Tanima
TEETH
They look like sea shells all in a heap by the trash. This ought to be a good case, this scatter of clues, twenty fragments of stale ivory. Who would leave pieces of glazed bone lying around? ‘No one in their right mind,’ she says, whisking me away from potential crime scenes to her house with safe egg-white walls. In my hand a tooth twinkles as a star, tiny as a child’s.
At midnight while she sleeps, I sneak away to investigate. If only I had a sniffer dog I could get to the bottom of this faster: hunt down the body and its ladder of DNA, dental records, fractal truths. The weapon, perhaps a serial killer. Motives I can write many official reports on, deleting adjectives here and there. O calcium predator, o molar madness!
I am the one bitten by mystery, but in the morning it is she with dark circles under her eyes, her mouth’s wry smile. ‘Once upon a time there was a little girl who refused the fairy’s barter of teeth for gold,’ she says. ‘When I wake up wanting you, you are gone. This is not an accusation. I threw out old pieces of my skull. Still want only ordinary things while you seek the violent, thrilling chase.’