Nothing Happened

Scarcely able to believe his eyes, Ralph Melish looked down.

But one glance confirmed his suspicions. Behind a bush, on the side of the road, there was no severed arm. No dismembered trunk of a man in his late fifties. No head in a bag.

Nothing.

Not a sausage. For Ralph Melish, this was not to be the start of any trail of events which would not, in no time at all, involve him in neither a tangled knot of suspicion, nor any web of lies, which would, had he been not involved, surely have led him to no other place, than the central criminal court of the Old Bailey.

Today nothing much happened at all. I felt quite Melishish.