The Devil's Grin - a Crime Novel Featuring Anna Kronberg and Sherlock Holmes

by Annelie Wendeberg

  She did taste good, I noticed as I pushed her away, begging her to regain reason. I hated hurting her and wondered if that kiss could land her in jail, too. Probably not, as she did not know I was a woman.

  Living disguised as a man had given me a radically broader view on humanity. Mankind! I could observe men and women in their roles, while adopting the one or the other disguise and enter either world of social restrictions and behaviour. Sometimes I felt the insane urge to tell them all to cross-dress. How would the world change?, I wondered.

  I did wonder rather too much and had always asked too many questions. Maybe my motive for becoming a scientist was to find reason in all this chaos - I never felt I belonged to the human race.

  I rolled a second cigarette and poured another brandy. The night was getting chilly. I hugged my knees and gazed at the ceiling.

  Holmes invaded my calm mind then. How strange the man was, I thought and almost had to snort. Was it not me, who was the oddity?

  I buried my face in my hands as the facts rolled over me: I was a woman who masqueraded as a man. I was a scientist and a medical doctor who was occasionally consulted by Scotland Yard. And I was trying to solve a crime of which the Yard had no knowledge, and working on that same case with Sherlock Holmes, while fucking a highly accomplished thief, who believed I was a nurse. And I owned a penis on straps, which now lay wrapped in a towel inside my doctor’s bag.

  I tipped the brandy into my mouth, flicked the cigarette into the fireplace, and again accepted the fact that I was not normal.

  I wondered onto which shore life would puke me up some day.

  ~~~

  I was attending to patients as Wallace McFadin showed up, red faced again. But this time he was excited.

  ‘Dr Kronberg!’ He called from the entrance of the ward. I gestured to him to be quiet; one can not just run into a room full of sick and half asleep patients.

  ‘My apologies! Me and another student, Farley, we found something!’

  He rummaged in his pockets to extract a small piece of paper.

  ‘You said we should observe everything, to find out about the history. The man you dissected a week ago - Farley and I had his right lower arm and hand for today's anatomy lesson. The others got all the other parts and I saw his head and torso, so I knew it was him.’

  McFadin was talking rather fast.

  ‘So, we started dissecting his hand, he still had it balled up into a fist, and then we found this!’

  He waved the piece of paper in front of my nose; the sweet stench of decomposition, combined with creosote was wafting off it. I took the note from him; one word was written on it in thick smudgy letters:

  ‘He used a small piece of charcoal. Interesting, Mr McFadin, thank you very much.’

  ‘Do you think you can find out where he came from, or who he was?’

  I shook my head. ‘I don't think so. I don't think that he had all his bearings together as he wrote that note, I'm not even sure what it means. But I'll give it some thought and let you know if I can find anything of interest.’

  McFadin looked a little disappointed, but still proud to have found the note. I went to my office and prepared a wire to Holmes “Found something. If interested meet at seven at Carole’s, The Strand, AK”

  ~~~

  I sat at a small table in the back with a candle providing some light, waiting. As it reached twenty past seven my stomach was grumbling something unintelligible at me and I decided to order my dinner. At that very moment Holmes walked in and sat down, looking curious.

  ‘I know you are fairly busy with much more interesting things than this odd case of mine,’ I said and he answered with a frown.

  ‘Honestly, Mr Holmes, I'm sure the criminal world holds countless more intriguing mysteries that this one. However, this may add some information; given you have a clue what it could mean?’

  I unfolded the note; he took it out of my hand and stared at it with eyebrows pulled together.

  ‘A student of mine found it during his anatomy lessons.’

  He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut across. ‘He and another student dissected Big Boots’s right hand.’

  Holmes’s face flushed in excitement and he slapped his hand on the table. Darkness fell. A loud clatter told us the silverware had jumped off the ledge.

  ‘My apologies.’ He struck a match and moved the flame towards the wick. I noticed the contrast of warm light against silver grey eyes and turned my gaze away.

  The waiter appeared and I got the impression he moved on small wheels attached to his shoes. He glided away with our orders scribbled on his small notepad.

  ‘Mr Holmes?’

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘Any clue?’

  Silently, he extracted his magnifying glass and examined the paper.

  ‘Hum… no marks. He used charcoal, very soft material. Unintelligible and smudged…’

  Then he straightened up and sat there for a moment. His eyeballs were moving occasionally, lips twitching, brow furrowing. I was certain he would talk to himself if he were alone. The waiter placed our dinner on the table. Holmes didn’t even notice his getting cold. I had almost finished eating as he seemed to return to the present. ‘Do you think we can hear the Oriole’s call in the Berkshire?’

  Hastily, I swallowed the last bit of pork before inhaling it accidentally, opened my mouth, and closed it again with a snap. After a moment of consideration, I answered. ‘Broadmoor Lunatic Asylum? I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine…’ I shook my head, ‘the place is enormous and well controlled; you need to involve a lot of people to keep a breakout secret.’

  ‘Yet, the note said B..…OOR,’ he replied. ‘Both men have been at Chertsey at a time as one of them was seriously sick and very weak. The distance they travelled could not have been more than twenty miles, I dare say. Within a twenty mile radius of Chertsey, we have only four places that start with a B: Bracknell, Bagshot, Brookwood, and Broadmoor, and B..…OOR only fits the latter.’

  ‘What if he wrote down a name?’

  ‘That is one possibility. But for now let’s assume he had enough brains not to write down the name of a person, as that would be much harder to find than a location. If the two have indeed been in Broadmoor, have contracted Cholera and Tetanus, and broke out without the Yard’s knowledge, then we have an intriguing situation and one should wonder why it has not been reported. Something is being hidden!’

  Holmes was all focus and excitement now. His mimics may have appeared calm and even rigid to the onlooker, but the movements of his entire body were many, very quick, and very small – eyes narrowing a fraction and opening up again, lips compressing, corners of the mouth pulling up or down very slightly, hands gripping the table just a little harder, then letting go again, breath slowing and speeding up, feet shuffling ever so slightly. He vibrated.

  What did he just say?

  ‘…additionally it appears that both were victims of medical maltreatment to say the least. Both seem to have been infected with tetanus on purpose, which would be outrageous. I think it is time to pay a visit to Broadmoor Lunatic Asylum together with my old acquaintance inspector Lestrade.’ He leaned back, looking expectantly at me.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I have to work. Besides, you don’t need me there. But I’m very much interested in the outcome, of course. Shall we meet after the raid?’

  ‘So it is a raid now,’ he noted.

  ‘Sounds more exciting than a mere visit,’ I said pulling one corner of my mouth up.

  ‘Let’s meet at my quarters at eight then. Mrs Hudson will provide us with dinner.’

  Chapter Eight

  At eight o’clock sharp I knocked on the dark oak door and Mrs Hudson opened with a cautious look on her face. Violin music poured down the staircase and I was surprised by the aggressiveness of Holmes’s play. I placed my finger on my lips and Mrs Hudson nodded. Then I walked up the seventeen steps, trying to recall and avoid the on
es producing a shy squeal when stepped upon. I settled at the topmost stair and leaned my head against the door. With my eyes closed and my ears wide open I listened to him playing La Tempesta di Mare. It was my favourite of Vivaldi’s works and Holmes was playing it with such force that my heart fidgeted like a salmon on the river bank.

  He had finished the piece and I rose to my feet, about to knock, when he started the Presto. My hand hovering over the doorknob, I did not dare move a muscle. This was the reason for me to stay away from music halls – I would sit on my chair and cry my heart out.

  The violin went quiet again and I heard Holmes groan: ‘When would you think it appropriate to enter?’

  Slowly my hand lowered itself on the knob, turned it automatically, and opened the door. Just before the fully open door would reveal my face, I rubbed the moisture from my cheeks.

  ‘Thank you, that was very enjoyable,’ I croaked, wondering how the deuce he had noticed my presence.

  ‘My pleasure. Although at the end it got a bit laborious.’ Holmes’s flushed face wore a wild expression and his hair was rather ruffled.

  ‘The way you play - it must be! I loved it!’ Startled by my own words I looked away and changed the topic. ‘The raid was a disaster?’

  ‘Broadmoor is clean,’ he said, setting his violin on the desk, or rather, on top off all the papers. Then he fetched a Persian slipper that turned out to be his tobacco pouch. In a different situation, I would have laughed. Now I could only frown. He stuffed and lit his pipe and settled down to smoke.

  ‘So what now?’ I enquired.

  ‘Nothing; I dropped the case,’ he replied, producing a cloud of blue smoke with each word.

  I watched him for a moment and could not believe his words. He was angry, not bored, nor disappointed. ‘Tell me, Mr Holmes, did you play Vivaldi because you did not know how to produce the lie so that I would believe it, or because you had a problem lying to me? Forget the latter, it was a stupid assumption.’

  Slowly he tore his gaze off the ceiling and glued it onto my face.

  ‘That is a strong accusation!’

  ‘You tell me I am mistaken?’

  ‘Certainly!’

  ‘Be careful, Mr Holmes, I may end up throwing your possessions out the window.’ I was joking, but it didn’t have the desired effect. All he did was to narrow his eyes and lean forward.

  ‘I think it is time to go home now, Miss Kronberg.’

  I noticed the omission of my title.

  ‘I think it is time to go to Broadmoor, Holmes.’

  ‘Do what you see fit,’ he said casually, leaning back and looking at the ceiling again.

  ‘I usually do. See you in the Berkshire,’ I said, opening the door a crack. Suddenly he leaped off his armchair and a second later slammed the door shut. I was trapped inside.

  ‘You are hindering my investigation and I must insist you leave Broadmoor to me.’ It was as if he had opened another door to let me see the danger lurking behind his calm façade. I had just poked a stick into the jaguar’s cage.

  ‘How do I hinder your investigation? So far I helped in bringing it forward.’

  ‘You didn’t. Any suggestion, clue, or deduction you made, I had made earlier. I let you believe you had anything to add to the case.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It amused me,’ he said coldly and I could feel my fingertips tingle.

  ‘And now you are tired of the clown?’

  ‘Quite so.’

  He didn’t move.

  ‘Should I scream for the police?’ I said bored.

  ‘Please do that. I may reveal interesting details about you.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ I whispered.

  ‘It is about time you get to know me.’ He stood there unmoving with superiority seeping out every pore. He was a good actor.

  ‘How curious,’ I said softly, gazing into his face. There were only inches between us now. ‘I had the impression I knew you inside and out. I thought I could touch your soul.’ I dipped my fingertips into his shirt, there where the heartbeat was. His gaze flickered, his hand released the door, and I slipped away.

  ~~~

  At home I had a quick snack, dressed in my rough wear, sturdy boots, packed a little provision plus a blanket for the night, and was off to catch the last train to Crowthorne. But not before paying a quick visit to Garret to fetch a rope. He was rather puzzled when I told him I needed it to climb a tree.

  It was close to midnight when I reached the Berkshire. Clouds covered a moonless sky, making it the perfect night for a burglary. I had noticed Holmes as I got off the train in Crowthorne and his presence didn’t surprise me. He kept his distance and left me in peace, neither of us acknowledging the other.

  It took me fifteen minutes to reach the edge of the pitch dark forest. I slipped into the woods, took cover behind a large tree, and listened. Quiet footfall announced Holmes. Quickly, I took my shoes and socks off and stuffed them into the rucksack, which I now strapped tight onto my back. Any noise coming from things moving within had to be avoided. I rolled my trousers up to my knees. Holmes was dangerously close behind me now. He could probably touch my shoulder if he stretched out his hand.

  I ducked and started running. Behind me I heard him growl a quiet “Anna!” I had to smile, for he stood no chance against me here. I grew up with trees surrounding me, knew how to climb the slickest of them, and had learned to run barefoot through the woods, quiet and quick as a cat.

  After roughly ten minutes, the canopy lightened and the intimidating outer wall of Broadmoor Lunatic Asylum looked down on me. I ran along it and found a tree that suited my purpose - a mighty oak, split in two by lightning, with one half still alive. One of its thick branches reached over the wall.

  I climbed up and nestled close to its torso with my legs hugging the thick branch.

  The entire asylum stretched like a small city below me. I knew this place well. One of my first assignments as an epidemiologist had been the annual hygiene inspection of Broadmoor.

  To the left I saw the main building Holmes must have visited today. It was the oldest and now had the function of the lowest security block. It housed harmless cases such as female petty thieves with a depression or a nervous tick. Further to the right were the five male blocks built a year after the first. Most of these inhabitants were harmless, too.

  And then far to the right were the two high security blocks, one for women, and one for men. Many of these inmates were insane murderers who got their daily ration of groats pushed through a hatch at the bottom of a heavy iron door. Well away from me stood a chimney which stuck up like a scorched tree trunk—the central heating facility. I started wondering whether this building could be used as a hiding place during the summer months.

  After a moment of consideration, I decided to first check on the high security blocks that lay at some distance to the remaining complex and would be most suitable for any secret undertaking. I dearly hoped to get some information on Broadmoor’s medical experiments without running into the two security men, each armed with a club and a revolver.

  I heard a quiet crack and peered down. There was the gaunt figure of a man and I was surprised at how easy he moved in the dark. Holmes walked around looking at the ground as if he were trying to find my footprints, and I observed him curiously. What would he be able to see in this darkness? The soil was dry, and I had been running without shoes. I held my breath and waited for him to stop and bend down. But he never did. After he had passed me and disappeared behind the bend of the wall, I took the rucksack off my back and strapped it onto the tree. Then I balanced along the branch, carrying a length of rope. Just above the fifteen-foot-high wall, I tied the rope onto the branch before climbing down. The inner wall reached an elevation of only six feet and wouldn’t be too hard to scale.

  I rubbed dirt into my too-white face and started running. With a leap, I caught the top of the wall and pulled myself up.

  Cautiously, I peered around but could see n
o one. With a quiet thud, I dropped onto the other side and ran a few yards along the side of the wall. A bush provided limited cover and I took a look around and wondered what Holmes was doing. Or, for a matter of fact, what I was doing - a woman disguised as a man and now pretending to be an asylum burglar.

  I shook off the thought and ran to the next hiding place - a small tool shed close to the high security block for males. The night and this place were dead quiet, and I cautiously snuck up to the building and pressed against its wall. There was a window I could reach, and I peered inside - a hall devoid of people but with small bunks, each of them having four fetters - two for the ankles, two for the wrists. I counted ten empty bunks. The room did look tidy, as if recently cleaned up.

  I had turned away and started towards the female block when I spotted fresh wheel tracks in the grass. The cart must have been heavy, for the tracks were deep despite the dry soil. I followed them and they led me towards my final destination. My stomach growled with heavy foreboding. I turned a corner and saw it - the heating facility. Its iron door stood ajar, letting the glow of fire lick the trodden lawn.

  I inched closer, taking each bit of cover I could get. Voices inside reverberated on the thick stone walls and made their way through the door. One of them was the rasp of Nicholson, Broadmoor’s superintendent, but I could not understand what was being said.

  I was so close now, I could see through the door into a room with a large oven. One man just stood there talking - Nicholson. Another shovelled coal while two men hurled one large sack after the other into the fire. The effort it took them and the sharp downward bend in the middle of each long sack identified its content. Strangely, my mind would not allow the interpretation of what my eyes observed. Only after the sweet smoke crawled from the chimney into my nostrils, could I accept the disaster.

  Gasping, I hid my face in my sleeve and hugged my knees tightly, trying to resist the urge to run inside and rip Nicholson into pieces. It took me awhile to collect myself. There was nothing to be done, so I turned around and left quietly.