Crime Passionnel: A Mystery in Five Parts

i.
My dog found a finger in the park.
A long, slender finger. The kind that plays piano.
The next day she found an ear. I held it to my ear.
I could hear the strings of a distant harp. 
There were crows in the field. I called the police.
We went to the park. My dog uncovered a voice.
When I picked it up, a song escaped.
Carried on the wind, startled the crows.

ii.
The inspector suspects foul play.
He wants to question my dog. 
He wants to question me too.
I said I confess to losing at love.
But I’m learning to cut my losses.
His eyes narrowed, studied me intently.
As if dusting for fingerprints.

iii.
My dog has a talent for her newfound mission.
Uncanny but perhaps not uncanine.
Even in the rain. The thickest fog.
When there are shadows in the park.
And whispers. Choruses of whispers.

iv.
The inspector has assembled all the findings.
He says the rib cage is too small to be human.
Wouldn’t fit a song bird, let alone a heart.
I said memory is the great saboteur.
There should be a law.
He said don’t be delusional.
I said delusion is my modus operandi.
His eyes narrowed. He flipped open his notepad.
Drew a line through crime passionnel.

v.
Today my dog found a heart. 
It was as I remembered. Large and beating. 
Beating like a brass band.

© Dean Steadman