“They’re chipped—the corners broken off. By the crash?”
“No. See how the edges of the breaks are rounded off? They’re worn. These teeth have been chipped for years. That picture Maddox showed us, of Janus grinning beside the jet? Look close and you’ll see these chipped teeth.”
McCready himself was now starting to smile. “This is good, right?”
“Good? It’s grrreeaat,” I responded, in my best Tony the Tiger imitation. “But I saved the best for last. The most interesting, anyhow. This one’s a maxillary third molar—a wisdom tooth. Upper right.” I opened my mouth and put the tip of my tongue in the hollow of my tooth to show him. “Iss whun,” I mumbled, tapping the outside of my cheek as well. “This one’s interesting in a couple of ways. First, it’s got a filling. That’s far more common in a lower molar, because food and saliva tend to collect there.” He nodded, but I could tell I was losing him, so I hurried on. “But the really cool thing about this tooth? This.” Plucking it carefully from my palm, I held it up, rotating it slowly to reveal the prize.
“Huh,” he said. “What’s that funny little knob on the side?”
“That,” I said triumphantly, “is a cusp of Carabelli.”
“A cusp of what?”
“Not what,” I corrected. “Who. Or whom. Whichever. A cusp of Carabelli, the guy who first studied ’em, back in the 1800s.”
“Oh, him,” McCready cracked. “Sure.”
“Carabelli was the royal dentist for one of the Hapsburg emperors,” I explained. “Carabelli’s cusp—also called Carabelli’s tubercle—is a prominent bump located on the lingual surface—the ‘tongue’ side of a tooth—instead of the biting surface. It’s found occasionally on first molars, rarely on second molars, and almost never on third molars.”
“So the fact that we’ve got one on a third molar . . .”
“Means we’ve got a slam dunk on the I.D.,” I finished. “If—if—it matches Janus’s dental records.” I gave him a pointed, interrogatory look.
He growled in exasperation. “Okay, okay, let me see if I can light a fire under that dentist.” He unholstered his cell phone and scrolled down the display, then pushed the “call” button. When the call was answered, he spoke in an official-sounding tone I’d never heard him use before. “This is Special Agent McCready of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I need to speak with Dr. Grant.”
Through the tiny speaker, I heard a woman’s tinny voice. “Sir, he’s with a patient. If you’ll give me your name and number—”
“Ma’am, listen closely. Are you listening? I need Dr. Grant to take his fingers out of that patient’s mouth, pick up the phone, and talk to me for sixty seconds. It’s a law-enforcement matter, and it’s quite urgent.” I saw his jaw muscles clench as she promised once more to relay a message. He cut her off. “Ma’am, I’ve spoken with you six times in the past three days, and all six times, you’ve told me he was with a patient, and you’ve assured me that he’d call me back as soon as he was free. So here’s the deal. If the patient he’s with right now is the president of the United States, then I’ll leave a message. But otherwise, I either speak with him in the next thirty seconds, or I file charges—against Dr. Grant, and against you—for obstruction of justice. So I suggest you lay down the phone and go explain the options to him, because that thirty seconds? It starts . . . right . . . now.” He took the phone away from his ear and pressed it to his shoulder, shaking his head and muttering, “Why do some people go out of their way to make things difficult?” He put the phone back up to his ear, and a few seconds later, his eyes narrowed. “Dr. Grant, at last. Special Agent McCready, FBI. . . . Yes, you must have the world’s busiest dental practice. . . . You’re in the Medical Arts Building on Broadway, is that right? . . . Uh-huh. As I believe I indicated in my prior phone calls—my six prior phone calls—we need the dental records of one of your patients, Richard Janus, and we need ’em day before yesterday. So here’s what’s about to happen, Dr. Grant. In ten minutes, an FBI agent will arrive at your office. He’ll have a subpoena in one hand and a pair of handcuffs in the other. If he doesn’t leave with those records, he leaves with you. Your choice. Do I make myself clear, Dr. Grant?” He listened for a moment more. “Thank you, Dr. Grant. You’re making a wise choice.” He snapped the phone shut with a grim smile, then gave another growl.