Some more story

Myles walked swiftly through the double doors of the precinct. People on both sides, sitting in or on desks waived to him, shouting their greetings. Myles barely heard them, but raised a hand and occasionaly nodded so they wouldnt approach him. He was heading straight to Jones' desk, up in the "loft," as he and the other cops called it. Jones was the last one there, and so he got the worst spot in the building. Myles remembered actually enjoying the loft when he first started; it was quiet, disconnected, private. It was easier to get detective work done when there werent a bunc of "good ole' boys" screaming in your ears, telling lude jokes, and ignoring their positions. Myles at least respected Jones' turnout in his cases. He was one of the few that actually solved a majority of his work.

As he approached the top of the steps, Myles could see Jones' desk coming into view from the back of the studio apartment that was the "loft." Jones sat behind, his head in his hands, staring at case reports, muttering to himself. Myles had been doing the same thing an hour earlier.

"Anything new?" Myles shouted from accross the room, moving quickly over the last step. Jones nearly jumped out of his chair.
"Jesus Myles, you scared the shit outta me." Jones recovered himself and set back to what he was doing with the case reports. "Yeah, you could say that. We pulled something out of the throat that you might want to see."

Jones tossed Myles an evidence bag containing something white, smeared with crimson. He looked down into it, feeling through the bag to pinpoint the small piece of evidence in a corner. What was it? It was small, and opaque white.

"What is it exactly?" Myles asked, searching for the answer himself.
"I dont know. CSI wont be here for another hour to tell me," he chuckled apprehensively, "and I cant figure it out myself. I left 'em a message to call asap when they get back. Looks like maybe a piece of porcelain, but it looks almost serrated."

Myles opened the bag and emptied the contents into his hand.

"What the hell are you doing, Myles? Thats evidence. You're going to contaminate it. Fuck me, man, you are losing it."
"Let me ask you something, smartass." Myles looked up into his eyes. "We havent found a shred of physical evidence on anything in six cases now. What makes you think we will on this. I'll wager we wont. In fact, I'll bet you coffee tonight that we wont, and that CSI hasnt found shit."

Jones smiled at him.

"You're on old man,"

The small piece of white and crimson had a very familiar feel to it, and Jones was right; it was serrated. It had a long flat end and it went down almost to a point. It was sharp. Myles moved the piece around in his hand, searching for something, anything to give a clue as to what it was. As he passed his thumb over the flat end and felt something. Ridges. He looked closer and saw shoots heading into the piece, as if it was rooted to something.........a realization.

"Fuck me........Its a tooth." Myles slowly slid the newly realized horror back into the bag and tossed it over to Jones."
"No way in hell. Why would there be a tooth in her neck? You are losing it Myles." Jones scoffed and tossed the bag on top of a stack of reports and loose paper behind him. "You're fucking losing it."

Myles could see that behind his cool, condescending eyes lurked real suspicion......and fear.

"Twenty bucks says I'm right."

Jones perked up. He loved a bet, couldnt resist, even though he had never won against Myles; never. Myles knew the one major advantage he always had over Jones. He was right. He laughed to himself, as Jones smiled at him.

"I got you this time, old man."

Myles couldnt help but smile. Sometimes, Jones was okay, Myles thought. Hes not such a bad kid. Their friendly, fake stare down was interrupted by Jones' beeping phone; beeping meant it was coming from within the building. Hopefully CSI was back and they could get some answers, and then Myles could get his coffee.