Occam's Razor Went Dull (Friday Flash Fiction 1.1)

     Inspector Robertson pulled out his magnifying glass and knelt beside a puddle.  A small glint had caught his eye as he walked through the park on a cold November evening.  On the surface floated a tooth.
     The poor child lost his tooth before he could put it under his pillow, he thought at first, but Occam’s razor went dull.  It was undoubtedly a “wisdom tooth”, surrounded by a puddle of blood.  In fact, the Inspector soon realized it wasn’t a mud puddle at all.  No tooth could have caused such trauma in and of itself.
     The Inspector scanned around the puddle with his magnifying glass.  A few drops of blood led to a small shrub off the gravel path of the park.  Beyond, a solid stream ran from bush to bush, darting across the park in a zigzag.
     A gust of wind cried out, sending a shiver down the Inspector’s back.  Occam is wrong again, he thought, breaking into a run.  That is the whimper of a young lady, surely the owner of that tooth.
     Sure enough, a girl, seventeen by the Inspector’s estimate, lay on the ground holding her jaw.  A large man stood over her, a sneer plain on his face.  He stopped his boot an inch from her chin when he noticed the Inspector.
     “What is the meaning of this?” said Inspector Robertson.  He stifled a laugh at his own cliché.
     The man went pale.  A trickle of blood dripped down from the corner of his lip.  “She punched me in the face when I pumped into her.  Knocked out a molar.”
     The Inspector helped the girl to her feet.  She smiled up at him, dripping sarcasm.  All of her teeth were there.  That Occam fellow struck out today, it seems.