other, not unlike a couple doomed to die on a sinking ship. Two city boys in pure peril.
"What have we got 'ere, eh?"
Sullivan realised that he wasn't bleeding out, and managed to open his eyes to view their saviour.
"Come 'ere now, there's a good girl. Well now, you are a beauty."
Blind 'Arry was stroking the fox calmly, and it was staring up at him adoringly. Sullivan was shocked speechless. Blind 'Arry smiled kindly up at him. "I'll just leave this little lady outside, Inspector, and then I'll be back to talk about that murder Father Brown sent me about." The old tramp shuffled out of the office with the fox trotting along behind happily.
The two men watched in disbelief, until Sid caught a whiff of some very expensive aftershave that definitely wasn't his, and Sullivan realised that he was clinging to a leather jacket that certainly didn't belong to him.
"Oh lord-"
"Yeah, if you could just, you know-"
"Let go of my shirt please-"
The two men started to untangle their limbs, and then grabbed each other again as they tumbled backwards off the table with a crash that rattled the plate on which sat Mrs McCarthy's award winning scones, on the presbytery table at the far end of the village.