The Anatomy Inspector

By Roger Wood

"There was something about Mr Stapleton. Something different. No doubt about it, Mr Edward Stapleton was a man apart."
Having first seen Her Majesty's Inspector of Anatomy in Westminster Hall, Tumbley comes face to face with him twenty years later when he, Tumbley, is a successful barrister on the verge of taking silk and Stapleton is surprisingly unchanged. It's the first rule of cross-examination: Never ask a question you don't know the answer to. After an evening with the singular Mr Stapleton Tumbley thinks that should be amended slightly. Never ask a question you'd rather not know the answer to.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roger Wood
• Release date: Sep 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370016679

Roger Wood

I have graduated four times from three different English universities and have a PhD in Radio Drama. I used to be a local politician and ran an advice centre. Now I am a magistrate and write inflammatory political material for my local political party.

Book preview

THE ANATOMY INSPECTOR

A Twisted Tale

By

ROGER WOOD

Copyright 2016 Roger Wood

Published by Roger Wood at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

The Anatomy Inspector

About Roger Wood

Also by Roger Wood

The Anatomy Inspector

There was something about Mr Edward Stapleton. Something different. I was tempted to use the hackneyed phrase something not quite right but that would be unfair. There was nothing untoward about Mr Stapleton in terms of physiognomy or manner. He was always courteous, neat, proper in all things. He spoke to colleagues and acquaintances as he came across them. He did not avoid company, nor did he seek it out. He contributed generously to charitable causes but should you enquire about his personal wellbeing he would recoil, the patient smile twist into a wince, murmur As ever, as ever in that breathless way of his and scurry away with head down and shoulders hunched. Generally, he preferred to watch the world from the sidelines, looking on with a lopsided smile that was compassionate, wise, and yet at the same time remote, detached, and ever so slightly sad. It cannot be denied: Mr Edward Stapleton was – and always had been so far as I could discover – a man apart.

I notice I have slipped into the imperfect tense. Again, that does Mr Stapleton a disservice. It implies that I speak from memory when the fact is I saw him only yesterday, strolling in the garden of the Inner Temple, as upright and as singular as ever. He tipped me his hat as I passed but we did not exchange pleasantries. I could not countenance chitchat given what I know about that distinguished gentleman. Don’t misunderstand me. I have not chanced upon some horrible secret. What I know, I know because Mr Stapleton told me. An honest, unembroidered answer to an innocent, much regretted enquiry on my part. What he told me is horrible – truly appalling – but it is and never was a secret. Mr Stapleton’s friends knew it at the time.