The Devil's Grin - A Crime Novel featuring Anna Kronberg and Sherlock Holmes (Kronberg Crimes)

by Annelie Wendeberg

  ‘I tricked myself,’ I noted dryly.

  ‘If I can make a recommendation,’ he said softly, ‘don’t lie to him. He will not reveal your secret to anyone. I would entrust Watson with my life, if necessary.’

  ‘With how many of your friends did you plan to share my secret, Mr Holmes?’ I asked coldly. His eyes narrowed and he replied in the same cold tone. ‘I did not plan to share your secret with anyone. Although I must admit it was a mistake to assume you would, for your own sake, maintain the male masquerade, and not risk your career out of pure vanity.’

  ‘Mr Holmes, I beg you to control yourself! My lifestyle is nothing I ever wish to discuss with you. I lived quite safe until I met you.’

  His gaze softened a little and he noted: ‘You are free to go.’

  He knew I was too curious to let this case slip out of my hands.

  ‘Dr Watson will surely be shocked?’ I remarked and Holmes grinned.

  ‘Wonderful!’ I said, trying to disguise the queasy feeling in my stomach. ‘He probably figured it out already at any rate.’ At that, Holmes tipped his head to one side, looking doubtful, but gave a single nod and shouted: ‘Watson, you can come back in!’

  ‘My dear Watson, this is Dr Kronberg,’ said Holmes as Watson walked into the room.

  Watson nodded meekly, obviously shaken and sat down on the coffee table, as there was only that or the floor to sit upon and he needed something to support his buttocks momentarily.

  ‘You really mean to say that..., that this...’

  He was looking at Holmes now.

  ‘you are...’

  He looked back at me.

  ‘…Dr Anton Kronberg from Guy’s? You can't be serious Holmes!’

  He was staring at Holmes again.

  ‘Have you ever met Dr Kronberg, Watson?’ asked Holmes calmly.

  ‘Er... in fact, I went to one of his talks on the works of Dr Snow. I mean, one of... her... her talks.’

  Watson was completely dumbfounded and I started to feel sorry for the man.

  ‘Ah! Watson my friend.’

  Holmes leaned over to clap his friend on the shoulder.

  ‘Get over it! Even a man like me has to accept that some women are exceptionally smart!’ Watson shot a wild glance at the mantle piece, noticing the missing picture.

  ‘You took it away, I thought you were fond of her?’ he said sheepishly.

  Holmes ignored Watson’s remark and I decided to swallow my surprise or any comments on that matter.

  ‘I wonder whether you can tell me anything about the man who wore these,’ I said placing the package onto the coffee table next to Watson.

  Holmes took it and laid it on his knees, undid the knot, and opened the paper wrapping. He looked at the pile of severed clothes and the two worn boots. He turned them upside down and studied the soles for a second.

  ‘Mr Big Boots,’ he said. ‘You dissected him today?’

  I nodded. ‘He had been found by the old porter of Guy's. The man reported that he heard the whinnying of a horse and the crack of a whip just before he heard the gasps of the man he then found just outside the gate. Together with a colleague he carried him into my ward. Unfortunately, the man died within minutes. I didn't know then he was Big Boots. He was the subject for a lesson I gave today. I saw that he had no entry wound for tetanus and remembered the man from Hampton and checked for restraint marks or needle punctures. I found none. But even if he had had any, they must have healed during the course of a whole week.’

  ‘But you found something that brought you here, together with the shoes.’

  ‘Yes, I did indeed. If he had eaten an animal with tetanus, he should have had the infection somewhere in his gastrointestinal tract, but there was nothing of that kind. I thought of strychnine then, until I finally found the tetanus infection. It was in his heart!’

  ‘In his heart!’ cried Holmes. ‘How could it have got there?’

  ‘I don't know,’ I rubbed my eyes and uncomfortable thoughts started creeping into my head.

  ‘What is it?’ Holmes asked me while Watson was still quietly sitting on the coffee table, digesting the fact that I was a female medical doctor, and a well known one on top of it.

  ‘The man from Hampton hadn't had any infection in his guts either,’ I explained quietly. ‘Well, aside from cholera. But no tetanus infection. Neither of the two men seemed to have taken the tetanus germs orally. For the toxins alone to be lethal, one would have to eat quite a lot of tetanus infected animal. The size of a human, to equal the amount of a lethal dose, I guess.’

  ‘You did not section the left hemisphere of the Hampton man’s brain,’ noted Holmes.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is there a way to obtain the hemisphere?’

  I sighed. ‘Cholera fatalities are burned as soon as possible. The man is ash, Mr Holmes. I am very sorry.’

  ‘Would someone be as forthcoming as to explain why Dr Kronberg is a woman and why the two of you are investigating a case where, quite obviously, a crime has not been committed?’ said Watson regaining his ability to speak.

  ~~~

  I could not help but think of the body snatcher business many years ago. Anatomical research needed bodies for dissections, but only hanged murderers were delivered to medical schools. The result was that their bodies had been re-used so often, their remains looked more than just tattered. But when there is a demand, there will be a market. Body snatchers soon figured out that freshly buried people could be dug up in the dead of the night and sold to medical schools. But these few cadavers, mostly old or diseased people, did not suffice…

  Holmes and Watson fell quiet and the silence interrupted my train of thoughts. Both were now looking at me.

  ‘Watson and I were just discussing the curious incident of the non-existent entry wounds. Watson thinks it must be an airborne version of tetanus.’

  ‘Hum. That could be a possibility, if tetanus germs wouldn't be strictly anaerobic. They peg out when they get a whiff of fresh air.’

  Watson coughed, I smiled at him, and he remarked: ‘Well, then someone must have injected it, but that is impossible!’

  ‘Why would that be impossible, Watson?’ asked Holmes.

  ‘Because no one could possibly do such a horrid thing!’

  I stared into the fire and spoke quietly: ‘How do you think could we learn so much about anatomy in such a short time? History is repeating itself, Dr Watson. Humans always exploited the weak, be it actively or by ignorance. When anatomists needed fresh bodies they got them! How anyone could believe them as they claimed not to have had knowledge that these were indeed murder victims they had procured, is a mystery to me! Some medical doctors even placed orders - pregnant women, children, newborns, and malformed people. And they got these delivered as well!’

  I shuddered at the thought of the homeless not daring to fall asleep on the streets. The danger was ever present; someone could suffocate you and cart you off to the next anatomical school. The two men behind me where quietly listening and I continued: ‘William Burke and William Hare had killed seventeen people in Edinburgh in a single year and sold all bodies to Dr Robert Knox, who could convince the authorities that he had no idea they had been murdered.’

  I turned around to face the two. ‘How can an anatomist not know he is dissecting a murder victim?’ Both men sat there with eyebrows raised. ‘Then the Anatomical Act was passed, which gave free license to medical doctors to use donated bodies for dissections. Tell me, Dr Watson, who would donate the loved and deceased baby, mother, or husband?’

  He did not reply.

  ‘No one but the poorest, to feed their children, or themselves. Don’t you think the government knew what was going on? Don’t you think they turned a blind eye? Don’t you think they passed the Anatomical Act to make the butchering of paupers legal? Do you really believe that no one would inject a deadly disease into a pauper to test a cure for that very same disease? One worthless life less. Isn’t that an acceptable price to p
ay for the good of mankind? Mankind, Dr Watson!’

  Watson gulped and I changed the topic, turning to Holmes. ‘So what do we do next?’

  Holmes needed a few seconds before answering: ‘We? You won't do anything and I will do some thinking.’ With that, he lit his pipe again and leaned back in his armchair. After a moment, Watson and I realised that we had been dismissed.

  ‘It was nice to meet you, Dr Watson.’ I said down at the street as both of us were about to part.

  ‘It was, er... interesting, Dr Kronberg, to say the least. May I ask you something?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Has your secret ever been discovered?’

  ‘Yes, by Mr Holmes.’

  ‘Of course, but I meant by anyone else?’

  ‘No. People usually believe what they see.’

  He gazed at my face for a short moment; it was the first time tonight. He had avoided looking me straight into my eyes throughout the evening.

  ‘I have the impression I make you feel uncomfortable, Dr Watson. If I offended you, I am very sorry. Please forgive me.’

  It took him a moment to answer, but it was something that seemed to upset him greatly.

  ‘My friend has taken an interest in you!’ He choked the words out, as if the unspeakable had taken hostage of his mouth, had forced his teeth apart to slip though his lips. And he regretted it immediately.

  ‘Please do not worry yourself, Dr Watson. Mr Holmes’s interest is that of a scientist in his study subject,’ I said as coolly as I could.

  Chapter Seven

  I let the hansom drop me off half a mile from home and walked the rest of the way. Just before entering St Giles I saw a familiar face. It was framed by flaming red hair with a hint of orange on his cheeks and chin. No matter how often he shaved, he always looked stubbly.

  I liked that face and the man who wore it - Garret O'Hare, a handsome Irish redhead who didn’t have the faintest idea that half the female population of St Giles dreamed of him.

  Like many of my neighbours, he earned his living by stealing whatever he got his hands on and selling it at the pawn broker’s. But in contrast to most of his colleagues, he was exceptionally good at it.

  As everyone else here, Garret believed I was a young widow and a medical nurse at Guy’s, which allowed me to give my neighbours much needed medical care. In return, they offered me protection and friendship.

  Smiling, he walked up to me.

  ‘Anna! Ain’t ya pretty!’ said he just before stopping and contemplating. I could see his brain rattling.

  ‘You've not been seein’ another… bloke?’ he enquired, scratching his chin and measuring me from soles to hat band.

  I smiled and gazed at his shoes. ‘You have new boots.’

  ‘Er... yeah. Where’ve ya been?’

  ‘None of your business, Garret. I'm not asking you where you find all these things, am I?’

  ‘True.’

  He snatched my hand the moment I didn’t pay attention - like a thief, and gazed at the smallness of it in his large and square paw.

  ‘Ya can’t walk ‘round here lookin’ like that,’ he said, still baffled.

  ‘I can. Look, I put one foot in front of the other, just like this,’ I started walking away from him. He kept holding on to my hand and followed me.

  ‘I’ll bring ya home,’ he decided and walked with me. He was so happy; he didn’t say a single word.

  ‘Thanks, Garrett,’ I said, as we had reached my front door.

  ‘What’re ya doin’ tonight?’ he asked with a thick voice and Forget-me-not eyes and I noticed the contrast of this gentle face to the forceful rest of him: a bulk of a man with shoulders like a bull’s and sledge hammer fists. I always wondered how he could maintain that occupation of his. How could he sneak through small windows or hide in tiny corners?

  ‘Don’t know yet,’ I answered.

  He wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me close. I noticed the soapy smell and hid my smile in his shirt.

  ‘You made plans for tonight?’ I asked through the gap between two button holes.

  ‘Think so,’ he said softly and pushed the door to the house open.

  Together we entered my small room and with his hand resting on the small of my back, he toed the door shut and took a step forward to push me against the wall. He did that carefully. After all, his weight was about three times mine. If he’d wanted, he could squish me like an insect but most certainly that thought had never touched his brain.

  He helped me undo the countless buttons on my dress, inhaled a sigh as he peeled it off the black sateen corset. His fingers searched for the corset’s secret opening and I heard his heart thumping wildly as the silk ribbons whispered through the small metal eyes. Tense with anticipation, I listened at the rustling of hands on fabric and the staccato of his breath against my skin.

  It was so much easier to get his clothes off; I wasn’t even aware of what my hands were doing until we both were naked. Impatience ignited his eyes and he pressed himself against me and lifted me up without effort. My mouth found his and I wrapped my legs around his waist and urged myself upon him.

  In the mirror across the room I saw his broad back glistening in the candle light, and both, man and light moved rhythmically. To me, all about him was gentle and rough at the same time and every so often, he with his orange mane and his coarse tongue and paws, made me think of a lion.

  ~~~

  The candle had almost burned down. Its flickering light painted golden sparks into the curls on his chest. I rolled them around my index finger, lazily, again and again. His ribcage moved up and down - a slow and calming rhythm, and my thoughts started to gallop freely.

  I imagined living a normal life. I knew these thoughts were a waste of my time. And yet, I needed to think them, as an experiment of ifs and whys that always brought me back to where I was now.

  I had chosen a life in disguise because I wanted to practice medicine. I was the only female medical doctor in London. Not officially, though.

  What a man had I become! I was so accomplished in speaking, walking, behaving like a man, that no one ever doubted my sex.

  I had split my life in two: the male half, which I maintained during the day - Dr Anton Kronberg, renowned bacteriologist; and my female half at night - Anna Kronberg, a rather fragile looking nurse with a progressively short haircut. But as I lived in the slums where most people made a living with illegal activities, my hacked off hair didn’t really qualify for gossip. My relationship with Garret didn’t, either.

  Garret stirred and drew his hand over my back. His face turned towards me and his breath washed over my face. I kissed him and sat up.

  ‘Isn’t it time?’ I wondered.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Thieving activities, Garret. It’s past midnight.’

  ‘Not tonight,’ he mumbled and his gaze fell on my abdomen, his hand followed. He traced the long scar with his fingers and said frowning: ‘When will ya tell me?’

  I pushed his hand away and rose to my feet, ignoring the question.

  ‘Goddammit Anna!’ he groaned, ‘you’re trustin’ me enough to fuck ya and not break ya, but anythin’ else is locked up in that big head o’ yours!’

  ‘Shut up Garret,’ I replied quietly, ‘I hate it when you call it fucking.’

  ‘What’s it then? Ya wouldn’ even think o’ marryin’ me.’

  ‘Aren’t you a hypocrite,’ I hissed at him, his quizzical expression told me he didn’t know what the word hypocrite meant. I didn’t bother explaining. ‘Do you suddenly worry about morals, Garret? Could it be? It is perfectly fine for you to burgle houses and hurt anyone who’s between you and the loot, but lying with me without us being husband and wife is wrong?’

  He stared at me, not knowing what to say. It had taken him a while to accept that I did not care to be married. I knew I shouldn’t impose marriage on anyone. Not with me as a wife. I couldn’t even bear children.

  ‘I never lied to ya!’ He pro
tested.

  I gazed at him until his eyes had lost the brutish glint and then answered: ‘Did I ever lie to you? I never pretended I could give you more. On our first night together I told you I wouldn’t be able to answer all your questions. I told you there are things I can not share.’

  ‘Ya never tell the reasons,’ he croaked.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ I whispered, and touched his cheek with my fingertips. He looked hurt and about to capitulate.

  ‘Garret, you are my best friend. Isn’t that enough?’

  He picked up my hand and gazed at it, kissed my palm, contemplated for a moment, and then growled: ‘No, it isn’t.’

  I was about to push myself away as he, all of a sudden, pulled me closer, wrapped his arms around me, and hoisted me back onto his body. He moulded me onto his chest and fit his mouth onto mine. His helplessness had made him desperate and hungry.

  ~~~

  Half an hour later the door clicked quietly and Garret tiptoed down the creaking stairs. I sat in my bed and could not bear the itch of the wordless peck he had left on my cheek.

  I poured water into the wash bowl and scrubbed my face before washing everything else, then towelled myself off, and pulled the night gown over my head. It fell down to my feet with a rustle.

  I quenched my thirst with the water I had left, fetched the tobacco pouch, a bottle of brandy, and a glass.

  Sitting in my old armchair, I rolled the tobacco into a fragile piece of cigarette paper and flicked my tongue across it, struck a match on the floor, leaned back, and sucked the smoke into my lungs. The rest of it curled to the ceiling.

  Garret would soon have enough of me, I was certain. Our relationship had always been too unidentified for him – it was neither fish nor meat. He had called it “fucking” and that irked me. But why should it?

  Yes, why should it.

  I wiped the thought away.

  The brandy burned itself down my throat and my mind wandered to Guy’s hospital. I had worked there since the day I had arrived in London four years ago.