The detective stared at the canal. The ripples from a passing swan ebbed and the glassy face reappeared just beneath the surface, a pale oval surrounded by a tangle of black hair.
He was joined by a colleague.
‘The divers are on their way.’
‘She looks like a pre-Raphaelite painting.’
‘By Millais. Daughter of Polonius.’
‘Right. Except a guy over there thinks she’s, and I quote, “the gobby Australian who was in The Roost last night”.’
‘Who met her Millais.’
‘Who’ll now be shipped ten thousand miles in a box.’
‘First we sent coffin ships, now simply coffins.’
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.