The thingmy files

It was a particularly despicable crime. Inspector Dogrel lined them up, but they weren’t particularly pretty to look at. Some of them had seen action during the Second World War. Others were a bit cockeyed, leaned to one side, looked as if they dated back to the First World War. They'd been hit about a bit, but underneath their Bulldog veneer were cracking up, worn with age. It might not have been ‘PC,’ but they began to look the same. There were all mugs, still filled with pink fizzy warm water, for not only did the perp steal the teeth straight out of Mrs McGlomphey’s gum hole, they stole the compliment as well, the one that alerted the owner to how nice their teeth were. And what made his varicose veins boil, was not only had the perp stolen the ivory whites, he, or perhaps more likely a she, would be right now, in the day room, playing out all the conversation Mrs McGlomphey had allocated for that day, about how lovely and white her teeth were. They might well have stolen the hair from her head, but there was no way Inspector Dogrel could let them steal Mrs McGlomphey’s smile.

Inspector Dogrel went straight to the biscuit tin. It was almost welded shut, had to be opened with a specially constructed instrument that needed two hands, one more than any old dodderer could use. He could rule out those whose teeth had managed to puncture the tin during the mid morning Jammy Dodger frenzy. But he’d need to see the Digestive Biscuit rota. Particular attention would need to be paid to the dribblers that sucked through a straw and were unused to the sugar high and ended up shitting themselves in the leg. With no will in the world and with their nose against a wall, they could show you a clean pair of heals.

Detective Dogrel knew he was missing something, been a bit forgetful recently, and tried to remember what they’d taught him in detective school about the gum retention ratio and post chat splatter. There was some new visceral technique, that they’d been spilling their guts about recently, but he’d left that all behind him.

His best bet was attending the mastication skill’s workshop in the afternoon. A lovely young woman, whose name he couldn’t remember, but looked suspiciously like some one he knew, came in, and showed the residents how to bump their gums:

‘Hold your teeth out…’

‘Pop your teeth in…’

‘Hold your teeth out…’

‘Pop your teeth in.’

It was an apoplectically popular workout, although many didn’t get deep into the rhythm, or know what she was talking about, or whom their teeth were lined up to talk to. But it did give some of those in chairs a lift. Others just went potty. Detective Dogrel went with the flow. He picked himself up, wiped himself down and flashed a devilishly white smile. It looked like another night undercover.